u/Opposite_Aioli397

Saira woke up to the sound of her alarm. It was 4am in the morning. She rolled over to the other side of the bed, but Samir wasn't there. She used her hands to thrust herself upwards but she winced in pain, her hand automatically going to the left side of her stomach where Samir had kicked her last night. She lifted her kurta only to see a purple bruise spreading across her skin, dark at the centre and fading into blue and yellow around the edges. But it was her fault. She knew Samir didn't like it when she talked back to him. Had she stayed quiet at dinner, none of this would have happened. At least that's what she told herself each time. 

She got up, determined not to make any more mistakes today, after all it was Samir's birthday today. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

She got ready and walked towards the wardrobe. She looked at all the half sleeved kurtis and dresses that were pushed towards the side of the closet, her hand automatically drifted towards a bright yellow dress, the one she wore when Samir took her out for their first anniversary. She remembered how happy she felt when he told her how beautiful she looked as he brushed a strand of her hair past her face. She often wondered what went wrong. She snapped back to reality and picked a dark hoodie with long sleeves, as it was the only thing that could cover the bruises scattered all over her arms. She went to the living room, quietly arranging the disheveled room and picking up the empty alcohol bottles scattered all over the floor. Samir hated mess. She had learned this loud and clear when she had accidentally spilled his coffee. The three stitch marks just above her eyebrow served a permanent reminder. Just then her phone buzzed. 13 missed calls from her brother asking where she was. She didn't reply and slipped the phone into her hoodie. Samir didn't like her speaking to her family.

"You twist every argument to make me seem like the villian", she remembered him saying as he snatched her phone mid conversation and threw it across the room. 

But he was right. She was the one who made him angry. Had she learnt to shut up and not question him, none of this would have happened. Samir wasn't always like this. There was a time he would bring her flowers on his way home from work and hold her hand while crossing the road. She firmly believed that man was still there, the man who truly loved her. And she could bring him back if she tried hard enough. 

Yes, she could do it. 

Saira spent the remaining part of the day tirelessly scrubbing the entire house clean, hanging streamers and making flower arrangements. She had even managed to bake a cake- chocolate with vanilla frosting, Samir's favourite. She went back to her room to get ready to surprise him. She meticulously covered the array of bruises on her face and neck with concealer. 

Everything had to be perfect today.

She carefully decorated the cake with flowers and topped it with candles. That's when she heard the door handle turn. She walked towards the living room, holding the cake in her hands with a smile plastered on her face in an attempt to mask her lingering uncertainty. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

As she walked to surprise Samir, she suddenly froze. She saw a trail of blood leading from the hallway towards the backdoor of the house. A chill ran down her spine and she slowly followed the trail, her hands trembling while she desperately attempted to not drop the cake.

The back door stood ajar.

Through the narrow gap she saw Samir, dragging something covered in a large black plastic covering across the floor. His clothes were stained with something dark and a look of absolute terror was plastered on his face and he loaded the black bag into the trunk of his car. 

Suddenly a hand slipped out.

Saira's stomach churned violently as the cake dropped out of her hands. Her hand covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress a sob as tears rolled down her face. Saira staggered further towards the door but her legs gave out and she fell onto the floor. 

The hand was covered with bruises.

Bruises she recognised.

That's when the memories came rushing back.

Samir yelling.

Her voice trembling as she apologised to him again and again.

The smell of alcohol on his breath. 

A violent shove.

Her head hitting the side of the dining table.

Warm blood running down her face.

Samir kicking her violently even after she stopped responding.

Saira stumbled backwards, her body as cold as ice as the realisation hit her.

The pain

The bruises

The exhaustion 

None of it had happened this morning.

Because this morning had never happened.

Outside Samir shoved her hand back into the plastic bag and slammed the trunk shut. 

The cake which she had so meticulously baked was now squished beyond recognition. 

Everything had to be perfect.

The phrase slowly repeated in her head as Samir drove away, disappearing into darkness. 

There is something wrong with my sister.

Of course no one would believe it if I say it to their faces but I just know it. 

To begin with her skin, which should have been tanned and burnt after the 6 months she spent photographing birds in the Amazon, is rather paler and fairer. Moreover her eyes, which were always dull and jaded were now alert and darker, almost as if they hungered for something. 

Last night, I woke up around 3am to get myself a glass of water. As I was drinking the water, my back leaning on the countertop, I felt a cold hand brush my shoulder.

The glass slipped from my hand with a loud clang as I instinctively jolted and staggered backwards. 

