The wind didn’t just bite at Meher, it gnawed at her.

But the cold she felt in her marrow was nothing compared to the fire burning in her chest.

She sat curled on the edge of the highway.

Her knees were pulled tight against her chest, a desperate attempt to keep her shattered pieces from spilling onto the road.

Her sobs were silent, chocking in her throat so violently she could barely breathe.

Her braids, usually set prefectly, had unraveled hours ago.

Dark, hair strands stuck to her tear-streaked cheeks, mixing with the dust of the road and the sadness of a journey that had stripped her of dignity.

Her feet were bare, the soles raw and bleeding against the grit of the earth.

But the physical pain was a dull, distant hum compared to the scream in her heart.

Every breath was a battlefield.

Every heartbeat was a drum of grief.

Every tear was the weight of twenty two years of home collapsing in seconds.

The sound of her relatives voices was a cruel echo in her mind, sharp enough to slice glass.

"Look at her," a woman’s voice hissed, dripping with disdain. "Sharam nahi aayi?"

( "Are you not ashamed? )

"He has good money, good lineage, and we are poor infront of them" another chimed. "And look at this girl. Hamari naak kata di."

(" She has ruined our respect ")

" Arey itne mehnat majdoori karke bahar padhne bheja tha bechaare baap ne Lekin ye to waha ladko ke saath ranreliyan mana rhi thi. "

( " Arey, after working so hard, the poor father sent her to study outside but she was celebrating her wedding with boys there. )

" Hindu ladka bhi nhi bhabhi. Musalmaan hai musalmaan. "

(" Not even a Hindu boy, Bhabhi. He is a Muslim.  ")

" Itne ameer ghar ka hai, mujhe to lagta hai isne hi ishaare karke fasaya h uss ladke ko. "

(" He is from such a rich family, I feel that she has trapped that boy by giving him hints. )

" Isiliye bolte hain jiji, ki ladkiyon ko engineering nhi karani chahiye. "

( " That is why Jiji, says that girls should not do engineering." )

" 4 saal se udhar hi thi bhabhi, kya pata sambandh bhi bana liya ho shadi se phle. "

" Bhabhi, she was staying there for 4 years, who knows she might have even started a relationship with him before marriage."

"Were you ever good enough? Mar jaati toh behtar tha."

(" It would have been better if she had died." )

Then came the final blow. The voice she had worshipped as a child.

" Tum jaisi aulaad se accha to mai bina aulaad ke hi rhta. "

(" It would be better if I remained childless than having children like you.")

The memory of her father’s face, paler than she had ever seen, eyes void of love, shattered whatever fragile resolve remained.

She let out a broken, keening sound, a sound that belonged to a wounded animal.

The house she had built her entire world around had become a prison, and she was the prisoner now.

She remembered her mother's teary eyes.

The relatives who spoke about her as if she wasn't even standing there.

And then she remembered her sister.

The sister who had stood silently in the corner, tears filling her eyes.

The sister who wanted to stop everything but didn't have the courage to go against the family.

The last hug.

The trembling hands.

The silent goodbye.

Those memories hurt more than anything else.

Because no matter how much pain her family had given her, she had never wanted to leave them.

But that night, staying had felt worse than leaving.

So she had walked away.

And now, she wondered if she would ever see them again.

She sat motionless for an eternity, watching the shadows lengthen and merge with the darkness.

Then, slowly, her body executed the command her mind refused to give. She stood.

Her legs trembled, unsteady on the gravel, but she moved. She walked into the void.

One step.

The highway stretched out before her, a scar of white light cutting through the obsidian night.

It had no beginning and no end, just like her future.

The world blurred past her, trees like skeletal fingers, streetlights turning into strobes of yellow and white.

The distant hum of traffic became a muffled roar...distant and meaningless.

Her feet were numb, foreign objects hitting the ground with a rhythm that matched her own heartbeat.

The sound of loss.

But then, the darkness broke. Not the night sky, but her mind.

She was no longer on the roadside.

She was back in the warmth of her mother’s kitchen, the air thick with the scent of ghee and fried treats.

She remembered the taste of jalebis, sweet and dripping, the way her mother’s hands would wipe the flour from her forehead.

She remembered the festivals, the colors of Holi exploding across her vision, the joy that felt like it could last forever.

She remembered running through yellow mustard fields, her laughter light and unburdened, her parents calling her name as she spun in circles.

And then, the brightness dimmed, replaced by the cool air of a college campus.

She was eighteen again, clutching a thick book, the first day of university. She had felt invincible then, standing at the threshold of a world she was ready to conquer.

Then came Yusra.

Yusra was her shadow, her reflection, her anchor.

They were each other's roomates for four years, two strangers from different worlds bound by a shared love for humanity.

Yusra’s radiant smile had been the first thing to make her forget her troubles.

In Yusra, Meher had found a sister, a confidante who understood her silent wars without her having to speak a word.

As she walked, a phantom sensation of warmth brushed against her arm. Her lips twitched. A smile tried to form, fragile and fleeting.

