Lost Myself

Later that evening, the house grew quieter, the thick silence broken only by the ticking of the grand clock in the hall.

Sanya was making her way down the corridor, holding a small stack of fresh towels against her chest, when she heard a soft click behind her.

She turned—

—and found Kareena standing there.

Alone.

Smiling.

But it wasn't the kind of smile that warmed a room.

It was the kind that made the air turn cold.

"My dear," Kareena said sweetly, stepping closer. "A word?"

Sanya swallowed, her hands tightening slightly around the towels. She gave a small nod.

Kareena moved with slow, graceful steps, circling her like a predator sizing up prey.

"You must feel quite lucky," Kareena whispered, her voice low and honeyed. "Living here… having Aarush's name attached to yours. Even if you don't deserve it."

Sanya lowered her gaze, saying nothing.

Kareena's smile sharpened. "Poor little Sanya. All alone now, aren't you? No father to protect you. No one to tell the world what really happened that night."

Sanya stiffened—almost imperceptibly—but Kareena caught it.

She leaned in closer, her perfume thick and suffocating.

Her voice was a blade wrapped in velvet.

"You know the truth, don't you?" Kareena murmured, almost tenderly. "You know you're innocent."

Sanya's breath hitched.

"And yet," Kareena continued, her tone now coated in venom, "you will stay silent. You will keep carrying their hatred like a good little scapegoat."

She brushed an invisible speck from Sanya's shoulder, a mocking, motherly gesture.

"Because if you even think about digging into the past," she whispered against Sanya's ear, "I will make sure you regret ever breathing."

Sanya froze, the blood draining from her face.

Kareena pulled back, beaming like they had just shared a pleasant conversation.

At that moment, footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. Aarush.

Kareena instantly masked herself with sugary sweetness, turning to greet him with a bright smile.

"There you are, darling," she called lightly. "I was just getting to know your... wife."

Aarush barely glanced at Sanya as he passed, his face carved from stone.

Sanya stood there, crushed beneath the weight of the silent threat in Kareena's words—and the deeper, heavier ache of knowing that the one person she had hoped might someday see her truth… was blind by choice.

Her fingers curled tightly into the towels until her knuckles whitened.

But she said nothing.

Only pressed her lips together—and swallowed her scream.

The sun dipped lower behind the mansion's tall walls, casting long shadows through the marble halls.

Sanya had just finished folding the laundry when Kareena's shrill, dramatic voice rang out from the living room.

"Aarush!" Kareena cried, clutching her wrist as if wounded. "She pushed me!"

Sanya froze at the entrance, wide-eyed.

"No— I didn't—" she started, stepping forward, confusion clouding her face.

But Aarush was already there, his steps hard, deliberate.

His cold eyes landed on her like a blade.

"You dare to touch her?" he snapped, voice cutting through the room like a whip.

Sanya stumbled back a step, clutching the laundry cloth to her chest.

"I—I didn't—" her voice shook, small and trembling.

Kareena sniffled, dabbing the corner of her eye with a silk handkerchief.

"I was only asking her politely to move a vase," she said innocently. "And she shoved me. Such anger… so dangerous."

It was a lie.

A complete, crafted lie.

Sanya hadn't even been near her.

But Aarush didn't give her the chance to explain.

"You're nothing but a curse," Aarush hissed, stepping closer, towering over her. His scent—sharp cologne and rage—filled her senses. "Everywhere you go, you bring destruction. First my family… and now here."

Sanya's breath caught painfully in her throat.

Her fingers trembled.

"No…" she whispered, but the word barely left her lips.

He sneered. "Don't pretend to be innocent, Sanya. I've seen enough of you."

Her heart cracked right there in her chest.

Not from the words—but from the way he said them.

As if she was filth he couldn't bear to look at.

Kareena stood behind him, smiling softly into her hand, pretending to weep.

"I should have known," Aarush muttered, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. "People like you... you rot everything you touch."

Tears burned the back of Sanya's eyes, but she blinked rapidly, forcing them back.

She didn't argue.

She didn't beg.

She only stood there — small, wounded, and utterly silent — clutching the stupid laundry cloth like it could protect her from the storm.

When he turned and left, his heavy footsteps fading down the corridor, Kareena brushed past her, whispering under her breath:

"Poor thing. Always in the wrong place… ruining lives."

Sanya finally exhaled, the breath shaky and broken.

The room was spinning slightly, but she stayed rooted to the spot.

Alone again.

Falsely accused again.

And this time, even her tears refused to fall

because somewhere deep inside, she was starting to realize...

Maybe Aarush never intended to see her truth at all.

The house felt larger now.

Quieter.

Colder.

Since the night of the party, when Aarush had humiliated her in front of everyone, Sanya had barely been seen, barely been heard.

She moved like a shadow—drifting through the halls, slipping through doorways—always careful not to disturb.

Aarush liked it that way.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Every time he caught a glimpse of her—walking with her head bowed, fingers curled tightly against her sides—it should have pleased him.

It should have felt like justice.

But sometimes...

sometimes there was an odd tightness in his chest that he refused to name.

He buried it under work, under anger, under endless meetings and sleepless nights.

---

One evening, Aarush returned home earlier than usual.

He loosened his tie with a rough hand, tossing his briefcase onto the console table. The entire house was steeped in silence, save for the ticking of the antique clock.

No sign of her.

Good.

He hated the way her presence made the air feel heavier around him.

Hated how her silence sometimes screamed louder than any words.

But as he walked past the drawing room, something caught his eye.

A small, crumpled figure by the balcony door.

---

Sanya.

Asleep.

Not on the couch, not in her room.

On the cold marble floor, still wearing the same simple cotton dress from the morning.

A folded bedsheet lay half-finished beside her, one corner slipping from her tired fingers. Her bare feet were tucked under her, her arms curled protectively around herself like a child.

The moonlight spilled across her face, highlighting the faint purple shadows under her eyes, the paleness of her cheeks.

And near her elbow...

the edge of an untreated wound peeked out—a scratch left raw and red.

She hadn't even bothered to clean it properly.

As if she was used to bleeding quietly.

Aarush's throat felt oddly tight.

His fists clenched at his sides.

Why are you looking?

Why do you even care?

He shook his head sharply and turned away.

He didn't wake her.

He didn't cover her.

He simply left—letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft, final click.

If she was cold, if she was hurt—it was her own fault.

Wasn't it?

---

The next morning, Sanya awoke before sunrise.

Stiff, sore, her body aching in too many places to count.

She didn't cry.

She didn't even sigh.

She simply rose, folded the bedsheet with slow, numb fingers, and carried on—like she always did.

When Aarush came downstairs, she was already in the kitchen, preparing coffee.

She didn't meet his eyes.

And he didn't speak to her.

The only acknowledgment between them was the brief clink of a cup against the saucer as she placed it before him.

Her hands trembled slightly—but she kept them steady.

Because Sanya had learned something far more painful than hatred.

She had learned how to survive in complete indifference.

And sometimes, that hurt worse than anything.