"Jeez Anna, you scared me", I whispered to my sister who stood in front of me, while attempting to calm down my rapid breathing and racing heart. 

Anna's eyes were even bigger and darker now, glinting with a strange hunger I couldn't name. And her pale skin almost glowed, in contrast to the cold, dark surroundings. 

"Go to sleep", she said, her voice sounding flat and measured as she turned around to go to her room.

Still shaken, I bent down to pick up the glass of water and that's when I saw it.

Anna's feet were backwards. 

Hey there. My name is Rhea Gupta. I am currently 25 years old and work as a senior programmer at a top multinational company. But when I was 18 years old, something happened to me, an incident so horrific that I still have nightmares about it. Something so bone-chilling that it completely changed my perspective of this world and the people in whom I bestow my trust.

Today, I am sharing my story in an attempt to warn people to never judge a book by its cover and to be extremely cautious before placing their trust in someone, because sometimes the people closest to us are nothing like what they seem.

After finishing Class 12, I joined XYZ College in New Delhi, one of the finest engineering colleges in the entire country. Since I was born and brought up in Delhi, I did not have much trouble fitting in. I made many new friends and within a span of two weeks had my own friend circle to hang out with. Along with me was my friend Rohan. Rohan and I had known each other since Class 11 and were very close friends. From eating ice cream in the school canteen to playing badminton together during recess, we were inseparable. I was elated to know that we had gotten into the same university, as it was nice to have someone you know with you in a new environment.

In my hostel lived another girl named Khushi. Khushi belonged to a tier-3 city, because of which she found Delhi to be absolutely new and quite overwhelming. She found it very difficult to adjust to the food, the people, the language, and the overall lifestyle of Delhi. During her first semester, I helped her out a lot. I helped improve her English and taught her how to bargain with local shop owners. We even went to the mall together to pick out new clothes. We became good friends, and she used to tell me stories from her village and about her family. I even introduced her to Rohan, and they exchanged Instagram IDs. After a few weeks, I found out that they were dating, which made me extremely happy. I was delighted by the fact that two of my closest friends were dating, and life was going well, until it was not.

Over the span of the next few months, I saw Khushi change. She was no longer the innocent, coy, and quiet girl from a village. Her pastel-coloured kurtis and oxidised jhumkas were replaced by short dresses and heavy makeup. Moreover, it was not just her changed look, she was now bolder and gutsier. She flirted with other guys in our college despite being in a relationship with Rohan. Additionally, she had stopped talking to me as much as she did before. I always took this as Khushi enjoying her newfound freedom and never paid much attention to it, as I had my own friend circle. But the incident that followed completely changed the way I viewed Khushi.

It was one week before finals. During this time, I used to study in the library late till around 11–11:30 p.m. and then walk back to my hostel. There were two paths connecting the library to the girls’ hostel. One was the longer route, which took me about 20 minutes to cover, and the other was a shortcut, which took only about 10 minutes. The shortcut was a deserted pathway running through a forested part of our college campus, dimly illuminated only by oddly distributed street lamps. As I was walking along this path as usual, what I saw shook me completely. It was Khushi, kissing a boy from our college behind one of the street lamps. To prevent being seen by either of them, I scurried away as soon as possible and reached my hostel. The next day, I called Rohan and told him everything I had seen. He was absolutely shocked and unable to believe what I had told him. He said he would talk to Khushi and get back to me.

A few days passed, and my health started declining rapidly. It began with slight weakness and minor headaches but soon progressed into extreme tiredness and blinding headaches. I felt constant pain throughout my body and, at times, couldn’t even get up without external support. Moreover, my hair had started falling out, and my skin became pale and devoid of colour. My brain was foggy all the time, and I couldn’t focus on anything. I also started having memory issues. I went to countless doctors and got numerous tests done, but they couldn’t diagnose me with anything conclusive. All my test reports came back normal, and the doctors always sent me home after a glucose drip and vitamin prescriptions. But I knew something was wrong with me, almost as if something dark and sinister had latched onto me and was completely sucking out my energy. However, my friends knew about my condition and were very supportive and helpful. They took me from my hostel to my classes and back and were constantly there for me. Even the warden was extremely caring and supportive and took care of me like her own daughter.

However, during this time, Rohan never reached out to me. He kept making excuses about being busy with academics and internships and never even came to visit. Finally, after a lot of nudging, he told me that Khushi did not like him talking to other girls and asked me to be understanding and respect his boundaries. Even though I was disheartened and annoyed, I did not press further and decided to let him go. A few more days passed, and my condition continued to worsen. I started having mild hallucinations and headaches that caused me to pass out. My parents kept insisting that I come back home until I got better and had even decided to organise a pooja for my well-being.

