_______________________________________________________________________________________
It was a bright morning—the sun shone in the vast sky, golden and proud. Birds chirped their sweet melodies, and a cool breeze danced through the trees. Sunlight peeked playfully through cotton clouds, and the world shimmered as if dipped in gold.
Avyuktta Sharma was just twelve years old, yet carried the grace and kindness of someone far beyond her years. She was the kind of girl who always lent a helping hand, a warm shoulder, and a quiet smile. Brave, resilient, and mature—Avyuktta faced life’s trials with open arms, her spirit gentle, yet unyielding.
But the always-smiling Avyuktta broke for the first time when she lost her mother.
The world as she knew it crumbled. Her small, fourteen-year-old heart could not grasp the sudden, brutal absence of the woman who had been her entire universe. She wanted to comfort her father, who wept helplessly before her mother’s photograph, but she herself was drowning. And how do you lend strength to another when your own has been shattered?
She never imagined her grief would be betrayed so soon. Barely a year after her mother’s passing, her father remarried. Avyuktta swallowed her hurt in silence, hoping this would make her father whole again. And while he did find joy once more—it was a joy that excluded her. Slowly, painfully, things spiraled into darkness.
Her father began raising his hand against her.
By fifteen, Avyuktta had been reduced to a shadow of herself. Between school and endless household chores, she was treated like a servant. One mistake—one misplaced item, one forgotten errand—and her stepmother would strike. Her father, once the man she had adored, stood by silently. Sometimes, he too raised his hand.
She was bruised—her body, her spirit, her soul.
At school, the silence that enveloped her became a target. She was bullied, mocked, and isolated. Avyuktta suffered in every space she inhabited. Her pain was unseen, unheard. And when it became unbearable—when she attempted to end her life—it was her tormentors who saved her, only to brand her body with more scars.
By eighteen, her school years were behind her, but the prison of home remained. Her father refused to send her to college. Instead, she was caged within four walls, reduced to labor. The same girl who once glowed in her father's embrace now recoiled in fear at his footsteps.
. . . . .
One evening, she returned from the mart, a heavy bag of groceries in her arms. The words that followed shattered something deep within: her father and stepmother had met with an accident. Excessive bleeding. No survival. Gone.
The bag fell from her hands.
They were dead.
Not unconscious, not injured—dead.
Her body gave up, knees collapsing to the ground. For the first time in years, her face curled into a smile—one that turned into laughter. And then tears—tears that streamed from her eyes like the heavens had burst open. But her heart? It laughed in relief. She wasn't sad.
She was free.
Since she was no longer a minor, no guardianship was required. But it was her uncle and aunt who stepped forward and took her in—not out of duty, but out of love.
They had always been there.
When she was starving, they fed her. When she was bleeding, they bandaged her wounds. When she was broken, they held her. They were the ones who parented her, even when they were never asked to. With them, she completed her graduation. And though they encouraged her, they never forced her to pursue more than she wanted.
Still, the weight of her past clung to her like a ghost. Avyuktta, now twenty-four, rarely left her room. Her cousins tried everything to bring joy back into her life. So did her uncle and aunt. But she was still caged—not by hands this time, but by memory.
They understood.
They waited.
Because they knew healing takes time, and even the strongest souls sometimes need someone to remind them how to hope again.
One day, gently, her uncle brought up marriage. She gave them a soft, sad smile and said,
“Kyu hichkichana Chacha? Aapne mujhe doosri zindagi di hai. Dil se jo sahi lage, woh keh dijiye.”
Her uncle, Abhinav Sharma, kissed her forehead tenderly.
“Baccha… dard hota hai humein tujhe aise dekh ke… hamesha chhup ke rehti hai tu. Hamare liye tu Kanay ya Tripti se kam nahi hai.”
Her aunt, Anuradha, added softly,
“Bas yeh chahte hain ke tu khush rahe, beta.”
Avyuktta gave a soft smile—fragile, but sincere.
“Main theek hoon, Chachi. Mujhse zyada aap log pareshaan na ho, bas.”
But the silence that followed said more than words.
Her uncle finally spoke, hesitantly.
“Beta… ek ladke ke baare mein socha hai. Abhi kuch bola nahi hai unse. Agar tu mana karegi toh sab band kar denge.”
He was lying. They had already spoken. But her comfort came first.
“Aap dono mere liye sab kuch ho,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Aap toh jaante hain na, mujhe aap logon pe poora bharosa hai.”
Her uncle gently brushed back her hair.
“Jab tu paida hui thi, maine jab tujhe pehli baar haath pakda tha… usi din laga tha, yeh meri beti hai. Tujhe kabhi kuch nahi hone dunga.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Chacha…” she broke down, collapsing into his arms.
“Shhh… meri Avyu roti nahi hai,” he whispered into her hair.
“Aap dono ne mujhme jaan daali hai… aap kabhi galat nahi chunte. Jo theek lage, wahi kijiye,” she murmured, her arms wrapping around both of them.
And this time, her smile—her precious smile—glowed like sunlight.
As her uncle and aunt left the room, peace radiated from their faces. Their doubts were gone. Their hearts were full. Because now they knew—her healing had begun. And from here, joy would follow.
Forever.
_______________________________________________________________________________
That is it for the first chapter.Let me know what you think about it in the comments and please vote.
bye byee!
Write a comment ...