the broken home

The house was never loud.

Not in the way happy homes are.

No laughter.

No warmth.

No “welcome back.”

Only silence.

A kind of silence that pressed down on your chest.

That made even breathing feel wrong.

Aanya stood at the doorway, her fingers gripping the edge of her school bag.

She had been standing there for five minutes.

Because she didn’t want to go inside.

“…Why are you just standing there?”

The voice came from behind her.

Cold.

Sharp.

Her uncle.

“I—I just got back from school,” she said quietly.

“Then go in. Or do you want to be useless outside too?”

Her grip tightened.

“…Yes, Uncle.”

She stepped inside.

The door shut behind her.

And just like that—

The world outside disappeared.

Her aunt didn’t look up.

Not when Aanya entered.

Not when she put her bag down.

Not even when she whispered—

“…I’m home.”

Because to them—

She wasn’t.

She was just…

There.

“Did you finish the chores?” her aunt asked flatly.

“I’ll do them now—”

“You should’ve done them earlier.”

“I had school—”

A sharp look.

“That’s not an excuse.”

Silence.

“…Sorry.”

She always said sorry.

Even when she didn’t know what she did wrong.

Later that night—

Aanya sat by the window.

The only place where she could breathe a little easier.

Outside, the sky was dark.

But it felt freer than the house.

“…Why is it like this?”

She didn’t expect an answer.

She never got one.

Her fingers traced invisible shapes on the glass.

“If I disappeared…”

She paused.

“…Would anyone notice?”

The thought scared her.

So she pushed it away quickly.

“…No.”

Instead, she whispered something else.

“…I’ll leave someday.”

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t strong.

But it was real.

The next day at school—

She smiled.

Not because she was happy.

But because it was easier.

“…Aanya, you’re so quiet,” a classmate said.

She laughed softly.

“…I just like listening.”

It was a lie.

She just didn’t know how to speak anymore.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

The same routine.

The same silence.

The same weight.

But something inside her—

Didn’t completely break.

Because every night—

She went back to that window.

And every night—

She told herself the same thing.

“…One day.”

Until one evening—

Something changed.

Her teacher called her after class.

“Aanya.”

She froze slightly.

“…Yes, ma’am?”

Her teacher’s voice was gentle.

Different from what she was used to.

“…Are you okay at home?”

The question felt dangerous.

Aanya looked down.

“…Yes.”

A pause.

“…You can tell me the truth.”

Silence.

Her chest tightened.

Her throat burned.

But for the first time—

Someone had asked.

And waited.

“…I…”

Her voice shook.

“…I don’t like going home.”

The words were small.

But they were heavy.

Her teacher didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t judge.

Just listened.

And that—

Felt new.

That day didn’t fix everything.

The house was still the same.

The silence still hurt.

But something had changed.

Aanya wasn’t completely alone anymore.

That night—

She sat by the window again.

But this time—

Her voice was a little steadier.

“…Maybe…”

She looked up at the sky.

“…I won’t just disappear.”

A small pause.

“…Maybe I’ll leave.”

And for the first time—

That didn’t feel impossible.

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