Ironically, during this time of misery, I often observed Khushi. She had now completely morphed into the person I once was-outgoing, charming, and loved by all. It was almost as if all my energy had been transferred into her.

Then came the incident, something that completely changed the course of my life forever. It was late afternoon, and I was walking towards my hostel after attending my classes. As soon as I reached the hostel gates, my vision went blurry, my legs lost all sensation, and I passed out. My room was on the fifth floor, and the lifts were closed due to a quarterly maintenance check. Therefore, the warden decided to let me rest in Khushi’s room, which was on the ground floor, until I felt better and could get back on my feet.

After being passed out for almost two hours, I woke up still feeling dizzy and disoriented. I found myself in an unfamiliar, empty room. Feeling exhausted even after two hours of sleep, I stumbled across the room and started searching through the drawers, hoping to find something to eat. As I opened one of the drawers, my blood ran cold and my hands and feet went completely numb. It was a voodoo doll. It had black-coloured hair strands carefully woven into it and needles sticking out all over. The doll’s head was damaged, almost as if someone had used their nails to claw at it.

Still unable to process what I had just seen, I started digging through the entire room with the remaining strength I had, hoping to find something else that might answer the countless questions bursting in my head. As I searched through clothes, books, and other objects, I came across a small cabinet that I had somehow missed. As I opened the cabinet, a chill ran down my spine, and my hands and legs began to shake uncontrollably, as I knew I was never supposed to see what I saw that day. It was a solo picture of mine, covered in blood and surrounded by black-coloured candles placed symmetrically over a star-like tapestry on the ground made with white powder. My brain felt overloaded as it joined the dots together. All the pain and weakness finally started to make sense.

Still shaking, I rushed out of the room and called the warden and a few other girls from the floor. The last thing I heard was Khushi screaming as she was being dragged away by the college security before I passed out again.

A week passed after the incident. My parents took me to a temple, where the pandit performed some rituals that made me feel much better and relaxed. Khushi was permanently rusticated from the college on the grounds of performing black magic and engaging in occult practices. Everything was normal now, but irrespective of that, something did not sit right with me. That photograph, where did Khushi get it from? I was a very private person. I hardly ever posted anything on social media, and even if I did, it was usually group pictures with friends.

I had an old habit of reading my old chats with people; for me, it was a trip down memory lane. I was reading my old chat with Rohan. I missed him. Even after the incident, he never reached out to talk to me, which was disheartening. As I scrolled further up the chat, my fingers suddenly froze. There it was, the same photograph. A solo picture of me, one I remembered taking casually in my hostel room during my first year. I had sent it to Rohan late one night, joking about how exhausted I looked after classes. My chest tightened as the realisation hit me. The betrayal hurt more than the fear ever had. It wasn’t just black magic that had drained me; it was trust placed in the wrong hands.

That day, I learned a lesson I will carry for the rest of my life, sometimes the most dangerous people aren’t strangers lurking in the dark, but the ones who smile at you in the light.

Saira woke up to the sound of her alarm. It was 4am in the morning. She rolled over to the other side of the bed, but Samir wasn't there. She used her hands to thrust herself upwards but she winced in pain, her hand automatically going to the left side of her stomach where Samir had kicked her last night. She lifted her kurta only to see a purple bruise spreading across her skin, dark at the centre and fading into blue and yellow around the edges. But it was her fault. She knew Samir didn't like it when she talked back to him. Had she stayed quiet at dinner, none of this would have happened. At least that's what she told herself each time. 

She got up, determined not to make any more mistakes today, after all it was Samir's birthday today. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

She got ready and walked towards the wardrobe. She looked at all the half sleeved kurtis and dresses that were pushed towards the side of the closet, her hand automatically drifted towards a bright yellow dress, the one she wore when Samir took her out for their first anniversary. She remembered how happy she felt when he told her how beautiful she looked as he brushed a strand of her hair past her face. She often wondered what went wrong. She snapped back to reality and picked a dark hoodie with long sleeves, as it was the only thing that could cover the bruises scattered all over her arms. She went to the living room, quietly arranging the disheveled room and picking up the empty alcohol bottles scattered all over the floor. Samir hated mess. She had learned this loud and clear when she had accidentally spilled his coffee. The three stitch marks just above her eyebrow served a permanent reminder. Just then her phone buzzed. 13 missed calls from her brother asking where she was. She didn't reply and slipped the phone into her hoodie. Samir didn't like her speaking to her family.

