The morning sun peeked through the thin curtains, spilling golden light into the room. I frowned and without opening my eyes, pulled the pillow over my face, trying to block the warm intrusion that threatened my beautiful sleep. I wanted just a few more moments in the comfort of my dreams. My lips curled into a faint smile when she heard the familiar chirping of birds outside my window, a sound that had been my morning companion for as long as she could remember.
Reluctantly, I sat up and saw them — tiny, eager creatures hopping about and squeaking, their voices bright against the stillness of the early hour. I reached for the jar kept by the window, removed the lid, and sprinkled grains along the sill. Leaning forward, I watched them feed, their little beaks pecking away in contentment.
“Meera, look at the time, sweetheart! You’re going to be late for school. Come on, baby, I’ve made your favorite breakfast today!”
My mother’s sweet voice floated in, warm and melodic, wrapping around her like a hug. Before I could even step out of bed, my mother Radhika entered the room. I jumped up and ran to her, wrapping my arms around her tightly. My mother kissed my forehead, caressing my hair in that tender way only mothers could.
“Meera, I’ve got everything ready for your bath. Your school reopens today, and you’re starting class seven now. Don’t you want to meet your friends?” she said with a smile that lit up her tired face.
“I love you, Amma. So much,” I whispered, returning the kiss.
My mother smiled again and walked out, leaving me to get ready. I stepped into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and closed my eyes with a smile. The gentle patter of water promised a refreshing start until a sudden splash of cold water shocked me awake. I gasped, opening my eyes to find myself still lying on the thin mattress, dripping wet.
Standing over me was my elder sister, Janani, clutching an empty mug and looking irritated.
“Look at the time, Meera. You’re only two years younger than me. Why can’t you help with the household chores before school?” Janani snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. But almost as quickly as she’d spoken, her expression softened. She set the mug aside and pulled me into a quick hug.
“I’m sorry, Meeru. I’m just… so tired of working non-stop. Thank God school reopens today, but I still had to finish everything since Amma is busy with Akash. He’s not feeling well… and neither is she. Get ready, I’ll pack our lunch,” she said, her voice tinged with regret.
I hesitated before asking softly, “Did Appa come home last night?”
Janani only shook her head and walked away.
Reality settled over me like a heavy blanket. This is my life. I do not live in a home where love flowed freely. As the middle child, I have been always caught between being responsible and wanting to hold on to the little joys of childhood.
My father is a drunkard, spending whatever he earned on alcohol. My mother was always worn down, her body exhausted from endless chores, her spirit crushed under the weight of financial struggle and my father’s temper. Help came in the form of borrowed money from both my grandparents and relatives, but love… love was something I have never truly known within these walls. The air in their home always seemed to hum with arguments — my parents’ voices clashing over his drinking, over unpaid bills, over a future that felt uncertain.
My younger brother, Akash, had recently broken his arm while playing cricket in the street with neighborhood boys. My mother’s days were now spent tending to him, her face drawn tighter with every passing worry.
I rolled up my thin mattress, the only space I could truly call mine, and pushed it into the corner of the room. Then I stepped into the bathroom to wash up. Within minutes, I was dressed in my old, slightly faded school uniform. A comb in hand, I stepped out toward the hall.
“Amma, please comb my hair—”
The words froze in my throat. My parents were in the middle of yet another silent battle, their eyes locked like opposing forces ready to erupt into war. The air between them was thick, tense. I knew better than to linger. Quietly, I turned away and made my way to the kitchen.
Janani stood by the counter, her expression distant, her gaze fixed on the pot of poha and the empty lunchboxes in front of her.
I was about to speak when she quickly raised a finger to her lips, her eyes warning me not to say a word. I simply nodded, handing her the comb. She took it reluctantly, running it through my hair while we both pretended not to hear the muffled voices spilling in from the hall.
Trying to lighten the moment, I began packing our lunch, my heart still clinging to the excitement of the first day back at school. I filled a plate with poha and offered it to Janani. She shook her head, worry etched into every line of her face.
“What happened?” I whispered.
Before she could answer, Amma’s voice called us to the hall.
I walked in, smiling. “Amma, I’m ready for school. I had poha, but Janani hasn’t eaten yet. We’ve packed our lunch too.”
Janani didn’t speak. She just took my hand, her grip firm.
My mother’s smile was faint but deliberate as she spoke. “Meera, your father and I have decided something. Your grandmother and aunty want to help us, so they’ve agreed to get you admitted into one of the best schools near their home. You’ll meet new friends… have new uniforms…”
I blinked at her, the idea sparking excitement in my chest. “Wow, Amma! Are we all going to shift to the city? Will we have a new home there?”
But it was my father, Shankar, who answered, his voice flat. “No, Meera. We are not shifting. Only you will go. You’ll live with your grandmother and aunty. They will take care of you. Your grandmother has already paid for your school. I’ll take you to the city this evening, so pack your clothes. Your Amma will help you.” And with that, he walked away, retreating to his room as if the conversation were over.
