BULLBUL

SHORT STORY

ANJUM
Sometimes, the most beautiful cages are the hardest to leave.

In an old haveli wilting under the weight of time, a woman waits.
She doesn't speak much. She doesn't cry.
She listens-to footsteps that no longer pause for her, to laughter echoing from rooms she no longer enters.

Her husband smiles more these days.
There's another woman in the house now.

The maid, Anjum, moves like a shadow beside her. She is her eyes, her voice, her company. She sees everything-every bruise silence leaves behind, every glance that doesn't land where it used to.
But even shadows get tired. Even walls can hear too much.

The haveli holds its breath. The pillars groan. The air is thick with something left unsaid.
Time is testing the house. The cracks are showing.

Will she withstand the pillars turning sharp-digging into her skin while the world watches her bleed in silence?
Her eyes are tired.

Will they dare step forward to reclaim what's righteous,
Or will her truth drag her down to watch her master decay with time?

What will she choose?

Endure the weight?
Leave the walls too damaged to repair?
Or fall quietly-tarnishing with everything she once belonged to?