"You twist every argument to make me seem like the villian", she remembered him saying as he snatched her phone mid conversation and threw it across the room. 

But he was right. She was the one who made him angry. Had she learnt to shut up and not question him, none of this would have happened. Samir wasn't always like this. There was a time he would bring her flowers on his way home from work and hold her hand while crossing the road. She firmly believed that man was still there, the man who truly loved her. And she could bring him back if she tried hard enough. 

Yes, she could do it. 

Saira spent the remaining part of the day tirelessly scrubbing the entire house clean, hanging streamers and making flower arrangements. She had even managed to bake a cake- chocolate with vanilla frosting, Samir's favourite. She went back to her room to get ready to surprise him. She meticulously covered the array of bruises on her face and neck with concealer. 

Everything had to be perfect today.

She carefully decorated the cake with flowers and topped it with candles. That's when she heard the door handle turn. She walked towards the living room, holding the cake in her hands with a smile plastered on her face in an attempt to mask her lingering uncertainty. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

As she walked to surprise Samir, she suddenly froze. She saw a trail of blood leading from the hallway towards the backdoor of the house. A chill ran down her spine and she slowly followed the trail, her hands trembling while she desperately attempted to not drop the cake.

The back door stood ajar.

Through the narrow gap she saw Samir, dragging something covered in a large black plastic covering across the floor. His clothes were stained with something dark and a look of absolute terror was plastered on his face and he loaded the black bag into the trunk of his car. 

Suddenly a hand slipped out.

Saira's stomach churned violently as the cake dropped out of her hands. Her hand covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress a sob as tears rolled down her face. Saira staggered further towards the door but her legs gave out and she fell onto the floor. 

The hand was covered with bruises.

Bruises she recognised.

That's when the memories came rushing back.

Samir yelling.

Her voice trembling as she apologised to him again and again.

The smell of alcohol on his breath. 

A violent shove.

Her head hitting the side of the dining table.

Warm blood running down her face.

Samir kicking her violently even after she stopped responding.

Saira stumbled backwards, her body as cold as ice as the realisation hit her.

The pain

The bruises

The exhaustion 

None of it had happened this morning.

Because this morning had never happened.

Outside Samir shoved her hand back into the plastic bag and slammed the trunk shut. 

The cake which she had so meticulously baked was now squished beyond recognition. 

Everything had to be perfect.

The phrase slowly repeated in her head as Samir drove away, disappearing into darkness. 

Saira woke up to the sound of her alarm. It was 4am in the morning. She rolled over to the other side of the bed, but Samir wasn't there. She used her hands to thrust herself upwards but she winced in pain, her hand automatically going to the left side of her stomach where Samir had kicked her last night. She lifted her kurta only to see a purple bruise spreading across her skin, dark at the centre and fading into blue and yellow around the edges. But it was her fault. She knew Samir didn't like it when she talked back to him. Had she stayed quiet at dinner, none of this would have happened. At least that's what she told herself each time. 

She got up, determined not to make any more mistakes today, after all it was Samir's birthday today. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

She got ready and walked towards the wardrobe. She looked at all the half sleeved kurtis and dresses that were pushed towards the side of the closet, her hand automatically drifted towards a bright yellow dress, the one she wore when Samir took her out for their first anniversary. She remembered how happy she felt when he told her how beautiful she looked as he brushed a strand of her hair past her face. She often wondered what went wrong. She snapped back to reality and picked a dark hoodie with long sleeves, as it was the only thing that could cover the bruises scattered all over her arms. She went to the living room, quietly arranging the disheveled room and picking up the empty alcohol bottles scattered all over the floor. Samir hated mess. She had learned this loud and clear when she had accidentally spilled his coffee. The three stitch marks just above her eyebrow served a permanent reminder. Just then her phone buzzed. 13 missed calls from her brother asking where she was. She didn't reply and slipped the phone into her hoodie. Samir didn't like her speaking to her family.

"You twist every argument to make me seem like the villian", she remembered him saying as he snatched her phone mid conversation and threw it across the room. 

But he was right. She was the one who made him angry. Had she learnt to shut up and not question him, none of this would have happened. Samir wasn't always like this. There was a time he would bring her flowers on his way home from work and hold her hand while crossing the road. She firmly believed that man was still there, the man who truly loved her. And she could bring him back if she tried hard enough. 

Yes, she could do it. 

