A.V

 It’s 2AM. The night is young. The light is dim. Sleep has vanished, music hums in my headphones, I’m hugging a warm shawl— and I’m thinking. NEET is just a few days away, and truthfully, I was more prepared last year than I am now. So… have I wasted this year? To others, it might seem like I have—especially when the marks come. No matter how good or bad an exam goes, I always say: “It was average.” Even when I know I’ve filled half the answers incorrectly, those are the only words my lips can mumble. But for me, this year wasn’t a waste. It taught me things— About myself. About life. About choices. Still, I wish I had made the decision to pursue psychology earlier. What I don’t know is this: Am I drawn to psychology because it’s what I truly want, or because I haven’t studied enough for NEET and it feels like a safer dream? I don’t feel the same urge to study anymore. I keep saying the exams don’t stress me, but the thought of people — of explaining this shif...

“Dad, what should I make for dinner?” she asked.   My daughter, twenty-one now, standing in the kitchen with tired eyes and a wooden spoon. “Get ready,” I replied, pushing myself off the couch. “We’re going out.” “Where to?” “Well, what do you feel like eating? Pizza? Paneer? Or maybe... dosa?” She thought for a moment. “Dosa it is, then.” A few minutes later, we were getting ready. I stepped into the hallway and paused at the sight of her. “Oh dear,” I said, trying to hide my instinct behind a warm voice. “You’re not going to wear that, are you?” She groaned. “Ugh, Dad. Why not?” “The skirt’s too short. Wear a kurti.” She sighed dramatically, but turned and went back into her room without a word. Outside, the sky was restless. The clouds flashed above. The wind was cold, and not a single star was visible. It was going to rain—one of those long, thoughtful rains. Then Lily emerged—dolled up, in a light blue kurti, earrings catching the dull hallway light, and her long hair lef...

I see a small girl, chained in tattered feathers, blackened wings drooping unused from her back. Her hair, a tangled mess. Her eyes search for light, but remain hollow—soulless. She’s filled with pain… and envy. Envy that others can fly. Envy that their wings are brighter. Envy that they are simply… better. Pain that she can do nothing but cry. Helpless, bound by the heavy chains of a society that never asked what she wanted— just told her how to be. All she wants now… is to leave. I see a small child, with empty eyes and powerless wings, dragging chains that keep her on the ground. Someone who has lost her way. Someone whose silent screams go unheard. Someone without even a mouth to speak. She calls herself— Silent. Coward. Hypocrite. Worthless. Boring. And whatnot  Her friends— lost in their own little worlds. Each person absorbed in their own life. Much like her… but still, no one sees her. A.V