Samaira Lakshmi Deshpande is caught between two worlds, two masks. Amidst the hunt for her missing twin and the pressure to fit her family's mold of the perfect daughter facade, she's trapped in a life she despises.
Everything shifts when a strange...
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November Bangalore, India
Samaira's POV
Time seems to stretch endlessly as we wait anxiously outside the operating theatre. The minutes feel like hours, each passing moment filled with worry and uncertainty. I'm lost in my thoughts when I hear a throat clearing beside me, and I turn to see Akash taking a seat next to me.
"Congratulations on the engagement," he says, his expression unreadable. I offer a faint "thanks" before turning my attention to my engagement ring, and tracing the band with my finger.
"I'm sorry that Zia and I couldn't make it," Akash continues, and I simply nod in response, not knowing what else to say. My brother walks closer and hands me a water bottle, but I push it away, feeling too anxious to drink anything.
"Ammu, take this," Adi urges, but I brush him off, feeling overwhelmed by the situation. "Adi, please. Just let me be," I say firmly, and he reluctantly withdraws the bottle.
Suddenly, we hear hurried footsteps, and I look up to see Aryan's parents approaching. We all rise to greet them, and they immediately inquire about Aryan's condition. Akash explains that he's in the operating theatre and that the extent of his injuries is unknown.
"Please, sit down," my brother offers, but Aryan's father declines, while his mother takes a seat. I remain standing, unable to tear my eyes away from the closed doors of the operating theatre.
"Beta, come here," Aryan's mother beckons, patting the seat beside her. I hesitate, but my brother nods encouragingly, so I hesitantly take a seat beside her.
"How did you know?" Aryan's mother's gentle inquiry pierces through the heavy silence, her hand resting comfortingly on my shoulder. I struggle to find the words, my gaze fixed on the floor, guilt weighing heavily on my heart.
"I-I was talking to him when he had the accident," I manage to choke out, the confession feeling like a heavy burden. The realization hits me hard - perhaps I was the reason for his distraction, the cause of his accident.
Tears well up in my eyes as I contemplate the possibility. What if it was because of me? If only he hadn't been talking to me, maybe this wouldn't have happened. The thought consumes me, drowning me in a sea of guilt and self-blame.
Aryan's mother reacts to my words, her touch gentle as she runs her fingers through my hair. "You heard the crash?" she asks softly, concern evident in her voice. I can only nod in response, unable to hold back the torrent of tears that escape my grasp.
"Maybe it was because of me," I whisper to myself, the weight of my guilt pressing down on me like a heavy burden. But Aryan's mother refuses to let me succumb to self-blame. "What nonsense. That wasn't because of you," she scolds gently, drawing closer to me in a comforting embrace.
Despite her reassurance, I can't shake off the feeling of responsibility. "It was because of me," I insist, muffling my words as I bury my face in my hands.