Saira spent the remaining part of the day tirelessly scrubbing the entire house clean, hanging streamers and making flower arrangements. She had even managed to bake a cake- chocolate with vanilla frosting, Samir's favourite. She went back to her room to get ready to surprise him. She meticulously covered the array of bruises on her face and neck with concealer. 

Everything had to be perfect today.

She carefully decorated the cake with flowers and topped it with candles. That's when she heard the door handle turn. She walked towards the living room, holding the cake in her hands with a smile plastered on her face in an attempt to mask her lingering uncertainty. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

As she walked to surprise Samir, she suddenly froze. She saw a trail of blood leading from the hallway towards the backdoor of the house. A chill ran down her spine and she slowly followed the trail, her hands trembling while she desperately attempted to not drop the cake.

The back door stood ajar.

Through the narrow gap she saw Samir, dragging something covered in a large black plastic covering across the floor. His clothes were stained with something dark and a look of absolute terror was plastered on his face and he loaded the black bag into the trunk of his car. 

Suddenly a hand slipped out.

Saira's stomach churned violently as the cake dropped out of her hands. Her hand covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress a sob as tears rolled down her face. Saira staggered further towards the door but her legs gave out and she fell onto the floor. 

The hand was covered with bruises.

Bruises she recognised.

That's when the memories came rushing back.

Samir yelling.

Her voice trembling as she apologised to him again and again.

The smell of alcohol on his breath. 

A violent shove.

Her head hitting the side of the dining table.

Warm blood running down her face.

Samir kicking her violently even after she stopped responding.

Saira stumbled backwards, her body as cold as ice as the realisation hit her.

The pain

The bruises

The exhaustion 

None of it had happened this morning.

Because this morning had never happened.

Outside Samir shoved her hand back into the plastic bag and slammed the trunk shut. 

The cake which she had so meticulously baked was now squished beyond recognition. 

Everything had to be perfect.

The phrase slowly repeated in her head as Samir drove away, disappearing into darkness. 

Kirti sat at the table, her face being illuminated by the faint glow of the table lamp, revealing her tired eyes and the dark circles that were etched into her face as a result of countless sleepless nights. Even though her hands sifted through the piles of notes scattered on the desk, her mind was someplace else. Yet, she was trying to memorise the remaining pages of organic chemistry for tomorrow's assignment. She couldn't yet again bear to see the disappointed look on her mother's face. She couldn't remember the last time her mother smiled at her, hugged her, or talked to her about anything apart from colleges, ranks and academics. She took off her glasses and leaned back on her chair, hands automatically reaching her forehead which throbbed with pain. She couldn't remember the last time when it didn't feel like the entire world was closing in on her. As she closed her eyes, her brain drifted to the first time she had solved a complex math problem. She remembered reading each line twice and breaking it down into smaller steps and how her dad beamed with pride as she got it right. Maths felt enjoyable then, the Kirti then felt like she could conquer the world with just algebra. She wanted to go back to the time when studying felt like discovery and not survival. Now she felt repulsed by her textbooks and each solved question made her realise how far she was from her goal rather than bringing her closer to it. She rubbed her eyes and checked the time- 1am. Even though she sat motionless, staring at the clock, she wanted to scream. She just wanted one night of sound sleep which was not plagued by the thoughts of constant comparison, the intense competition and fear of not being good enough. 

She just wanted to escape. 

She grabbed her glasses and walked to the balcony. The air outside felt cold on her tear stained face as her frail hands grabbed the railing. The house was quiet. While everyone was asleep, lost in the world of dreams, Kirti was forced to be surrounded by notes, highlighters, deadlines and expectations. She walked back to her room, wiping the fresh tears that rolled down her face, hoping to finish the remaining syllabus. As she turned the page she felt something trickle down the side of her head and fall onto the paper. As she reached her hand to forehead, a bloodcurdling scream tore the house. Kirti got startled as she saw her mother fall onto her knees in the balcony, holding her head in her hands. As Kirti attempted to get up and walk towards her mother she felt a warm liquid trickle down her neck. She raised her fingers and stared at them with horror. It was blood. As she turned her face towards the mirror, she screamed at the gruelling sight she saw. Her hair was disheveled, clinging to her skin smeared with blood and dust. Her glasses were shattered, the glass fragments sticking all over her face. Blood oozed out of a deep gash on the side of her head, slowly soaking her entire shirt. Her lips were split open and one side of her face began to swell unnaturally.  Her limbs were bent in the wrong directions, twisted in ways the human body never should.  

As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, she realised that the weight on her chest was finally gone. Somewhere in the silence beyond the screams and sirens, Kirti smiled. She could finally breathe.