The storm raged all around me. The sky loomed heavy and gray, and the world beneath my feet was drowning—as if a great flood had swallowed everything whole. Towering waves crashed violently, rising and falling like living creatures. I was in the middle of it, struggling to stay afloat, searching for someone. But who? I didn't know. All I knew was fear—deep, gut-wrenching fear that curled around my ribs and settled in my bones.
Chaos surrounded me, but then, cutting through the roaring water, a sound emerged—a faint alarm ringing somewhere in the distance. I couldn't focus on it. My arms ached from fighting the current, my legs burned with exhaustion. And then, just as another monstrous wave threatened to pull me under, I heard it—
"Avni, wake up."
A whisper. Soft, almost like a breath against my ear.
Mom?
My heart jolted, and in the next second, I was awake.
It always happened like this.
I lay still for a moment, my body heavy, my head throbbing, as if I had truly battled a storm. And then, slowly, a smile ghosted my lips.
What a fool.
I blinked and looked around. The tiny, cramped two-by-two room was silent except for the insistent beeping of my alarm, which had now turned from savior to nuisance. I groaned, dragging myself toward the table to turn it off. My phone was out of reach—I had forgotten to keep it close last night.
Another day had begun.
Since finishing school, my life had become a clockwork routine: wake up, get ready, go to work, come back, repeat. A monotonous loop with no escape.
As cold water from the shower hit my skin, my mind started its usual train ride of overthinking.
"Should I take an Ola today?"
"No, too expensive. I need to send money to Dad—his treatment depends on it."
"Two hours to the office, two hours back—that's four hours wasted just traveling. Nine hours of work on top of that."
"I should look for a job closer to home. But this one pays well…"
When I finished college, I had dreams. Big, bright, hopeful dreams. I thought corporate life would mean freedom, a chance to carve out my own future. But reality had other plans.
My father had been sick for over a year now, and his medical bills ate up almost my entire salary. By the time the month ended, I was left with barely enough to survive.
I had rented a house far from the city to save money, but now, every morning and evening, I cursed that decision.
Mom and Dad's marriage had been a battlefield, so mum separated from Papa long ago, taking me and Varsha with her. However, they never officially divorced. My father used to visit us and leave after fighting with Mom. Their fights were relentless, over things so small they became absurd—
"Your father promised a scooter at the wedding, and instead, he dumped his old one on me! Some 'good family' you came from."
"Oh, please. And what did you do? You poured kerosene over it and set it on fire. Great job."
Then came the shouting, the accusations, the slammed doors.
Watching them, Varsha and I made a silent pact: We would never marry.
After school, I started teaching at a local school while pursuing my degree. With both Mom and me earning, life started to look up. We weren't rich, but we were okay. Until we weren't.
One day, Mom fell sick. Chronic liver disease, the doctors said. We tried everything. But slowly, her body betrayed her.
We begged Dad for help.
"I don't have money," he said. And just like that, he walked away.
Then, one morning, she was gone.
Dad showed up for the funeral. It felt like he had been waiting for it, as if it was his duty, not a loss. I hated him for it. I wanted to scream, to push him away, but I had no strength left.
Varsha clung to me, her voice breaking, repeating the same words over and over—
"Avni, bring Mom back. You will, won't you?"
And I, failing to console her and myself, broken and helpless, whispered, "Yes, I will."
I tried to stop Dad from performing the last rites, but suddenly, relatives—people who had never once helped us—stood in my way.
"It's a husband's duty. Children shouldn't interfere."
And just like that, he won.
After the rituals, he turned to us.
"Pack your bags. You can't live here alone. I'll take care of you, What's the need to pay rent ?"
I didn't believe a word of it.
I stalled, lied about staying with our aunt for some time. He let it go.
To avoid any pressure from him me and Varaha went to stay with our aunt. At our aunt's house, I searched for jobs in a bigger city. Somewhere with a good salary, somewhere we could finally break free from him.
Varsha, despite everything, had topped her board exams. She was brilliant but born into the wrong family. It's painful. I want to give her everything.
I uploaded my resume to FindNaukri.com, and soon, calls started coming in. I got a job but not in school, it was a travel agent profile, I was desperate so grabbed that job. Sold whatever we didn't need, kept only Mom's books and a single bangle.
Before leaving, we sent Dad a message—
"I've got a good job. You don't have to worry about our expenses anymore."
And we left.
Life found a rhythm again. Varsha enrolled in an open university, attending weekend classes while working at a call center. I worked in a travel company—decent pay, long hours, but stable.
Then, one day, Dad called.
"I have cancer."
He wanted to see us.
We had no choice but to go.
Uncles and aunts were taking care of him, but they were struggling. When I saw him—weak, frail, a ghost of the man he used to be—I felt something shift inside me.
Despite everything, despite the past, I couldn't turn away.
I promised to help him financially.
Funny, isn't it? How life circles back.
How karma moves in loops.
Lost in thought, I stepped into the office—another day of work ahead of me, another storm brewing in my mind.