In the middle of the living room, where laughter had begun to cautiously return, where cups clinked faintly and conversations stitched themselves back together like torn cloth—Maya sat in silence.
The laughter from a few minutes ago still hung in the air like fading incense — sweet, fragile, dissolving slowly into the late evening haze.
Music drifted on, soft as the hum of an old harmonium, its notes trembling like moth-wings around a flame.
Voices rose and fell, weaving over one another, a tapestry of warmth after the storm they had survived mere moments ago.
But in the far corner of the room, untouched by the glow of lamps and conversation,
Maya sat perfectly still.
Her black attire shimmered faintly — not from vanity, but from the quiet power that clung to her like a second skin.
Hands gloved, posture straight, breath even — she was a lone figure carved from darkness itself.
Her presence did not seek attention.
yet silence followed her like a loyal shadow.
Rani was the first to notice.
"Maya hasn't moved in a while," she murmured to Rahi, her voice low, concerned.
Rahi glanced over.
"Yes. She's... far away again."
He sighed softly. "Lost in those places in her mind where none of us can follow."
But the party continued around them.
Lighthearted chatter.
Soft arguments about old memories.
The clink of cups, and the distant rumble of cousins laughing in the hallway.
Maya heard everything.
Yet reacted to nothing.
Her eyes rested on the rim of her cup — untouched since she'd taken her seat.
Discipline lived in her stillness.
Pain lived in her silence.
Then, suddenly—
Fahis froze mid-step.
He had spilled juice on his shirt — a bright stain spreading like a small sunburst against his chest.
"Ah, damn—"
He frowned at the mess.
His eyes darted around the room for anything to cover it.
His gaze landed on Maya.
He hesitated.
"Maya..." he called gently, trying not to disturb her quiet.
"Maya, can I— can I borrow your jacket? Just for a minute? Mine is completely ruined."
Rani's eyes widened.
"Fahis— don't bother her."
But he approached anyway, rubbing the stain awkwardly with a napkin.
"Maya please.. ?" he said again.
She lifted her eyes. Slowly. Calmly.
As though waking from a world far deeper than sleep.
"What is it?"
Her voice was soft, flat, without any ripple.
Fahis swallowed.
"I, um… spilled juice.Some part of the shirt. "
He forced a laugh. "Could I borrow your jacket? I know you don't like giving things but… I need to hide this before Mom sees."
The room quieted — just a little.
People watched from the corners of their eyes.
Maya looked at him.
Long. Unblinking.
Then she looked at her jacket — black, fitted, formal.
A piece of her identity.
A shield she rarely removed.
There was a hesitation.
Barely a breath.
Barely a flicker of conflict in her eyes.
But after one long heartbeat,
she nodded.
"Alright."
Her hands rose to the collar.
Her fingers moved with the same precision they used in battle — slow, deliberate.
As she slid the jacket off her shoulders,
Rani felt her breath catch.
Rahi stopped mid-sentence.
Even Fahis blinked, confused —
"Maya…?"
The jacket slipped away.
And the world fell silent.
Her arms — bare now — gleamed under the soft yellow lights.
Smooth skin, yes… but carved with scars.
Thin lines.
Burn marks.
Circular wounds like old experiments.
Deep grooves where restraints had bitten into her flesh long ago.
Marks she never showed.
Marks she never spoke of.
Marks that told the story of a girl shaped by laboratories, not childhood.
Someone gasped.
Someone choked on their drink.
Someone whispered, "Oh... Oh God. "
Even the music seemed to falter.
Fahis stood frozen, his borrowed jacket forgotten in his hands.
"Maya…" he breathed, voice cracking.
"What… what happened to you?"
She didn't answer.
She simply handed the jacket toward him, her face unreadable, her expression carved from the calm of ancient stone.
"Here," she said. "Take it."
Her tone didn't match the moment.
Didn't match the shock.
Didn't match the sorrow hanging in everyone's throats.
As though the scars were trivial.
As though they belonged to someone else.
Fahis didn't take the jacket immediately.
His fingers trembled.
"Maya… these—"
His voice broke as he stared at her arms.
"These are… from the lab?"
She didn't nod.
She didn't deny.
She simply lowered her eyes.
"I don't remember all of them," she said quietly.
Fahis stepped closer, hand to her mouth.
"Maya… why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you say you were hurt like this?"
Maya looked at her as though the question made no sense.
"Because there was no point."
Mahim, from behind the group, whispered, "Who would do this to a child…?"
Mahi's eyes filled with tears.
Her voice trembled like old glass.
"My daughter… my poor child… Maya—"
But Maya turned her face away.
Her expression did not shift even a little.
The lack of emotion cut deeper than the scars.
Fahad murmured, "This is… this is too much…"
Farhan whispered, "How… how did she survive this?"
Rahi stepped closer.
"Maya, why do you still have these marks? You can heal everything. You reverse time. You reshape reality. Why leave these?"
She looked at him, her gaze ancient.
"Because they remind me."
"Of what?" he whispered.
