"Yeh kaam kab khatam hoga?" Siya’s irritated voice echoed through the hall as she leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest.
(When will this work be done?)
Anshika, who was already exhausted from the day's tasks, didn't respond. She knew from experience that arguing back would only invite more insults, more punishment. Instead, she kept her head down, gripping the edge of her dupatta tightly.
"Zyada sochne ki zaroorat nahi hai, bas safai karni hai." Reema’s cold voice cut through the silence as she gestured to the maid standing beside her.
(There’s no need to think too much, just clean up.)
The maid, an older woman with a weary face, hesitated for a moment before handing Anshika a bucket filled with water. The metal handle was cold, heavy in her grip, much like the weight she had carried all her life.
"Ja," Reema ordered, her expression twisted with contempt. "Store room ki safai kar."
(Go clean the storeroom.)
Without a word, Anshika turned on her heel and walked away.
At storeroom
The storeroom was dimly lit, the air thick with dust and neglect. She sighed, setting the bucket down in the corner. The room was cluttered with old furniture, broken suitcases, and boxes filled with forgotten memories.
She grabbed an old rag and began wiping the shelves, her mind restless.
"Why did you take that promise from me, Maa?" she whispered under her breath, frustration creeping into her voice. "If not for that, I would have destroyed the Nahyan family a long time ago."
Her mother’s voice echoed in her memory.
"Promise me, Anshika. No matter what they do to you, no matter how much they hurt you… you will never harm them in return. They are your family, and family is meant to be protected, not destroyed."
Anshika had been just a child then, her mother’s gentle hands cupping her face, tears brimming in her kind eyes. She had not understood the reason behind such a strange promise at the time.
But she understood now.
That promise was a chain. A cage that kept her from burning down the people who had made her life miserable.
She clenched her fists, exhaling sharply.
"You should have let me destroy them, Maa. You should have let me leave long ago."
She continued cleaning, pushing aside boxes and old trunks, when something caught her attention—a wooden chest in the farthest corner, hidden beneath a dusty old cloth.
Her brows furrowed. She had never seen it before.
Curious, she dragged it closer and opened the lid.
Inside were photographs. Old, faded with time. She picked one up, her heart stopping as she saw the face of the girl in the picture.
It was her.
A much younger version of herself, barely four or five years old, smiling brightly at the camera.
Her fingers trembled as she sifted through the photos. Some of them she recognized—pictures from her childhood. But others… others were unfamiliar.
She had never seen these before.
"Yeh yahaan kyun chhupayi gayi thi?" she murmured, flipping through them with growing unease.
(Why were these hidden here?)
As she searched the chest further, her hand brushed against something smooth—a white envelope, sealed carefully.
She froze.
The words on the front were written in a familiar, elegant script.
"For My Daughter."
Her breath hitched.
With shaky hands, she tore it open and unfolded the letter inside. The moment her eyes landed on the words, her heart pounded painfully in her chest.
My dearest daughter,
There is something I never told you. Something I hoped you would never have to know. But if you are reading this, then fate has forced my hand.
You were never truly ours by blood.
Once, I had a daughter of my own, but she was taken from me. The grief nearly killed me. I lost my will to live, my heart shattered beyond repair. But then… I found you.
You were so small, barely two months old, abandoned with no one to protect you. I couldn’t leave you. I took you in, held you in my arms, and in that moment, I knew—I could love you as my own. I raised you, gave you my name, and told your father you were his, even when I knew he never truly cared for either of us.
You became my light in the darkness. My reason to keep living.
But I was afraid. Afraid of the truth. Afraid of the fire that burned in your eyes even as a child. I knew that if you ever learned how cruel this world was, you would destroy everything in your path. So, I took that promise from you.
I forced you to swear that you would never harm your family, because I knew that one day, when you learned the truth, you would burn them all to the ground and never look back.
But now, my love, I free you from that promise.
You can leave. You can take your revenge. You are no longer bound by my words.
And if you wish to find your real family, this necklace will guide you. I did some research—your real family is from Rajasthan. They are powerful, well-known. They have been searching for you.
Tears blurred Anshika’s vision as she reached into the envelope, pulling out a small, intricately designed necklace.
It was a key. A link to the past she never knew.
"Meri asli parivaar..." she whispered, her voice shaking.
(My real family…)
She wasn’t one of them.
She never was.
And now… she was free.
For the first time in her life, she could leave without looking back.
A cold smile curled on her lips.
"Finally… I can leave this place."
She wiped her tears and tucked the letter inside her pocket. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would walk out of this house and never return.
But before she could move, her phone vibrated in her pocket.
She glanced at the screen.
Unknown Number.
Her brows furrowed. She picked up the call.
"Hello?"
A panicked voice came through the other end.
"Beta, tumhari Dadi ji ki tabiyat bohot kharab hai. Unhe hospital le ja rahe hain!"
(Child, your grandmother’s condition is very critical. We are taking her to the hospital!)
The world around Anshika stilled.
"Kya?"
(What?)
Her grip on the phone tightened. The chest, the necklace, the letter—they all blurred into the background.
Her Dadi. The only person in this house who had ever shown her kindness. The only one who had loved her without conditions.
Without a second thought, she ran.
Leaving could wait.
Right now, she had to get to the hospital.
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Making a story relatable across different backgrounds means crafting deep, multi-dimensional characters, universal emotions, and themes that resonate with many. Writing so that everyone can enjoy my imagination.
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