Chapter 25 — The Unveiling of Scars
The house was quiet that morning. Too quiet.
The air carried a strange heaviness, as if the marble halls themselves had witnessed truths too sharp to be spoken aloud. Everyone moved carefully, their footsteps hushed, their glances fleeting.
The family had heard Rahi's command the night before: No one speaks. No one asks. Protect her silence. And so they obeyed.
But silence has its own weight. It grew heavier with every passing hour.
Maya, pale but steady, moved through the rooms like a shadow. She spoke little, her face calm, her eyes unreadable. The locket never left her fingers, as though it alone tied her to something beyond the walls of this house.
No laughter left her lips. No smile softened her face. She was calm, but not at peace — still, but not fragile. Her silence was not emptiness. It was armor.
Yet behind that armor, the others trembled.
Mahi followed her daughter's every move with wet eyes, whispering prayers under her breath. Fahad clenched his jaw whenever he saw her drift past, as though restraining his own grief. Even Mahim, the father whose strength was once unshakable, now walked with uncertainty, his steps slower, his eyes heavy with doubt.
And then came the next day.
It began in the sitting hall, where the chandeliers still trembled faintly from the night before. Ohi and Anik stood side by side, tension in their shoulders, their eyes clouded with suspicion. Their voices broke the silence like stones shattering glass.
"Maya," Ohi said sharply, his tone cutting through the air, "how do we know you're telling the truth?"
The words hung there, sharp and dangerous.
Anik stepped closer, his voice following, cold and skeptical. "Yes. How can we believe you? All this… your past, your stories… for all we know, it could be lies. Fabrications. Shadows you built to make us pity you."
The words stabbed deeper than they realized.
Mahi gasped softly, clutching the edge of her sari. Fahad's fists tightened, his body trembling with restrained fury. Rahi's head snapped toward them, his eyes narrowing with dangerous intensity.
But it was Mahim who spoke next, his voice low, conflicted, almost reluctant.
"They… they are not wrong to ask," he admitted, his gaze shifting toward Maya. "How can we be sure, Maya? How can we know that what you say is not a story… something imagined, or twisted?"
The words fell like a hammer.
For the first time, Maya's stillness shifted. She turned her head slowly, her eyes moving from Ohi to Anik, then to Mahim. Her gaze was steady, unflinching. There was no anger there, no tears, no plea for understanding. Only silence — heavy, suffocating silence.
The room waited.
Mahi whispered brokenly, "Mahim… don't—" but her voice cracked and faltered.
Maya still said nothing.
Her fingers lingered at the locket. Her breathing slowed, deepened, until it was almost indistinguishable from the silence around her. Then, after a long, unbearable pause, she rose to her feet.
Every movement was deliberate. Slow. Controlled.
The family and Ghosts watched her, hearts pounding in their chests. Even Ohi and Anik faltered under the weight of her presence, though they tried not to show it.
Finally, she spoke.
Her voice was soft, but every word carried the weight of iron.
"You want proof. But i don't want to give it. "
The room stilled.
Ohi straightened, folding his arms across his chest as if bracing himself. "Yes. Words are not enough. Show us something real. Something that cannot be denied."
But we want to know.
Anik nodded sharply, though unease flickered in his eyes.
Maya tilted her head, and for a moment the air seemed to thin around her. The silence stretched until it burned. Then, with a single motion, she reached for the edge of her blouse.
Her fingers trembled only slightly, but her face remained unreadable. No smile. No plea. No hesitation.
The fabric shifted, baring a small part of her throat.
And there — against the pale skin of her neck — were scars.
Jagged. Darkened. Faded with time but never erased. Some thin and sharp like blades that had kissed too deep. Others thicker, twisted, like burns or bindings that had eaten into her flesh.
The room gasped.
Mahi's knees buckled, and she collapsed into the nearest chair, sobbing into her hands. Fahad stumbled back a step, his eyes wide, his fists shaking as though he could not decide whether to break or to fall apart. Even Mahim, who had spoken with doubt moments ago, staggered under the weight of what he saw.
Ohi's mouth fell open, his words dying in his throat. Anik's face drained of color, his arrogance melting into horror.
The scars spoke.
They spoke of nights without mercy. Of hands that bound, knives that carved, poisons that burned. They spoke of silence endured, commands defied, and chains that sought to strangle life itself but failed.
Maya's voice cut through the silence, quiet yet sharper than steel.
"You ask for proof. You ask for truth. Here it is."
Her hand lingered at her collar, pressing the fabric aside for another moment, forcing them to look. To see. To understand.
"This," she whispered, her tone steady, "is what they left me. This is the part of my body they could not erase. They called me Subject 17B. They carved into me as though I were stone. They thought they owned me. But these scars…"
Her voice lowered, nearly breaking, but she forced it into strength.
"These scars are mine. They are the proof that I survived what no one should have. They are the truth you demanded."
Her hand released the fabric. Slowly, she covered her throat again. The silence that followed was unbearable, pressing into the chest of everyone present until they could not breathe.
Mahi sobbed openly now, shaking as though the sight alone had broken her heart. Fahad turned away, slamming his fist against the wall, his teeth gritted to hold back his own cries. Mahim's face crumbled, shame burning into his features as he lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes.
Ohi whispered, almost to himself, "God forgive us…"
Anik took a step back, his arrogance shattered, his voice hollow. "We… we didn't know…"
Maya turned her gaze on him — steady, cold, and unyielding.
"You didn't want to know. Doubt is easier than truth. Suspicion is easier than pain. You wanted to believe I was lying because then you would not have to carry the weight of what I endured."
Her words were not shouted. They did not need to be. Each syllable struck like thunder rolling through the bones of the hall.
Mahim lifted his head, his voice breaking. "Maya… forgive me. I doubted you when I should have defended you. I—"
Maya cut him off with a single glance. Not of anger, not of rage, but of something sharper — something final.
"I do not need your forgiveness," she said. "And I do not need your doubt. What I need is your silence. If you cannot believe, then stay silent. Do not question again. Do not force me to bare what should never have been seen."
The room bowed under the weight of her command. No one argued. No one dared.
Rahi stepped forward at last, his face pale, his voice trembling but firm.
"You heard her. No more questions. No more doubts. From this moment, we accept her truth as it is. Not because she proved it. Not because she bared scars she never should have had to. But because she lives. She survived. And that alone should have been enough."
His gaze swept across Ohi, Anik, and Mahim, sharp as a blade.
"Let this be the last time she is forced to bleed for your belief."
Silence fell again, heavier than ever.
Maya lowered herself back to the bed, her face calm, her eyes distant. She touched the locket once more, her fingers pressing into the silver until her knuckles whitened.
No smile crossed her lips. No warmth touched her eyes.
Only silence.
And in that silence, the weight of her past pressed upon them all — a truth they could neither deny nor escape.