"Of who I was.Of what they made me.Of what I must never become again."
Her words fell like stones into a still pond.
" And you don't know, but I can't heal myself.
Fahis finally took the jacket from her hand — but his fingers shook so much he nearly dropped it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"I didn't know… I would never have asked if—"
"It doesn't matter," Maya said.
Her voice was calm, detached.
"It's just a jacket."
Fahad's voice quivered.
"No, Maya… it's not just a jacket. It's— you never show your skin. Ever. We've never seen—"
Maya cut her off gently.
"The scars do not change anything."
"But they change us," Rahi murmured.
"Because they tell us what you've endured alone."
A long silence followed.
Guests whispered among themselves — uneasy, stunned, guilty for staring yet unable to look away.
Maya remained motionless, her arms bare, scars exposed like a book that had never been meant to be opened.
Mahi stepped forward slowly, almost afraid to breathe.
"Maya… can I… can I touch your hand?"
She looked at him.
A pause.
A silence as heavy as dusk after prayer.
"No," she said softly.
He froze.
Rani whispered, "She doesn't let anyone touch her, aunty…"
Mahi wiped tears quickly, ashamed of them.
"Maya," she whispered, "are these from… punishments?"
Maya blinked once.
"They were procedures."
Fahis frowned. "What does that even mean?"
Her eyes drifted away, toward the window where moonlight spilled over the floor.
"Enhancement. Conditioning. Testing. Correction."
Fahim flinched as though struck.
"Correction?"
He stepped closer.
"What were they correcting?"
Maya's voice lowered, almost too soft to hear.
"My humanity."
The room went deathly still.
Even the air seemed to stop moving.
Farhan whispered, "Sister… you shouldn't speak like that…"
"I'm not speaking," Maya said.
"I'm remembering."
Fahin's jaw tightened.
"Whoever did this… they're monsters."
Maya tilted her head slightly.
"They created monsters. I was one of them."
"No," fahin said sharply, stepping forward.
"You are not—
Rani said, " she is the most powerful thing they have ever created.The most beauriful rose of fiar. "
But Maya's eyes lifted, steady and calm.
"Then why do their marks still remain on my body?"
Fahin faltered.
There was no answer her soft heart could offer.
Fahis swallowed hard.
"Maya… were you afraid… back then?"
She considered the question.
Then shook her head.
"I was not allowed to fear."
Fahin clenched his fists.
"That's not how children are supposed to grow."
Maya looked at him.
"I was not a child. I am a dangrous monster. "
Her voice held no anger.
Only the chill of truth.
Mahi sobbed quietly, turning her face away.
Mahim put a hand on her back, though his own breath shook.
The party — once warm, cheerful — had turned into a hush of dread and sorrow around one girl who sat with her scars bare as moonlit wounds.
Fahis stared at her arms again, his throat tight.
"Will they ever fade?"
Maya shook her head once.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because, this is no longer possible."
Rani's voice cracked.
"But Maya… why keep proof of harm on your skin?"
Maya looked at her with ancient calm.
"So I never forget what they shaped me into…
and what I refuse to become."
Her words were soft but carried the weight of centuries.
Silence wrapped the room like winter wind.
Finally, Rahi whispered:
"Maya… can we at least… help you carry it?"
Her gaze softened — not with emotion, but with something gentler, quieter, like the smallest shift in a tide.
"You cannot carry it," she said.
"I already did.Long ago.I gave someone a chance to carry it. I gave it to him... But I got... a terrible result."
Her voice carried the echo of a girl who had died once and risen in a body rebuilt for war.
Fahis held the jacket against his chest, unable to speak.
Mahi turned to her husband and whispered, "She suffered alone…"
Mahim nodded, voice broken.
"And we never knew."
But Maya simply reached for her cup again, her movements quiet, controlled.
She lifted it.
And finally spoke:
"Please continue your evening."
Everyone stared at her, shocked.
Fahim whispered, "Continue? Continue After what we saw—?"
"It changes nothing," Maya said gently.
"I am still what I was before you saw."
"But now we know," Rani said, tears trembling in her voice.
Maya looked at her.
"Knowing does not undo."
Farhan stepped forward, voice thick.
"Sis… one day… can you forget it ?"
Maya looked away.
"One day," she whispered.
" Not tonight. Not ever in my life. "
The moment stretched — a quiet grief settling over the room like evening mist.
Then Maya held out her hand.
"Mr. Fahis," she said softly.
"You may return the jacket."
He blinked, startled.
"Oh— yes— yes, of course—"
He handed it to her, but she did not put it on immediately.
She looked at the fabric, the mix of his juice stain and her own memories merging for a moment.
Then she slipped it back around her shoulders, covering the scars, hiding the past once more beneath the armor she wore so naturally.
The room exhaled with her.
Slowly, conversation resumed — fragile, hesitant, like a lantern flame trembling in the wind.
But nothing was the same.
Not anymore.
Because that night,
for the first time,
they saw the truth carved into her skin.
And the truth was a scar that would never fade.