ℂ𝕆ℂ𝕂𝕋𝔸𝕀𝕃𝕊 𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ ℂ𝕌ℙ𝕀𝔻

𝟴𝟲: 𝗕𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀, 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝘁𝗼...

>>>>–––– 💘 ––––<<<<

Avi paused, the glass in his hand forgotten as his eyes drifted to her. Ananya was no longer sitting upright. She had shifted somewhere between exhaustion and drunken comfort, now lying flat on the soft carpet, her hair fanned out loosely around her head. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, expression blank, voice low, almost as if she wasn’t speaking to him at all but confessing to the shadows above her.

Yerkanave na ponnu’ndra naala ennayum en ammavayum avar veetla perusa madhika matanga…

(Since I was born a girl, neither I nor my mother have been given much respect in that house… )

she began, her words rolling out in a rhythm that was almost detached, but each syllable heavy.

Aniki avaru letter yeludhi vechitu ponnaaniki… en amma’va dhan kora sonnanga.

( That day when he left leaving behind a letter... everyone blamed my mother. )

Avi stilled, his throat tightening as he listened.

She laughed bitterly, no joy in the sound.

Andha kovathula en amma enna dhan adichanga. Ana aniki yenna naal nu yaarukume nyabagam ille. Ippo varaikum… inniki kudha oorlerndhu Selvam uncle phone pannaru.

( And she beat me badly in that rage. No one even remembers what day it was. And even now… Selvam uncle called from the village today.)

She blinked hard, her voice breaking slightly, though she tried to cover it with a scoff.

Ana en amma ku na irukenanu kuda nyabagam irukanu therila.

(But I don't think my mother even remembers I exists)

The words hung in the air like a wound ripped open, and Avi felt something claw at his chest. He didn’t interrupt. He couldn’t. Instead, he quietly shifted everything lying between them—the glasses, the bottle, the cushion—and slid closer until he was sitting beside her head, his knees brushing against her hair.

Ananya sighed, long and tired, her chest rising and falling as though the weight of years pressed down on her.

Andha naal varaikum yellarum enna thitradhu, adhikiradhum… yen nu enaku purinjadhu illa.

(Till that day, everyone kept scolding me, beating me… I never understood why.)

Her lips trembled faintly, and then her gaze softened, resigned.

Anniki purinjadhu. Adhunala… en birthday vandha, en madhaila adhu mattum dhan odhum.

(That day, I understood. That’s why… whenever my birthday comes, only that memory runs through my mind.)

Her words made Avi’s jaw tighten. He wanted to tell her she deserved better, that she didn’t deserve to be shackled to that memory. But before he could, she suddenly turned her head, her bleary eyes locking onto his.

Ana inniki…

(But today...)

she murmured, her lips curving into the smallest, drowsiest smile.

Nee adha maathirukae.

(You changed that)

Avi’s breath caught.

Inniki enaku suthama andha naal nyabagame illa

(Today, I didn’t think of that memory at all.)