The weight of Shadow(part-4)

Episode 4: The Fire, the Lockdown, and Us.

The world may have gone silent during the lockdown, but inside their home, the noise only grew.

Elara was buried under the weight of online lectures, unending assignments, and the silent burden of being the eldest — the one expected to always be responsible. She rarely complained. Not when her eyes stung from screen time, not when her anxiety stayed curled up in her stomach like a fist, and not when the walls of the house felt like they were closing in. But while she drowned quietly, Mira was changing in ways Elara couldn't ignore.

It began with a new phone — gifted by their father, who worked tirelessly as a loan officer for a settled company, spending his evenings tending to his small farming land like it was therapy. "It's for school," he had said, handing Mira the shining device with a smile that held trust.

At first, Mira used it the way they all hoped she would. She attended online classes, watched educational videos, even asked Elara for help with links and notes. But slowly, that light began to fade. The books began to collect dust, and Mira began to glow in the eerie blue light of endless scrolling. Day turned into night, night into dawn — and Mira was still tapping, swiping, giggling at things that taught her nothing but distracted her completely.

Elara noticed the change.

She watched her sister morph into someone she didn't recognise — someone addicted to validation from strangers online, someone who snapped at the slightest suggestion to study, someone who no longer looked up from her screen unless scolded.

And so, Elara did what she thought was right: she told their mother.

It wasn't out of jealousy. It wasn't cruelty.

It was worry, frustration, fear. But Mira never saw that.

To Mira, Elara was just "snitching" — again.

"You seriously can't let me breathe, can you?" Mira spat one evening after being scolded. "You're not perfect, Elara. Stop acting like my second mother."

Elara stayed quiet. Because maybe she had heard that line one too many times.

But it didn't stop her. She continued trying. And each time she tried, the distance between them widened, stretching so far that it almost became permanent.

Then came the explosion.

Their mother, already exhausted from her own online teaching responsibilities as a school teacher, snapped one night after Mira ignored yet another assignment and lied about attending class.

"Mira, I've had enough!" she yelled. "Your grades are falling, your attitude is unbearable, and all you do is lie and scroll! You think this is a joke?"

"It's just a phone! Why does everyone act like I'm a criminal?" Mira fired back.

"Because you are ruining your life," her mother said coldly. "And since you don't respect this house, your studies, or the people trying to help you—"

There was a pause. A terrifying one. Then she said it.

"—you're going to a boarding school next term."

Silence. Even the walls felt it.

Mira's heart dropped. Her face crumbled, not with tears, but with betrayal.

"All thanks to Elara, right?" she whispered bitterly. "She can only light the fire. Never sees the damage."

Before anyone could respond, their mother snatched the phone from Mira's hand and turned to Elara. "You keep it. If she wants to behave like a child, she doesn't get to keep adult things."

Elara didn't argue. She just nodded, holding the phone like it was burning her fingers.

That night, Mira didn't cry.

She didn't speak.

She just sat on her bed, eyes wide open, arms crossed, rage thick in her silence. Elara tried to explain, once. "I only wanted to help—"

"Don't." Mira cut her off. "You help like fire helps paper."

The next few days turned colder than the lockdown winter. They didn't speak unless necessary. They shared a room, but not a world. Mira's hatred had crystallized. Her every glance toward Elara carried a silent war cry. The small fights had turned into battles. The battles were now a full-scale war.

And Elara? She was tired. Tired of trying. Tired of carrying the weight of being the only one who seemed to care enough to fight for a sister who only saw her as the villain.

But underneath all of it — the hatred, the fights, the punishment — there was one thing neither of them could say out loud:

They missed each other.

Terribly.

But neither was ready to admit it yet.

❤️ Author's note ❤️

Some wars don't begin with swords.

They begin with silence.

With a glance that feels colder than winter.

With a sentence that burns deeper than fire.

This episode wasn't easy to write — and maybe it wasn't easy to read either.

Because this time, we saw love trying to help… and still being misunderstood.

We saw Elara carry a burden that was never hers alone.

And we saw Mira—confused, overwhelmed, and slowly drowning in a world too fast for her heart.

Lockdown didn't just close doors.

It opened cracks between people who already felt far.

And sometimes, a phone isn't just a screen.

It's a wall,

a weapon,

a whisper that says you are not enough unless the world says so.

Mira couldn't see her sister's efforts — not yet.

And Elara? She couldn't stop the storm, even when all she wanted was calm.

This chapter hurt.

Because it's real.

So if you've ever loved someone deeply but ended up hurting them while trying to save them,

If you've ever felt blamed for things your heart never meant,

If you've ever been the Elara in someone's life — or the Mira —

Then maybe you saw yourself in this story too.

But every war ends.

Even the ones between hearts that have forgotten how to hold each other.

Maybe the next sunrise brings something new.

A note. A memory. A silent apology.

Thank you for staying.

Thank you for feeling.

Thank you for letting this shadow be a part of you.

With warmth in the silence,

— Aarya Patil