DIVYA
I woke up to the same heavy, unshakable feeling that had plagued me for the past week. A dull, gray cloud hung over me, as if someone had drained the color from my life, leaving me in a bleak, black-and-white world.
I stared at the empty canvas, the brush lying untouched beside it. My fingers itched to create, but the inspiration that once flowed like a river had dried up, leaving me in a desert of muted colors and dull thoughts. It was as if someone had drained the color from my life, leaving me stranded in a world of black and white.
I sighed, the weight of it pressing down on my chest, and slowly slipped out of bed, my limbs heavy, my mind fogged. I knew life had to go on, no matter how I felt. Nothing was permanent, after all.
Dragging myself through the motions, I took a quick shower, though my heart wasn't in it. The warm water did little to thaw the numbness that had settled inside me. After wrapping myself in a soft towel, I stepped into my bedroom and opened the wardrobe. My fingers grazed over colorful outfits, but my hand landed on a high-neck, black-and-white patterned dress, an unintentional reflection of my mood. A faint smile tugged at my lips-how fitting. Black heels followed, along with concealer to mask the dark circles beneath my eyes, the ones born from sleepless nights of overthinking.
As I reached for my purse, my fingers brushed against something soft-a velvet box. My breath caught, and my eyes lingered on it longer than I intended. A knot formed in my throat, and I traced the outline of the box, memories of that night flooding back. It had once held so much promise, the moment I thought everything would change. But this past week had reminded me of a harsh truth-nothing lasts. I was cursed to live in the shadow of impermanence.
I swallowed hard, caressing the box absentmindedly, lost in thought. It represented a time when I believed in the possibility of love, of something real. But here I was, abandoned once more. My parents had been fleeting, too, their love temporary at best. They were always happier with Diya. And then there was Raghav-the first man in years who had sparked something in me. He said he would call, but a week had passed without a word. I laughed bitterly at the absurdity of it. A billionaire like him, who could have anyone he wanted-why would he waste his time on me? I was just an artist, lost in my own world of paint and canvas. I should've known better than to expect anything.
They say expectations lead to heartbreak, and I had set myself up perfectly. I had thought he might be different, might be the one to break the cycle. But instead, I found myself staring at my phone, hoping for a call that would never come. As much as I wanted to hear his voice, to reach out and bridge the silence, I couldn't. I wouldn't let myself be that desperate.
At first, I had excused his silence-he must be busy, too caught up in the whirlwind of his life. But now, I saw the truth. I had been unwanted before, and here I was again. My entire life had been a series of rejections, beginning with my parents, who never needed me, not when they had Diya. Why would Raghav be any different?
Shaking off the thought, I grabbed my sling bag and slammed the wardrobe shut. My phone and house key slipped inside, along with the remnants of my hope. I downed a cup of coffee-my only sustenance lately-and headed for the gallery. I hadn't eaten properly in days, but I didn't care. Food tasted as bland as my life had become. Maybe, in a few more days, I'd learn to accept this reality, to live with the emptiness. Maybe, eventually, I'd be fine.
As I entered the gallery, the familiar sight of Nancy greeted me. She was bent over her desk, diligently working as usual. The moment she noticed me, her face brightened, and she offered a polite, "Good morning, ma'am."
"Morning," I replied, already feeling the weight of the day ahead. "Get me a cup of coffee and make sure the plan for next month's art auction is ready. I hope you've prepared." She nodded, humming in acknowledgment. I made my way to my cabin, the sharp click of my heels echoing on the gallery floor, a sound that was oddly comforting in its predictability.
Once inside, I tossed my bag onto the coffee table and sank into the leather chair behind my desk. The to-do list was long today. The auction needed my full attention, and my throbbing headache wasn't helping. Lack of sleep was taking its toll, and I silently prayed that the coffee Nancy was bringing would offer some much-needed relief.
I switched on my computer, the soft hum of the machine filling the silence. As I began typing, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," I mumbled, eyes glued to the screen. Without bothering to look up, I added, "Just put the file on my desk and leave." When I didn't hear the usual rustle of papers or Nancy's quick response, I glanced up, expecting to see her standing by the door.
Instead, I froze. My heart skipped a beat.
"Diya?" I gasped, staring at the last person I ever expected to see here.
She gave a small, awkward smile. "You don't look happy to see me," she said, tilting her head slightly.
I let out a soft, surprised chuckle. "No, no, it's not that. I just wasn't expecting you here, of all places," I said, standing up, trying to mask the sudden rush of emotions swirling inside me.
"Come, have a seat," I offered, motioning toward the sofa. She followed me, sitting down, her smile still there but laced with something... uneasy. The silence between us was heavy, filled with everything unsaid. Before I could break it, Nancy walked in with two cups of coffee and a blue file, placing them on the coffee table in front of us.
"I saw Diya ma'am coming in, so I brought a cup for her too," Nancy said, flashing a polite smile.
"That's sweet of you," Diya responded, though the gratitude was quickly replaced by a grimace as she took a sip of the overly sweet coffee. I knew she wouldn't like it. Diya had always preferred her coffee bitter, without milk-completely opposite to mine.
"So, how's the gallery going? I heard about your award... the place must be swarming with interest now," she said, trying to fill the air with casual conversation.
"It's going fine," I replied, sipping my own coffee, savoring its bitterness, the only thing that matched my mood.
She looked at me with a hesitant smile. "I actually came to invite you to lunch," she started. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain further.
"It's one of Mom's friends," she continued, her voice softening. "They've invited the whole family for lunch, and well... I thought maybe you'd want to come."
