We never know when we will regret the words we say without thinking.
Sometimes, we say things because we're angry. Sometimes, because we don't want to share. And sometimes, we simply don't care about how the other person feels.
Purvi had always been like that.
She never thought too much about anyone's feelings. Why should she? She had always believed that people should understand her, not the other way around.
Maybe she was stupid.
Maybe arrogant.
She didn't know.
But years later, she would give anything to take back those words.
---
“Hey! Stop touching my things! Didn't I tell you that you can't use my things whenever you want? Okay?”
Purvi glared at her older sister, Idira.
“Why can't I use it? It's not like you earned the money to buy all these things.”
“Then go get money and buy your own. Don't use mine.”
Purvi picked up her things and walked away.
She stopped when she heard Idira call after her.
“She may be older, but that doesn't mean she can do whatever she wants! Maa! Tell Idira not to touch my things again. This is the last time. I don't like sharing.”
Their mother sighed.
“So what if she used your things? Let her. Don't make me come there and scold you both.”
“Wow. The whole family is shouting at me now.”
Purvi stormed away.
“Then give her all my things! I don't want anything!”
She slammed the door behind her.
At that moment, it seemed like nothing important.
Just another argument.
Just another day.
Purvi never imagined that one day, she would remember every word.
---
A few days later, Purvi noticed Idira sitting alone, quietly crying.
“Hey…”
Idira looked up.
“Why are you crying?”
“Why do you care?”
“Well, I'm not someone who cares about crying. If you want to cry, do it somewhere else. Not here.”
“I'm not going anywhere.”
Purvi rolled her eyes.
“Fine. But you're not letting me study. I'm leaving.”
She picked up her books and walked toward the door.
Then she stopped.
“Idira.”
Idira looked at her.
“Tell me one thing. When are you going back to your husband's house? Or are you staying here because you were forced to come back? Just tell me so I can deal with it.”
“I'm not going anywhere. This is my home too.”
“Oh. So you can fight?”
Purvi laughed bitterly.
“Then go fight with your husband and your cold in-laws. Why are you wasting my time? I'm not a loser like you.”
Idira's expression changed.
“You know, you should stop studying so much sometimes.”
“What?”
“Not every child gets the opportunities you have, Purvi.”
“I didn't ask for them.”
“I know.”
Idira looked down.
“I didn't want things to become like this. But sometimes, we don't get to choose.”
Purvi didn't understand what she meant.
She didn't try to.
She simply picked up her book and left.
Idira had always been different from her.
Idira was the eldest daughter. She had learned to stay quiet around their father, to accept things, to adjust.
Purvi was the younger one.
She had always been allowed to ask for what she wanted.
And she never realized how different their lives had become.
---
Some time passed.
One day, Idira returned from her in-laws' house.
Purvi looked at her.
“So you came back again? I thought this time you wouldn't.”
Idira said nothing.
Purvi sighed.
“Ida, just leave that man. If he's treating you badly, why are you still with him? Don't you care about your life?”
“I do love him, Purvi.”
“Love?”
Purvi gave a bitter laugh.
“What love? When he's hurting you like this?”
“Please…”
“He's a shameless person. You know that.”
“Purvi…”
“What? I'm not saying anything wrong. You should tell everyone.”
Idira remained silent.
Purvi looked at her.
“Why are you so afraid of losing someone you've already lost?”
Idira didn't answer.
The next morning, the two sisters were alone at home.
Idira walked toward Purvi.
“Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“I need to make a call.”
“No. It's almost discharged, and I'm studying. Don't disturb me. Just go.”
“Give it to me, Purvi.”
“Are you deaf? I said no.”
Idira quietly turned around and left.
Purvi stared at her back.
“My head hurts because of her. Why can't she understand one simple thing?”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I'm going to sleep.”
She went to her room.
But sleep wouldn't come.
After a while, she heard a strange sound somewhere in the house.
She ignored it.
Five minutes later, she finally got up.
She walked downstairs.
The house was quiet.
Purvi approached one of the rooms.
She opened the door.
Then froze.
Her mind went completely blank.
She couldn't understand what she was seeing.
Her heart raced.
She stepped backward and left the room.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
She didn't know what to do.
She simply stood there, staring at the closed door.
---
When the other family members arrived, the house filled with crying.
Everyone was devastated.
Purvi sat quietly beside her mother.
Her mother was crying so hard that she could barely stand.
Then she looked at Purvi.
Her voice broke.
“Why didn't you save her?”
Purvi stared at her.
“You were with her… Why didn't you save your sister?”
Purvi couldn't answer.
She had no words.
She stood up and walked away.
She found a quiet place and sat alone.
For the first time, she wondered—
Why am I not crying?
Am I really that heartless?
She didn't know.
She only knew that something inside her had gone completely silent.
---
Time passed.
Days became months.
Months became years.
People stopped saying Idira's name.
Life moved forward for everyone else.
But not for Purvi.
Every birthday reminded her of her sister.
Every anniversary brought the memories back.
She remembered every argument.
Every harsh word.
Every time Idira had tried to talk to her.
Every time Purvi had pushed her away.
And most of all, she remembered the last words she had said.
“I'm not a loser like you.”
Those words followed her everywhere.
Purvi stopped focusing on her studies.
She became quieter.
The girl who once argued about everything barely spoke anymore.
And whenever she missed her sister, she cried alone.
Not because she had suddenly become soft.
But because she finally understood what she hadn't understood before.
Sometimes, the last words we say to someone become the words we wish we could take back forever.
And Purvi had only one thought that never left her:
If I had been a little kinder…
If I had listened instead of arguing…
If I had hugged her instead of pushing her away…
Maybe things would have been different.
She knew she could never know the answer.
But the question stayed with her.
Forever.
