Siya
"Why can I never find my notes when I need them the most?!" I groaned, throwing a bundle of loose papers onto my already cluttered bed. The room was dimly lit by my study lamp, casting long shadows over the battlefield of books, maps, and sketches. My almirah doors were ajar, spilling out craft supplies and forgotten projects.
It looked like the room of an 'ideal girl' or so people said. Right now, though, it felt more like a warzone.
It was 4 a.m., a cold, gloomy morning outside, and yet my room burned with the heat of frustration. I rummaged through my study table for the third time, pulling out every drawer. Still nothing.
"Of course, it's not here", I muttered under my breath. "I've told Mom a hundred times not to touch my stuff, but does she listen? No! God, either give her a new pair of ears or take me away right now."
I slumped onto my bed, my limbs heavy with exhaustion. My frustration bubbled over, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face.
Why do I have to cry when I'm angry? Sometimes I wish I could just hit pause on everything and disappear.
The anger and helplessness churned inside me like a storm. Left with no energy to continue, I curled up under the comforter. As always, the tears dragged me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I don't know how long I'd been asleep when the comforter was yanked off from me.
"Siya! Wake up!" Mom's voice pierced through the quiet. "Is this how you plan to study in the morning? Lying in bed, wasting time? No wonder you won't clear your exams!"
Her words felt like sandpaper against my raw nerves. I bit my tongue, trying to stop myself, but the dam broke. "At least I'm trying! What about you?". The words were out before I could stop them, sharp and unforgiving. "And stop mocking my career when you've done nothing but raise kids your whole life! Didn't you have a degree, Mom ?"
The words left my mouth before I could stop them, sharp and cutting. I saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes, but she masked it quickly.
"If that's your attitude, then maybe it's better if you don't bother with education at all. Keep this up, and you'll end up as nothing more than a housewife like me. Get over yourself, Siya."
She turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Her words echoed in my mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. My throat tightened. At least I'll be a better mother than you mom.
I flopped back onto the bed, glaring at the mess around me. My eyes landed on an old, tattered notebook sticking out from the pile of forgotten projects spilling from the almirah. The words "Samar & Siya's Master Plan" were scribbled in bright green marker on the cover, the letters uneven from our shared, unsteady hands.
A wave of warmth and sadness swept over me. I picked up the notebook and flipped through it, each page filled with absurd ideas-building a project inspired by MAD, pranking Dad by replacing sugar with salt, and, of course, creating a time machine.
Samar and I used to be inseparable. We spent hours dreaming up crazy schemes, laughing until our stomachs hurt. Back then, life was simple-before everything changed
But now? I hate him.
The one constant thing in my life was my beautiful diary. I didn't want to bother Urmi Di more. So I came up with journaling. It kept me on my toes.
Dear Diary,
Some secrets are too heavy to carry, and yet here I am, bearing the weight alone. I wish I could tell them everything, blow the whole truth wide open.
Every day, I'm forced to choose between protecting them and protecting myself. And every day, I lose a little more of my peace, my self-respect. Maybe that's why people who hold secrets are also cursed to carry it's burden forever.
I don't know if this whole diary thing is supposed to help, but it's the only thing keeping me from losing my mind. Thank you for being my anchor, Ms. Diary.
The fight with Mom had completely ruined my mood to study. I grabbed my phone, hoping for some distraction. A notification popped up.
Raghav Desai accepted your friend request.
I frowned. Did I even send him a request? I couldn't remember, but who cared? I clicked on his profile instantly. His feed was filled with images of him in a white coat, playing basketball, and dancing. Of course, he's a doctor and all-rounder.
Scrolling through his posts, I suddenly thought of Urmi Di. It had been so long since I'd spoken to her. The thought made me nostalgic. She had always been my go-to person for anything.
Without hesitation, I dialed her number. It rang several times, but she didn't pick up. I frowned and called again. By the fourth attempt, I was ready to give up when the call connected.
"Hello Di"
But the deep voice on the other end made my stomach drop. It wasn't Urmi Di. It wasn't even Jiju. No, this voice was sharper, colder-like a blade scraping against stone. My fingers gripped the phone tighter.
"This is Mr. Desai", the man replied curtly.
I froze. It's Urmi's father-in-law. But why is he the one answering? Was she okay?
My heart pounded as I gripped the phone tighter, waiting for him to speak again.