The worn wooden swing creaked rhythmically as Malah pumped her legs, soaring high above the dusty ground. Her laughter, a melody defying the gloom of the neglected backyard, reached a crescendo with each upward arc. But the joy was short-lived.
Suddenly, a shove. A strong force sent her hurtling sideways. The world tilted, the ground rushing up to meet her. A choked scream ripped from her throat as she tumbled, landing with a painful thud on the unforgiving earth. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the angry face looming over her.
"Serves you right, crybaby!" sneered Asif, her older brother. At 16, he was already a tower of a boy, his face marred by a permanent scowl.
Malah, all of twelve, was no match for him.Scrambling to her feet, she brushed off the dirt, stung by the injustice.
"Why'd you do that?" she demanded, her voice trembling.Asif scoffed. "Just showing you your place, little one."
He turned to leave, his departing kick sending a puff of dust into her face.Malah fought back the tears, the familiar sting of rejection raw in her throat. Running inside, she sought solace in the dimly lit kitchen.
Her mother, hunched over a steaming pot of curry, didn't look up when she entered.
"Ammi," Malah choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears.Her mother finally glanced up, her expression etched with annoyance.
"What is it now, Malah? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Malah hesitated, then blurted out, "Asif pushed me off the swing."
A frown creased her mother's forehead. Before Malah could elaborate, a booming voice filled the room.
"What's all this noise about?"Her father, a burly man with a perpetually gruff demeanor, stood at the doorway. Asif, sensing trouble, slunk in behind him.Malah, emboldened by her father's presence, pointed at Asif.
"He pushed me!"Her mother's gaze snapped to her.
"Don't lie, Malah! You probably tripped yourself again."The denial, sharp and unexpected, sliced through Malah's already bruised heart. Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and silent.
"But Ammi, it's true!"
Before she could explain further, her mother's hand whipped out, stinging across her cheek.
"Don't you dare talk back to me!" she roared.The slap resonated not just on her face, but in the hollow space where love should have been.
Malah recoiled, clutching her cheek, the pain a dull ache compared to the crushing weight of her mother's indifference.
Asif smirked, a silent victor in this war of affection.
Malah ran from the kitchen, the sting of the slap a stark counterpoint to the cold emptiness within her. She found refuge in her tiny room, burying her face in her pillow as the sobs wracked her small frame.
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The shrill ring of the doorbell sliced through the tension that hung thick in the air. Malah, still sniffling from the previous scene, wiped her tears and crept towards the door, hoping to avoid another confrontation.Her mother, however, emerged from the kitchen, eyes scanning the room before settling on Malah.
"There you are! Go answer the door, can't you just be useful once in a while?"Malah mumbled an acknowledgement and opened the door to find her aunt beaming on the doorstep.
Greetings were exchanged, and soon, the living room buzzed with excited chatter. The topic of conversation, however, wasn't lost on Malah.
"Did you hear, Asif got accepted into National University!" her aunt announced, her eyes sparkling with pride. "Such a bright young man, just like his father."
Malah's heart sank. Asif's grades were mostly average, boosted only by his talent in cricket. Yet, he was praised like a conquering hero.Her mother joined in, her face glowing.
"Yes, yes! We're so proud of him. He's going to achieve great things, unlike some people here." A pointed glance shot towards Malah left no room for misinterpretation.
Malah swallowed the lump in her throat. Just last year, she'd brought home a gold medal in the inter-school debate competition. Back then, her mother's reaction had been lukewarm at best.
"Debate? That's child's play, Malah. Anyone can win an argument," she'd dismissed. "Focus on your studies instead, if you can manage that."
Malah clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. All the trophies and certificates lining her shelf seemed to mock her now. Nothing she ever did seemed to be good enough.
"But Asif wants to pursue business management," her aunt chimed in, oblivious to the silent storm brewing within Malah.
"He'll need your help, Malati (affectionate term for Malah), you with your... what was it again?"
"Accounting," Malah muttered, the word bitter on her tongue. Her dream of becoming a journalist, of using her voice to tell stories, felt like a distant fantasy.
"Accounting, right! Perfect! You can always be his assistant," her mother exclaimed, patting Asif's shoulder with forced affection.
Asif, basking in the attention, merely grunted in response.Malah felt a cold anger settle in her stomach.
It wasn't just the favoritism, it was the constant dismissal of her aspirations. Here, she wasn't a daughter with dreams, she was just an unwanted burden, a shadow cast by her more "successful" brother.
The doorbell rang again, pulling her out of her thoughts. This time, it was the mailman. As he handed her a thick envelope addressed to her, a flicker of hope ignited within her. It was the application form for the journalism scholarship she'd been secretly working on. Maybe, just maybe, this could be her ticket out.
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Malah's heart thumped a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she ripped open the envelope. Her fingers trembled as she scanned the official letterhead, her eyes fixated on the bold words:
"Congratulations! We are delighted to inform you..." Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the rest of the text. A full scholarship to study journalism at a prestigious university in Malaysia! Relief washed over her, a tidal wave erasing years of pent-up frustration.This was her chance, her escape route from the suffocating confines of her home. Yet, a familiar dread settled in her stomach.
She knew her parents wouldn't approve. The idea of their daughter venturing so far away, chasing a career they deemed frivolous, was unthinkable.Later that night, under the cloak of darkness, Malah spread the acceptance letter on her bed. Every word shimmered with the promise of a new life. But achieving that dream meant defying her parents. Sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned, her mind racing with a desperate plan.
Sneaking out was risky, but the yearning for freedom burned brighter than her fear. She meticulously inventoried her meager savings – birthday money, competition winnings, anything she could scrape together. It wouldn't be much, but it would have to do.Days turned into a whirlwind of activity. Malah researched travel options, her heart sinking with each exorbitant price tag. Finally, she stumbled upon a budget airline with a flight leaving the following week. She contacted her best friend, Amna, the only person she could confide in. Amna, ever supportive, promised to help with a place to stay until Malah got settled.
Packing was a bittersweet affair. Each item she tucked into her worn backpack held a memory, a fragment of a life she was leaving behind. On the eve of her departure, Malah wrote a short letter, her words filled with gratitude and a plea for understanding. It felt like a betrayal, yet necessary.
As the first rays of dawn painted the sky a pale orange, Malah stood at the threshold of her room, one last glance at the place that had never truly felt like home. Taking a deep breath, she shouldered her backpack and slipped out the back door, the weight of the scholarship letter a comforting presence in her pocket. This wasn't goodbye, it was a hello – a hello to a future where her dreams wouldn't be dismissed, where her voice would be heard.
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what do you think of the story please tell me.what happened with malah when her family got to know about her escape.