Chapter: 1
The afternoon sun peeked through the curtains of my room in Jirania, casting long shadows across my wooden desk. Outside, the familiar muffled voices of my father and uncle drifted in—another long-winded argument about old property and electricity bills. It was the background score of my daily life, one I had learned to tune out long ago.
I reached for my Airdopes, the cool plastic a comfort against my fingertips. As the soft, haunting melody of a flute filled my ears, the world outside dissolved into a blur. For a moment, there was no tension, no noise—just the music and me.
I looked down at the maroon and white Plazo pants I was wearing. My father had bought them for me. We didn't talk much these days; our conversations were usually limited to my career choices or the household chores. Yet, seeing these clothes on my bed earlier that morning felt like an unspoken bridge. He didn't always say he cared, but in his own way, he made sure I had what I needed for my tuition classes.
On my laptop screen, a spreadsheet for my work as a Tele-Associate was still open. My shift had been long, filled with endless calls and data entries for IndiaMART. My eyes were tired, and the weight of my upcoming IGNOU MA exams felt like a mountain I still had to climb.
"Maybe Agartala will be different," I whispered to the empty room.
The move was only a few days away. I was leaving behind the bumpy roads of Jirania and the constant friction at home for a chance at peace. A new city meant a new tuition center, better safety, and finally, the independence I craved.
I opened a blank document on my writing portal. My fingers hovered over the keys. In this digital world, I wasn't just a student or an employee; I was a storyteller.
I began to type: "She wasn't running away from home; she was running toward herself."