"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐭'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮."
Heartbroken.
Just a word for many people across the globe. But for Annika Malhotra, it was the word that define...
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A slap echoed through the quiet, echoing in the study like a gunshot. My head snapped to the side, the force of it reverberating through my jaw. The sting spread across my cheek like fire, skin reddening beneath the impact. I didn't flinch, didn't let myself show a hint of reaction—because I couldn't. My father didn't deserve the satisfaction.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Meera, my older sister standing frozen, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on me. Pity. I hated that look. She blinked back her tears, her small frame trembling as she watched him tower over me.
"Have you even done something that has proved to be beneficial for me? That has made me proud?" His voice boomed, harsh and filled with venom.
"Disappointment. That's what you are. You're nothing. Useless!" The words were a blur, lost in the familiar rage. I'd heard it all before, each insult seared into my memory. The profanities rolled off him, but I stood there, silent, my face still burning from the slap. He was like a storm, destructive and unrelenting, but I was used to it.
"Get out!" he screamed, his voice hoarse with fury.
I didn't hesitate. Without a word, I turned and walked out of the study, my steps steady despite the whirlwind of anger brewing inside me. My sister didn't follow, and I was glad. I didn't need her pity.
Reaching my room, I threw my phone onto the bed. The crack of the device against the pillow seemed insignificant compared to the ache in my chest. I didn't even care if it shattered. I needed something else—something to numb the fire inside.
I headed to the bathroom, my fingers already turning the knob on the sink. The rush of ice-cold water was almost deafening, drowning out the chaos in my mind. I cupped my hands under the stream, letting the freezing water run through my fingers. It bit into my skin, a sharp, clean sensation that helped me breathe again.
Cold water—that was my escape. It had been for as long as I could remember. It took away the sting of his words, the echo of his slap, the weight of all the trauma he'd beaten into me. Each splash of cold numbed the pain, grounding me in the present. The icy chill shocked my system, freezing the turmoil inside. For a few moments, the memories faded, slipping away like water down the drain.
I closed my eyes, letting the cold steal the heat from my cheeks, from my heart, until all I could feel was numbness. It wasn't healing—it never was. But it was enough to forget, even for a little while.
With my hands still submerged, I stared at the water swirling down the drain, wishing I could wash away everything with it.
I stood in the washroom, staring at the water for a good five minutes, before cranking the tap shut and walking out of the washroom.
Sitting on the bed, I stared at the clock in front of me—3 p.m. The sight of the time made my stomach twist. I had a tattoo appointment at 4. The shop wasn't close, and I'd need to leave soon if I wanted to get there on time.
