Journey untold-

She could clearly hear the voices in the background—her mother shouting from the kitchen, her father late as always, their arguments turning the night into chaos. She clung to her pillow for comfort, for love, for the safe space her parents were supposed to give her. Hearing fights had become a daily routine; she was just seven years old, growing up with arguments echoing around her every day. Born into a middle-class family with an older brother and parents who claimed they never had favorites, she slowly began to realize some truths didn’t need words to be understood.

One thing was clear—her father loved her more, but only because she was good at studies. Everything else about her—her hobbies, her passions—quietly slipped away unnoticed. As for her mother, no words were needed; after all, a daughter is believed to belong to someone else one day… right?

She never complained, bearing all the pressure around her silently. By the time she turned ten, the fights grew harsher, now mixed with a bitter taste of conditional love. Relatives stirred fights between her parents, adding more shouts and anger to the chaos. Sometimes, that anger spilled onto the children. For the first time, her father struck her, and as always, her mother blamed everything on her. But it wasn’t entirely her mother’s fault—she was trapped in a stressful, suffocating environment too. What truly broke her heart was the unfairness of it all: why was it always her, and never her brother? The harsh reality hit her as well: relatives, who were supposed to care, often acted like snakes, ready to strike when least expected.

That night, a frightening thought brushed past her mind for the first time—that maybe everything would finally feel lighter if she weren’t there. Her hands trembled, tears fell without pause, and the room felt unbearably small. She wasn’t wishing for an end; she was wishing for silence, for the pain to loosen its grip, even if just for a moment. After a while, everything went strangely quiet, as if the night had reset itself. But one small mistake changed everything—she had forgotten to lock the door. Someone noticed. Panic followed. Bright lights, unfamiliar voices, questions she didn’t know how to answer. She was taken somewhere safe, checked, watched over, until the world decided she would stay. Her body was fine—but her mind kept circling one question, again and again: Why? Why am I still here?

Some time later, when she was eleven, she finally tried to open up to her mother. “Mom, I feel alone… even when you’re all with me.” The reply came lightly, almost as a joke—Should I get you married then, so you won’t feel alone? She knew her mother hadn’t meant it seriously. Still, some words shouldn’t be taken lightly. They settle somewhere deep. That day, she quietly decided she would never share her feelings with anyone again.

Growing up surrounded by fights, time seemed to slip by unnoticed. She was thirteen now. Her birthday—usually a day she looked forward to with excitement—felt like a curse this year. Her father didn’t show up on time; he arrived past midnight. There was no celebration, no small gesture, just the excuse of “work.” She knew it wasn’t truly important work, but still… not even one hour could be spared for her. From that day on, her excitement for birthdays—and the joy she once felt—was buried deep. What used to be a day of happiness became just another reminder of being overlooked, a quiet ache she carried with her.

Time slipped by, and she was now fourteen. As she got ready for school, worry lingered in the air—her father had been dealing with health issues like high blood sugar and high blood pressure, and he had been vomiting regularly. Today was the day the check-up results were supposed to come. But he always used to drop her to the bus stand. She told him she could go alone. “Don’t worry, you rest,” she said. But he was stubborn and insisted on dropping her to school anyway. She wasn’t exactly happy—she had just had a fight with her best friend—but winning a small debate among her classmates lifted her mood slightly. Little did she know, that day, everything was about to change.

On her way back, she noticed her father’s scooter parked along the road. She assumed he had gone to buy some groceries nearby. When she reached home and rang the bell, her mother opened the door, tears streaming down her face. Her heart sank. “Why…?” she whispered. Through her sobs, her mother could barely speak: “Your father… he’s gone.” She shuddered, stepping back, her mind refusing to grasp the words: he was… no more.

Her world crashed down. She felt something inside her that couldn’t be put into words—she had lost someone she loved, her protector, her shield, her everything. Yet, she stayed silent. In that moment, comforting her mother felt more important than her own grief. And so, the time passed, quietly, with pain tucked away deep inside.

Now she was fifteen. The relationship between her brother and mother isn’t exactly warm—but, as always, they pretended it was. Politeness covered the cracks, smiles masked the distance, and the past was quietly left unspoken. She buried all her emotions that day when her father passed away. In that moment, she silently decided she would never get attached again—neither to people nor to love—choosing walls over vulnerability.

So she hid everything—her feelings, her sadness, even the weight in her heart—behind a smile, a laugh, a mask. To the world, she seemed happy, carefree, untouched, but inside, she carried it all alone.

I smile, I laugh, I play my part,

Hiding the storms within my heart.

No one cares until I fall apart,

Then suddenly, they see my scars....

TO BE CONTINUE~

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