Someone was in my room, rifling through a bag. My trunk wasn't on the bed. When I looked around, it was shoved in the corner. I stepped closer and asked, "Who are you, sir?"
"Sir?" He snorted, waving his hand like it was the funniest thing. "Sir? Do I look like a 'sir' to you?" He said it with a smirk and a movement that made my skin crawl. I understood exactly what kind of person he was — and I didn't want him in my room.
"Excuse me, but why are you in my room?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He laughed softly. "Your room? Oh, you mean your little space. Baby, you're such a sweetheart. Don't worry, I'm the one you badly need." He stepped toward me when he said "badly need," and the word hit me like cold water. For the first time in years I felt something like real fear.
"What do you mean?" I stammered, shrinking back inside myself, thinking how I'd ended up here and why I was talking so much to a stranger.
"Don't worry, darling. I'm your stylist. I'll groom you. I'll take the man out of you…" He smiled and tipped his head. "I mean, I'll make a man out of you. So sit here, please."
He grabbed my hand and tried to guide me to a chair. I pulled my hand away. "This isn't necessary. I can take care of my hair myself."
"Don't be shy. Your father sent me to style your hair. So sit down and let me work." The moment he said "your father," I couldn't argue. I'd been bothered by my long hair anyway, and if I was here, I might as well go with it. I sat.
I was wearing a bathrobe. He leaned in, teeth showing. "Why don't you take that off? I want to see your body." He bit his lip like he'd just made the cutest observation.
A flash of anger crossed my face and he startled, quickly draping an apron over me. He started cutting my hair, but even while the scissors moved, I felt like I didn't get any space — not a single moment free from being watched.I closed my eyes and a distant memory of mine flashed through them.
Someone yanked my hair. I woke up to the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. My face was bleeding; my eyes filled with tears. I could only hear the voice of the person holding my hair.
"There's nothing like the fun of making chicks squirm," he said as he pulled me up by my hair and threw me aside. "You're worthless. Your life is meaningless."
He cut my hair. I lay there, crying. Blood mixed with tears, and my hair was on the floor in front of me. Laughter echoed and i saw someone entering the chamber and my eyes slowly closed.
When I opened my eyes again, he was standing back, appraising me like a piece of work. "Oh my God, look at you, darling. You look so handsome, girls are gonna die tonight." He stepped away, and for a second I was stunned at what I saw: my hair was shorter, styled, the beard just trimmed. My cheekbones looked sharper. He came closer again.
"Okay, freshen up. Put this on," he said, handing me a dress. "There's a special outfit for tonight in the cupboard."
He moved in so close his breath brushed my cheek, and instinct made me grab his throat. He coughed, then stammered, "Ghh—s-sorry." I let go and pressed my hand to my own neck, heart racing.
I left without hearing his full apology and went straight to the bathroom. I washed my face, trying to get the memory out. When I came back, he was gone. I closed the door, changed into a long-sleeve shirt from the cupboard, and took a long look at myself in the mirror.
When I walked down the stairs, the whole hall was full of people. My mother's eyes found me and she stood up. Everyone turned toward me; even the servants came out to look. I stepped down and went to her. She wrapped me in a hug.
"My child, my heart feels peace now," she said, wiping her eyes. "May no one's eye fall on you."
She let go, and my father came over, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Looks like my son," he said. "Come on, I'm hungry."
"Yes, let's sit. Where's Anaya?" he asked.
A servant called out, "Should we call Anaya, sir?"
"Anaya hasn't come yet," the servant replied. "She left early today, sir."
"What? She left? Call her now." My father reached for his phone, but right then Anaya walked in. Mom's eyes went sharp. "Where were you? And you didn't meet him at the airport? Why didn't you—"
"Mom, I went to meet friends. And yes, I met him at the airport." She looked at me. For a beat she froze, then looked away, like she wasn't sure how to act. "I'll go freshen up," she said and slipped away.
We all sat down to eat. The table felt a little stiff, but my mother kept quiet. Anaya came back and took the chair opposite me, eyes on her plate. The servants served everyone; Mona Aunty placed my plate in front of me and patted the top. I looked down. It had everything I used to love.
A soft voice nudged me. I looked up and there she was the same woman I'd seen before I went faint. Seeing her made my tears spill over. She hugged me. "Shh. Don't cry. You must be brave. If you cry like this, how will you ever move forward?"
"Then why all this hardship? Why does it happen only to me?" I asked, voice small.
"If you want to be ordinary, hardships will be ordinary. But if you want to be extraordinary, the hardships will be different and so will the effort. Then you must eat well too." She fed me a mouthful.
The simple act of someone feeding me my own mother brought me back to reality. I folded my hands and said a quiet thanks before taking the bite.
"My child," my mother said, eyes soft, "I longed to feed you, to make sure you'd eat. I won't let you go anywhere. I'll keep you with me and feed you with my own hands."
Just then someone entered the hall and stood by the dining table. I watched and whispered, "Nothing really lasts forever, mother."
Anaya looked at me when I said that, something unreadable in her face. She'd lived with us since she was small — her parents had died and my family had taken her in. She'd been my friend and the person who knew my small, stubborn silences. Lately, something new had begun to sit between us: a careful look, a hand lingering a beat too long, a question left unanswered. When she sat across from me now, the air between us felt tighter, like two people learning the edges of something they hadn't named.
"Are you okay?" she asked, voice steady but softer than usual.
I forced a smile. "I will be."
She nodded, but her eyes didn't leave mine. For the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe — just maybe — someone was on my side who wouldn't let me fall without trying to catch me.
And that thought — quiet, dangerous, and warm stayed with me through the rest of the evening.