The Wilted Hibiscus

Dahlia grew up in a humble home where the walls were thin, but the dreams were thick. Her father's hands were calloused from labour, and her mother's voice hoarse from prayers whispered over bills. But Dahlia? She was sharp-*too* sharp for their rusty tin-roofed world. A scholarship to a prestigious university abroad was her golden ticket, her family's pride, and her escape.

But freedom tastes bitter when you're alone. In a foreign city slick with rain and strangers, Dahlia's loneliness curdled into desperation. That's when they found her: the friends who laughed like hyenas and loved like hurricanes. They called her "brilliant," "unstoppable," and for the first time, she felt seen. A pill here. A drink there. A line of powder to "take the edge off." Soon, the edge was all she had left.

Her straight-A mind fogged. Her calls home grew sparse, then fractured-*"I'm fine, Mama, just tired."* The scholarship evaporated. So did her "friends." What remained was a hunger, sharp and feral, that led her to alleys where dealers traded dignity for dust. By the time her parents scraped enough to bring her home, Dahlia was a flicker of the girl they knew. Her eyes, once bright with equations, now held only ghosts.

Dahlia's downfall isn't dramatic-it's slow, quiet, and devastating. A scholarship girl who traded stethoscopes for needles. A daughter who forgot her mother's face but remembered the exact price of oblivion.

And when the end comes-in a cold room with a syringe and a crumpled photo of her parents-you'll weep for the life that could've been. For the family who loved her in whispers and regrets. For the hibiscus that bloomed so bright... and wilted too soon

It's not about drugs. It's about how loneliness devours, how love isn't always enough, and how the world breaks the gentle ones first.