𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 54

"Uggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The sound echoed through my room as I tugged my robe tighter and glared at the wide-open wardrobe. My hands automatically landed on my hips, and I tilted my head, eyes narrowing as though the poor closet had done something unforgivable.

"Why is there nothing ethnic in here?" I muttered, half whining, half ready to cry.

The day after I came home, I thought—okay Aisha, this is fine, you'll settle in, life will look normal.

But then... I opened this closet. And honestly? My first thought was—who on earth even lived here? Because surely, it wasn't me.

I stepped closer, fingers brushing over the fabrics like they belonged to some stranger.

Yes, there were a few sundresses squished into one side, a couple of pastel tops and light jeans that felt like me. My me—the girl who loved soft colors, the kind of shades that made me want to twirl in the sunshine.

But the rest? More than half the closet was swallowed up in blacks, dark blues, plain oversized shirts, edgy jackets, oversized hoodies.

Hoodies, okay... I love those.

But the rest? They were so... basic. Dull. Heavy. Like a shadow pressed over my clothes. Definitely not me.

I puffed out my cheeks, dragging my feet back a step, staring like the clothes might suddenly rearrange themselves into something cute and pastel.

According to the fifteen-year-old spirit still stuck inside this twenty-two-year-old body, I could spend hours debating between mint green or yellow. That was me. Bright. Sunshine. Colorfull.

But this? This twenty-two-year-old version of Aisha apparently thought dressing like a mysterious night owl was cool.

And I didn't hate it—not really. It just... it didn't fit. It felt wrong. Like I had stepped into someone else's skin and was forced to live there.

A lump rose in my throat. Maybe this was me once... before memory loss. Maybe this was the girl I don't remember. But standing here now, wrapped in my robe, staring at this dark collection—it felt like borrowing someone else's identity.

I bit my lip hard and turned to other side—only to groan when I saw my poor excuse of an ethnic collection.

"One lehnga. One saree. And one suit with a big, ugly chocolate stain," I whispered dramatically, pressing a hand over my forehead. "That's it? That's it!?"

Frustration made me strom back to my room and drop down onto the bed with a soft thump. My robe puffed around me like a sulky little cloud. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling fan as though it could help me.

"And today—of all days—I need ethnic."

I pressed the pillow over my face and let out a muffled scream. When I pulled it away, my hair was sticking up in every direction. Great. Just perfect.