My world tilted. It wasn’t that I was unloved — at least not entirely. My mother, Janani, and my little brother Akash had been my small pocket of warmth. I loved the strict but caring way Janani looked after me, and though my little brother could be a handful, I knew I would miss him deeply.
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Amma noticed and wiped it away with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Why me alone?” The question came out small, but it was all I could manage. No one answered.
Back in the room I shared with Janani, Amma began packing my clothes into a bag. I leaned against the wall, watching, until I felt Janani’s hand wrap tightly around my wrist. When I met her gaze, more tears welled up in my eyes and I stepped into her embrace.
Amma placed the bag aside and motioned for me to sit in front of her. Janani stayed standing, silent, her eyes never leaving me.
“Meera,” Amma began, her voice low, “your father doesn’t have a steady income. We’re struggling. I’ve been asking for help from both your grandparents for months now. They’re helping with your studies too. I can’t manage everything alone anymore. So be a good girl. Study well, and if you can, help your grandmother with the little household work. Your aunty and her family live nearby and they will also help you. They’re paying for your school every month. If you don’t obey them, it will be a problem for us. They will take good care of you.”
I thought of my grandmother Rajeshwari, she is a lovely person and I love her a lot. she doesn’t come here to our home often but when she does, she makes sure to buy a lot of things for us. And her daughter, Kavitha Aunty lived next door to my grandmother. Kavitha aunty is kind woman who always brought us new dresses and sweets for Diwali. She had a college-going son, Manoj, and a daughter my age, Priya. We’d played together during family visits, and I liked her company. Kavitha’s husband, Dheeraj, had always been quiet. Not overly warm, but never unkind. At least… not yet.
I nodded slowly, my eyes drifting to the bag — the one that now held pieces of my life — and to the small room that would no longer be mine.
Amma was in the kitchen, carefully preparing sweets to send to Grandma and Kavitha aunty. I was in my room, sobbing into Janani’s arms. She didn’t speak a word, only held me tightly, her silence offering the comfort that words couldn’t.
“I will miss you,” I mumbled through my tears. She only hummed softly, then picked one of her prettiest dresses and pressed it into my hands.
“I hope we meet soon,” was all she said before walking away to help Amma pack everything.
I stepped into my parents’ room and found Akash sitting quietly by the window. I sat beside him, gently touching his shoulder, hoping he might say something. But he was still so young—just in class three. I couldn’t expect him to understand or share the heaviness in my heart.
Amma’s voice called out from the hall, and I rushed out. Appa was ready, bag slung over his shoulder, already heading for the door. I turned to Amma, silently wishing she would stop me, hold me back. Instead, she wiped her tears, forced a weak smile, and wrapped me in a trembling embrace.
“I’ll come to see you, Meeru,” she whispered. “I’ll tell Grandma to send you with Kavitha aunty for Diwali and all the special festivals. They’ll love you there. And… I’m happy you’ll have a better life.”
Her voice cracked, but she didn’t let go until it was time to leave.
I followed Appa out of the house, glancing back one last time. Amma, Janani, and Akash stood watching me go. My lips trembled, my eyes blurred, and soon the familiar figures faded from sight.
At the bus stop, Appa wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel as we waited. When the bus arrived, he managed to find us a seat together. He handed me the water bottle from the bag, but I could hardly drink—my face pressed against the window, tears silently spilling down as the landscape I knew slipped away.
By early morning, Appa stirred me awake. The bus had entered the city—so unlike our quiet village. The streets buzzed with people rushing everywhere, the air thick with noise and urgency. We took an auto, Appa giving the driver Grandma’s address.
When we reached, Grandma was waiting outside, Kavitha aunty beside her. Their faces lit up on seeing me. Grandma pulled me into a warm, excited hug. Priya, who was watching TV, rushed over and hugged me too, making me smile for the first time that day.
Grandma led me to a spacious room with a large bed, a television, and an attached bathroom. Two cupboards stood ready for clothes. She left me to freshen up, so I took out a frock from my bag and stepped into the bathroom.
When I came back to the hall, I saw something I rarely saw—Appa smiling. Kavitha aunty was serving him breakfast. She noticed me, pulled me gently to sit beside him, and served me too. Grandma emerged from the kitchen carrying my favorite breakfast along with a plate of sweets.
Appa handed the sweets he’d brought to Grandma and Kavitha aunty. He was ready to leave, but lingered for a moment, scratching the back of his neck. Grandma pressed some currency into his palm.
“Don’t waste it on drink, Give some to Radhika—she needs it for Akash’s treatment.” she said firmly.
Appa’s eyes brightened. He nodded, pocketed the money, and stepped out. He called me over, and I walked to him slowly. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he bent to meet my eyes.
“Take care, Meera. Don’t disappoint them. Be a good girl. Don’t do anything to spoil the relationship between our families. She is my mother, and Kavitha is my sister, they’ll take care of you. But you must behave. Understand?”
I nodded faintly.
And just like that, he turned and walked away. No long goodbye. No lingering glance. Just left me there—handed over, like a parcel, from one family to another.
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A/N:
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