I sighed deeply, leaning back against the sofa. "Diya, I made it clear the last time-
"I know," she interrupted, her voice pleading. "I know you don't have any relationship with our parents anymore, but this... it's different. Please, just come this once."
My frustration bubbled to the surface, memories of past insults flashing through my mind. "Diya, I can't keep doing this. I can't keep letting them treat me like I don't matter, then pretend everything's fine for the sake of appearances. I'm not a kid anymore."
"I get it," she said, her voice quieter now, her eyes downcast. "But let's not air our dirty laundry in front of outsiders. I don't want people talking... about us. About you."
I stared at her, my anger simmering beneath the surface, yet her words struck a chord. As much as I wanted to distance myself from them, she was right. I didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of gossiping about our family, about my strained relationship with them.
"I understand what you're saying," I muttered, rubbing my temple as the headache returned full force. "But I just can't... I don't want to be dragged back into their world only to be humiliated again."
Diya sighed, her eyes filled with a sadness I hadn't noticed before. "I know it's not easy for you. But just think about it. Please. I won't push, but I don't want people talking behind our backs, especially not about you."
She wasn't wrong. As much as I resented my parents, I hated the idea of outsiders judging us even more. Our problems were ours to handle, and I wasn't about to let anyone else throw stones.
"Fine, I'll come," I muttered, clearly unhappy with my decision. Diya's face immediately lit up with a wide smile, relief washing over her.
"On one condition," I added firmly. Her expression softened, and she nodded eagerly, ready for whatever I had to say.
"If Mom tries to insult me, humiliate me, or force me to do something I don't want to, I'm leaving right away. And no one-no one-will stop me."
"Deal," she replied instantly. "If Mom tries anything, I'll personally drop you home myself." She squeezed my hand, her sincerity making me chuckle, despite the weight of the situation.
"Good. Let me know the time and place," I said, the tension between us easing just a little. Diya's eyes wandered around the room before they settled on the small bouquet of lilies sitting on my desk. A teasing smile played on her lips. "So, a secret admirer, huh?" she quipped, raising an eyebrow.
I just smiled faintly, not bothering to explain or deny it. The truth was, I still hadn't figured out who was sending the flowers. Every day, without fail, a fresh bunch of lilies appeared at my door. There was never a name attached, just a simple, handwritten note.
And yet, unlike the typical anonymous gestures that the note gave me that day but now these notes didn't creep me out. They had the opposite effect. There was something comforting in them, something that gave me hope-a flicker of reassurance that maybe, just maybe, someone out there saw me. Not as the unwanted daughter, the lonely artist, or the woman left behind. But as someone worth noticing, worth caring about.
We talked for a few more minutes, making small conversation, before Diya decided it was time to go. As soon as she left, the room felt heavier again, the air thick with the things I couldn't let go.
I sighed, picking up the file from the coffee table and heading back to my desk. Sitting down, I let my head fall onto my folded arms. It hurt more than I wanted to admit.
How could Mom send Diya as her messenger? She could have called me herself, but she didn't. Probably because I'm just not important enough to her. And yet, here I am, longing for a sliver of her attention-just a bit of acknowledgment. It felt pathetic, but I couldn't help it.
The sharp ring of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked at the screen and saw Vaani's name flashing. She never calls at this time.
I quickly answered, hearing her frantic voice on the other end. "Divya, Ananya's in labor! Get to Edenberk Hospital right now. I'm already on my way!" She hung up before I could even respond, clearly in a rush. I didn't waste a second.
Grabbing my purse, I hurried out of the gallery. "Nancy," I called out as I passed her desk, "I need to leave for something urgent. If Scott Enterprises contacts us about the investment, just decline it, alright?"
She looked up in surprise but nodded quickly. I had already decided not to take the investment from Henry Scott. I didn't need it now-and more importantly, I didn't want to owe him anything.
I slipped into the driver's seat of my car and quickly pulled up the hospital's location on my GPS. The drive wasn't far, but the traffic lights were testing my patience. At one particularly long red light, my eyes drifted to a sleek black car a few lanes over. I frowned. I had been noticing that car a lot lately. Are they following me?
Before I could dwell on the thought, the light turned green. I shook my head and drove off, dismissing it as coincidence. I had bigger things to focus on.
The hospital parking lot was packed, but I managed to find a spot and hurried inside. My breath came out in shallow pants as I approached the front desk.
"Which floor is the VIP ward?" I asked, slightly breathless.
"Third floor," the receptionist responded curtly. I thanked her quickly and rushed toward the elevator, impatiently tapping my foot as I waited for the doors to open.
The elevator finally arrived, and I stepped in, hitting the button for the third floor. It felt like the longest few seconds, the tension in my chest building as I thought about Ananya. The moment the doors opened, I hurried out, scanning the hallway for her room.
But before I could take another step, I stopped abruptly. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes met a familiar pair of stormy grey ones.
Raghav.
For a moment, I couldn't believe he was really there, standing just a few feet away from me. A thousand emotions surged inside me-shock, disbelief, and then... anger. White-hot anger.
He had ghosted me for a week. A whole week without a word, and now here he was, casually appearing as if he hadn't made me feel like I was worthless. My heart clenched painfully, but I quickly masked it with indifference.
He didn't care about me. He had made that abundantly clear with his silence. He was a man who had the world at his feet, a billionaire who could choose any woman he wanted, and I-just a simple artist-clearly didn't make the cut. He'd proven that by ignoring me, by treating me as insignificant. I forced myself to look away from him, swallowing down the lump in my throat.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. But the familiar bitterness washed over me, reminding me of a truth I was beginning to accept.
Maybe I was born to be alone.