She was broken, with scars that told her story.

The rain poured down, matching my gloomy mood. The usual energy of Mumbai was hidden behind the grey sky. I stood at my window, lost in the sound of the raindrops.

Ishanya's call interrupted my reverie. "Hey Sam!! Did you get the parcel?"

"Parcel? Ishanya, my birthday is still far away," I said, laughing.

"Arre, I know yaar, but I sent it early. I'm busy with my cousin's wedding here in New York. I wanted to ensure it reaches you on time," Ishanya explained.

She sent me a gift for my so-called birthday, which is still many days away, but she gets more excited about my birthday than I do.

"Okay, I'll check. But you shouldn't have sent it so early," I teased.

"I had to! Besides, I'll be back before your birthday. We can celebrate then," Ishanya said enthusiastically.

Just as I was about to ask, "How's Vivaan and little Rehan?" Ishanya interrupted the conversation.

"Sorry, I'm getting called for a function. Catch you later!"

The line went dead.

I smiled, missing my friend already.

I decided to freshen up. Wrapped in a plush towel, I stood before my closet, a haven of colors and textures. Racks of intricately embroidered kurtas and sarees lined one side, while Western wear filled the other. A shelf displayed my favorite accessories - statement jewellery and scarves.

"Something cheerful," I thought, choosing a vibrant yellow kurta with delicate floral patterns pairing it with distressed denim jeans and slip-on sneakers. Matching earrings completed the outfit. The brightness lifted my mood.

I styled my hair, letting loose waves cascade down my back. A light dusting of makeup enhanced my features - a subtle blush, defined eyebrows, and a soft lip gloss.

Before leaving, I paused at my puja room, seeking comfort in the familiar ritual. I lit a diya, said a silent prayer, and applied a kumkum bindi.

I started my car, opting to drive instead of walk due to the rain. The courier office was nearby, and I arrived quickly.

The familiar staff greeted me warmly as I approached the counter.

"Ma'am, please sign here with your full name," the clerk asked, his eyes fixed on me.

I hesitated, my pen hovering over the paper. Full name? The question cut deep, a painful reminder of all I'd lost. My father, my sole source of love and support, was gone. His warmth, his kindness, his guiding hand - all silenced forever.

My mind recoiled from memories of my mother's indifference, her coldness that still lingered like an open wound. And my surname? A constant reminder of the family that never truly accepted me.

The staff's gentle prompt broke the spell: "Ma'am, hurry up, it's almost lunchtime." I checked my watch; it was 1 pm.

With a shaking hand, I scribbled "Samayra." The loneliness echoed through me like a hollow whisper. I took my parcel and walked away.

Outside, the rain had stopped, and the atmosphere was pleasant. I drove with the windows open, inhaling the scent of rain-soaked earth - hayee ye mitti di khushboo.

Everything looked vibrant, as if the plants had just taken a refreshing shower. Even the air was clean, a rare respite from Mumbai's usual car exhaust fumes.

At the traffic signal, I noticed a couple heading to college, hand in hand, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I recalled his gentle guidance. My heart twisted, memories of him resurfacing.

Why was I thinking of Arnav? Had I forgotten that fateful night, the pain he caused? Five years had passed, but the wounds still lingered.

My heart aches, remembering those moments.

My phone rang, breaking the silence. "Rohan speaking." My PA's crisp voice cut through.

"Ma'am, I've sent you the book signing details. Please review and let me know if any changes are required."

"Thank you, Rohan. I'll check and get back to you."

As I ended the call, pride swelled within me. I wished my father were here to see this - I had become an author, fulfilling his dream.

But before I could savour the moment, my phone buzzed again, shattering the silence.

"Samayra, we need to talk..." The voice sent a shiver down my spine.

IT'S HER....

My mother.

"Samayra, are you there?" her voice had cut through my thoughts earlier, demanding and impatient, just like always.

It took everything in me to respond, to stop myself from hanging up and pretending I hadn't heard her. "Yes... I'm here," I'd whispered, my voice weak and trembling, a far cry from the confident woman I'd become. The woman who had survived without her mother's love. Who had made a life-despite her.

My chest tightened as she continued. "We need to talk. It's important."

Important. Now it was important. After all these years of silence, of pretending we didn't exist to each other, now she suddenly had something important to say.

I'd waited my whole life for her to tell me something was important-me, maybe, that I was important to her. But of course, that wasn't what this was about. It never had been.

"What's so important now?" I had asked, my voice small, the words trembling on my lips. "After all this time, what could possibly be so important?"

I didn't expect an answer, not really. And even if she had one, I didn't want to hear it. Not from her. Not after everything.

But I knew better. I should have known better.

Her voice returned, colder than ever. "It's not just about you, Samayra. There are things you need to know about the family."

Family. The word twisted in my chest, a cruel joke. Family meant love, support, safety-everything my mother had never given me. Family had been my father, the one person who had made me feel like I mattered. And now, even he was gone.

"Can you meet me tomorrow at home?"

HOME??????

That word hit me like a punch to the gut. Home. The house I grew up in but never truly belonged to. The house that held all the cold memories, the silences, the looks that said I wasn't wanted. That house was never mine.

I could feel the familiar knot tightening in my chest. I closed my eyes, trying to keep my voice steady as I spoke. "I'll meet you," I said, my voice cracking despite my efforts to keep it together. "But not there. Not at that place. We can meet somewhere else... outside. A resort, maybe."

She paused for a moment, long enough that I wondered if she was even listening. Then, as casually as she'd started the conversation, she said, "Okay."

And just like that, she hung up, without a goodbye, without a second thought. The silence on the other end felt colder than the rain outside.

I stared at my phone, my fingers trembling, the weight of her words pressing down on me like a boulder. All these years, I had tried to distance myself from her, from that house, from everything it represented. But here she was, barging back into my life as if nothing had changed, as if I hadn't walked away from that suffocating place all those years ago. My breath hitched, and suddenly, I felt the tears welling up. My vision blurred as the dam I'd been holding back started to crack. I was done pretending to be strong. I was done holding it all in.

I parked my car at the corner of the road, unable to drive any further. The pressure in my chest built, and the tears I had been fighting spilled over. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white, as sobs wracked my body.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry until there was nothing left. All the hurt, all the rejection, all the love I never got-everything came crashing down at once.Why now? Why did she come back into my life just when I had finally started to feel like I was moving forward?

I cried like I hadn't in years, my body shaking with the force of it, the rain outside merging with the storm inside me. I cried for the little girl who never got her mother's love, for the woman I had become who still carried the weight of that loss, and for the strength it would take to face her again.

I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready. Not after so many years.