"Is he not on Insta?" I wondered, lying on my bed and scrolling through people's follower lists, hoping to spot his name. He intrigued me—that's all. Someone as notorious as him couldn't have gone unnoticed in the last five years of my school, especially since I knew almost everyone, though I'd barely talked to a handful.
"Is he a new admission? I heard three or four people joined this year," I muttered.
I often stalked people online—not out of curiosity about their lives, nor any desire to be part of them—but simply out of boredom. My days weren't eventful, and I preferred it that way. I liked my solace, my peace, just quietly observing. God, however, had made up for it by giving me this chaos of a family.
"Kriti, come here!" my aunt's grumpy voice pierced my ears. I wished I had earphones on, but that would've caused an even bigger ruckus.
"Coming," I said in a dull tone. Most likely, I was needed to serve dinner for my uncle and brother.
I slid off my bed, letting my feet meet the cool tiles as I slipped my phone into my pajama pocket. Serving food had always been routine, but lately, I'd lost my appetite. Funny thing was, nobody even noticed—or cared.
I made my way through the door into the gallery and headed for the stairs, ready to play the part of the serving maid. The stairs were the same as always, a reminder that even though my room was a floor above, I would always be dragged down into this hell.
"Always on that phone of yours? You never sit with us," came the taunt the moment I entered this layer of misery. Never sit with us? If these people were the last on Earth, I'd still stand on a single toe miles away rather than sit with them.
I responded with silence. Arguing or reasoning with this witch had long become a losing battle. She always looked at me with those disgusted eyes, as if I were trying to steal her precious ornaments.
"Ashu, go call papa, dinner's ready," my aunt said to her son. He was only twelve, pampered, yet he still occasionally faced her little purgatories—a consequence of her uncontrolled resentments and anger. I had no idea how their marriage functioned as usual; it seemed destined to leave someone crying every day, be it me or her.
Should I go to that terrace again tomorrow? The thought crossed my mind. My days were usually like this, and I had grown bored to death with them. I didn't want to deal with this anymore—yet because of him, my days were destined to repeat. By now, I could have been free from this place. My body might have been found, flies beginning to swarm it. I wouldn't be here, obeying her orders like a dutiful wrench. I wouldn't have to endure her screams for the smallest misstep or inconvenience.
I worked through my thoughts, and fortunately, tonight hadn't been eventful. My uncle was exhausted from work and had gone straight to sleep, while my aunt was busy on a call with some relatives. I washed my dishes after barely finishing a single roti and some lentils, then headed upstairs, deciding to finally rest and survive another day.
Would it matter if I weren't here? The thought was a constant companion in my mind.
The mattress felt heavy beneath me as my thoughts spiraled—about what I had wanted to do today and how I had been prevented from doing it. I wondered how he had gotten up there. Was it just coincidence, or had he been watching me?
I dragged myself to my desk and pulled out my best friend, the diary. I had been writing in it for a year, and it had given me more peace than anyone else ever could. Turning to a blank page, I began to pen my thoughts:
"I don't know why it all came to this. I wanted to do so much, yet I have nothing left to keep going. It's a strange dilemma—part of me wants to leave, to be free, to explore everything, yet it all feels pointless. There's no one here to stay, no one to trust, no one I can count on forever and nobody can count on me. If I only have myself, why should I bother keeping up appearances? I'm leaving one day or another—why not now, when my life is at its worst? Is there even anything worth staying for? And if there is, how long should I wait?
Is it the opportunity that presented itself today, or something else entirely? It's unfair—to be treated as a plaything, be a let down, and then, the moment I decide to leave, it drags me back in.
I'll make him pay for it. He will not get his way. Should I go back tomorrow?"
I closed the pages and with a new found intention of revenge I made myself comfortable in my bed and decided to shut my eyes off for good, still not knowing his name.