Almost.

But then the past shattered like glass.

A face emerged from the mist of her memories, sharp and clear amidst the fog. Qasim Haider Khan.

He wasn't just a memory, he was a presence.

She could feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet authority that commanded respect without a word spoken.

He was the man she had first met during a train journey to Varanasi.

The man who had unknowingly stood beside her & helped her without even knowing her identity.

He become a part of her every prayer and every dream.

The man who had guided her when she failed, encouraged her when she wanted to give up, and stood behind her success without asking for anything in return.

He was the man she had loved silently, deeply, and hopelessly.

She was terrified to let him in because the world between them was too wide.

He was Muslim in a house that stood tall in Hindu tradition.

He was the future she had sacrificed to please her father.

"Qasim..."

The name was a prayer on her lips, a confession she would never make.

If only I had told you.

If only I had dared.

Then, the world tore apart.

A blinding white light pierced the darkness, closer than the moon.

A screech of metal on metal tore through the silence a sound like a soul screaming. Time froze.

Then, the impact.

It wasn't pain.

It was something much worse. It felt like life itself was slipping away.

The world spun violently, a kaleidoscope of headlights and sky, and then, a crushing weight pinned her to the earth.

Her breath hitched, a violent seizure in her lungs.

Silence.

Absolute, terrifying silence.

Meher lay crumpled on the concrete hard road, her body broken, her spirit fleeing.

The wind died. The cars stopped. The world went quiet.

"Hey! Can you hear me?"

A voice. Panicked. Straining.

She tried to open her eyes, but they felt glued shut by tears she couldn't shed.

The night air was freezing against her burning skin. She felt cold. So cold. Like ice water filling her veins.

"Call an ambulance! Now!"

"Check her pulse! She's losing her life!"

"Oh God, oh God, please..."

The voices were muffled, like she was underwater.

She tried to reach out, to grab at the sound, but her arm wouldn't move.

The darkness was pulling her in, faster and harder now.

She closed her eyes and let the memories flood back, faster this time. A montage of her life.

The pain.

The joy.

The memories of her parents, the scent of her mother's henna, the warmth of her father's shoulder.

They swirled around her like a cyclone, beautiful and painful.

Then, amidst the chaos, a face emerged. Perfect and vivid.

Qasim Haider Khan.

He wasn't just a memory anymore; he was a living presence in the darkness.

She saw him standing there, bathed in a light that didn't belong to the streetlamps.

He looked at her, really looked at her, with those sharp, intelligent eyes, and in that gaze, she saw everything.

She saw the respect, the unspoken care, and the love that had grown between them like a secret garden.

He was the one who understood her sacrifices. He was the one who would have walked through fire for her.

A weak smile touched her lips.

It was a smile of peace, of acceptance.

For the first time that night, the crushing weight on her chest lightened.

The pain in her body dulled into a distant hum.

Her eyelids grew heavy, dragging down like lead. The darkness wasn't scary anymore. It looked like velvet. It looked like home.

The last thing she saw was his face.

The last thing she felt was love.

Her breath hitched one last time, a shallow, rattling intake of air, and then Meher closed her eyes.

Moments Later...

The world spun violently into a sterile, metallic white.

The highway had transformed into a blur of rushing figures and flashing lights.

People were shouting, hands grabbing at her, lifting her as if she were made of glass.

The cold air was replaced by the hum of an engine, the smell of antiseptic and fear.

"She's breathing!" someone screamed.

"Get her to the ER! Now!"

They moved her like a lifeless doll, placing her onto a gurney, then rushing her into the bowels of the hospital.

The doors hissed shut, cutting off the wind and the noise.

The sounds of the world changed, becoming mechanical and rhythmic.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep.

Meher lay on a bed, small and vulnerable among the tangled wires and tubes.

Her body was a canvas of bruises and cuts, but her face was peaceful.

The doctors moved with frantic precision around her, their faces masks of concentration.

"She's losing blood," a doctor said, his voice tight.

"We need to stabilize her. Now."

"Start an IV. Give her two units. Check her vitals!"

Hours bled into one another. The machines beeped with a relentless, indifferent rhythm.

A nurse wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. A hand squeezed hers, a stranger's hand and then let go.

Time lost all meaning.

Then, the steady rhythm of the monitors changed.

Beep... Beep...

It slowed. It stretched. It became a long, shuddering sigh.

The room fell silent. The frantic voices stopped. The hands that had been fighting to keep her here froze.

The lead surgeon, a man with weary eyes, looked at the monitor one last time.

He listened to the silence where there should have been a heartbeat.

He slowly turned away from the bed, the weight of the truth settling on his shoulders like a mountain.

He walked to the door, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking against the linoleum.

He stopped and took a deep breath. The air in the hallway smelled of stale coffee and despair.

He didn't need to say a word. His silence, heavy and absolute, was the loudest sound in the room.

For the world...

Meher Singh Suryavanshi, the ever so happy chirpy girl was gone.