The weight of Shadow(Part-2)

Mira lay sprawled on the bed, not quite asleep, not quite awake — just suspended in that heavy numbness that comes when the world feels too loud and too far at the same time. The light in her room was dim, and so was her soul; the walls felt like they were breathing with her, slow and tired, filled with all the things she didn't say. Her books were strewn across the floor like casualties of another academic battle she had no will to fight, and her report card — the one she had hidden under her mattress — pulsed in her mind like a buried wound. Her parents hadn't said anything this time, and somehow, that silence screamed louder than any scolding. Their words were now replaced by glances, the disappointed kind, quiet but bruising, as if she had become a problem too delicate to fix, too hopeless to invest energy in. And across the hall lived perfection — Elara — her sister, her mirror, her opposite. Elara, who never left tea cups on tables or forgot to close the fridge. Elara, whose schedule was laminated, whose notebooks looked like they belonged in a museum, who never made mistakes loud enough to echo. Mira told herself she didn't care — that Elara was boring, robotic, and too consumed by what other people wanted from her. But tonight, the lie felt heavier. Because even if she would never admit it aloud, a part of her — a small, bitter, hurting part — wanted to be looked at the way Elara was. Wanted to matter in the way Elara did. And yet, unknown to her, Elara sat just beyond that same wall, staring at a page filled with perfect handwriting and feeling like she was drowning beneath it. The weight of being the good one, the stable one, the example, was pressing down on her chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe, hard to feel, hard to be. Her entire life had become a carefully performed role — the dependable daughter, the responsible student, the one who made everything look easy even when it wasn't. She got praised, yes, but she never got asked how she was doing — not really. No one ever thought she could break. No one checked for cracks because they were too blinded by the shine. And every time Mira's name was brought up, it was followed by a sigh, or a nervous shake of the head, or worse — a comparison. Elara was tired of being held up like a standard she never asked to be. She envied Mira's freedom — the freedom to fail without falling, to exist without always being measured. Mira didn't have to smile when she didn't want to, didn't have to carry the invisible burden of keeping everything and everyone together. "It must be easier to be her," Elara thought, bitterly. And there it was — two sisters, each believing the other had it easier, each failing to see the storm inside the other. They did not fight. They did not talk. But every silence between them was louder than the last. Mira saw Elara as the golden girl — distant, adored, and untouchable. Elara saw Mira as the rebel with no chains — unburdened, unbothered, free. And the truth — the painful, aching truth — was that both were wrong. Both were hurting in the shadows of a love they did not feel. Both were surviving in their own ways. And neither knew how desperately the other needed to be seen — not as the responsible one, not as the disappointment — but simply as two girls breaking quietly under different kinds of pressure, waiting for someone, anyone, to say, "I see you."

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❤️ Author's note ❤️

Hi,

If you're reading this, I want to say thank you — truly, from the bottom of my heart. Writing The Weight of Her Shadow isn't just about storytelling for me. It's about pouring pieces of my soul onto the page — the quiet pain, the misunderstood silences, the invisible comparisons, and the invisible strength too.

In this chapter, Mira and Elara are both hurting in ways they don't know how to speak about, and maybe... you've felt that too. Maybe you've looked at someone else and thought, "They have it easier," while hiding your own battles behind tired smiles or locked doors. If you have, I hope you felt seen while reading this. I hope you know that even if no one around you understands what you're carrying, someone, somewhere — even if it's just a writer like me — is trying to write your pain into poetry, your silence into something meaningful.

You are not weak for feeling too much. You are not wrong for struggling. You are human, and that's more than enough.

I'm still learning, growing, and figuring life out like Mira and Elara. But one thing I know for sure is that stories have the power to heal. To hold us when we don't have the words. To remind us that we're never really alone.

Thank you for staying with me on this journey. If this chapter made your heart feel heavy or warm or anything in between, I hope you carry its softness with you today. And if no one told you lately — you're doing really, really well. I'm proud of you.

With all my heart,

– Aarya ♡