I open my eyes, feeling more dead than alive. Another day, the same jaded routine — get ready for work, endure the mocking voices around me, each one a reminder that I was abandoned by the very siblings I raised. By the time I return to my dull, lifeless apartment, the weight in my chest is almost suffocating. Tears threaten to fall but continue to linger as I hunch over the toilet and vomit. When I finally lift my head, as the mirror greets me with a face I barely recognize.
"How pathetic," I mutter in the voice I've long grown used to.
I rinse my mouth and shuffle out of the bathroom, collapsing onto the couch. Exhaustion has already seeped into my bones as I fumble with the remote. The television flickers to life—only to shoot me straight in the head.
[Ilyas Petrovkar once again takes center stage in the now world-famous film Hearts of the Grim Reaper, securing the top spot in this year's box office rankings—]
I change the channel instantly, but fate isn't finished with me.
[Today, the 'Ice Queen of the Conference Room,' Inaaya Petrovkar, finalizes a multi-million-dollar deal with—]
Click. The screen goes black. My fingers tighten around the remote. "Of course," I laugh bitterly, "the one time I turn the TV on…"
Tears blur my vision. Gods, why? I raised them. I gave them everything. And yet here I am—thrown away like nothing but trash. Maybe everyone's right. Maybe I am pathetic… and worthless.
I sink deeper into the couch, letting the memories choke me. Ilyas used to be such a sweet, caring boy. Inaaya—calm, gentle, and always holding my hand. But somewhere along the way, they slipped from my grasp, swallowed by the glittering worlds they now rule.
And me? I stayed here. The sister who dropped out of school to keep food on the table while our parents gallivanted across continents for work and money… only for them to die in a plane crash on the way back. we never even got their inheritance leaving me to continue giving everything I have to my siblings.
The thanks I got? Silence. Distance. A hollow place at the table where they used to sit.
My gaze drifts toward the dupatta hanging limply from the chair. Maybe it's better this way. Death would be easier… everyone, wouldn't it?
The thought settles into me like an old friend I'd been doing my best to ignore. My fingers curl around the soft yet rough fabric, the faint scent of detergent clinging to it. My heart oddly calm— I would have thought it would be racing. Truly too calm.
I drag the chair toward the ceiling fan, the scrape of wood against the floor sounding far too loud in the quiet room, yet it didint hurt like it used to. My hands work on their own, tying the knot the way I've seen in movies. The fan wobbles slightly as I loop the fabric around it, but surprisingly it holds.
I don't let myself think. Thinking means stopping this.
One deep breath. A final glance at the mess of my life scattered across the room and a final glance at the last family picture i took with them during their high school graduation.
And then with a small peaceful smile on my lips—
The chair tips.
.
.
.
I gasp as someone shakes me, and a sweet voice reaches my ears—too familiar… too bittersweet in my memories