Ara's pov
I rushed into the hospital straight from school, my heart hammering in my chest. My school bag thumped against my back with each step, shoes squeaking faintly on the polished floor. Aunt Rhea and Leo were already there, seated stiffly on the cold metal waiting chairs outside the operating theatre.
I dropped my rucksack beside them without a word. The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows across the floor. The sharp scent of antiseptic bit at my nose.
"Ara," Aunt Rhea stood up, gently touching my arm. "She's inside. It's not serious—just a few bruises. The doctors are checking her now."
I nodded, unable to speak. My throat felt dry and scratchy, like I'd swallowed sandpaper. The sterile white walls, the beeping machines, the faint sound of someone crying down the corridor—it all made everything feel too real. Too loud. Too painful.
Leo rolled his eyes. "It's not that big of a deal. A bicycle hit her, not a car. She's fine. Just being dramatic, as usual."
I ignored him. My fingers curled into fists.
We waited in silence. The seconds dragged into minutes. My legs wouldn't stop bouncing. I kept staring at the theatre doors, hoping they would open, terrified they wouldn't.
I thought about the last time I saw her—over a month ago. She'd been leaving for another shoot, suitcase in hand, lips painted a deep red. I had stood at the top of the stairs, watching her descend like she was walking away from me forever. She hadn't even looked up.
The door creaked open.
A nurse stepped out, scanning the hallway. "Family of Aria Rao?"
We stood instantly.
"She's stable," the nurse said. "Minor injuries—bruises and scrapes mostly. She's been moved to Room 312. You can go in now."
My breath caught in my throat.
This was it.
Aunt Rhea gently guided me down the hallway. The click of her heels echoed off the floor. My sneakers made no sound. It felt like we were walking underwater, the world muffled and slow. Every step closer to Room 312 made my chest tighter, my breaths shallower.
I reached for the door handle and paused.
I hesitated—just for a second. Afraid of what I'd see… or what I'd feel.
Then I pushed the door open.
There she was.
Aria Rao Reyes. My mother.
She looked almost untouched. A slight bruise marked her forearm. Her forehead was wrapped in a pristine white bandage, and a gauze strip circled her calf. Aside from that, she looked flawless. Her hair was still curled. Her lipstick—barely smudged. Her posture, regal.
She was scrolling through her phone like this was a hotel bed, not a hospital one.
"Mumma," I breathed.
She looked up. "Ara… hello," she said, her voice flat. Polite. Like she was greeting a stranger.
I took a step forward. "Hello, Mumma. How are you feeling?"
"I'm alright." Her tone held no warmth. No relief to see me. No emotion at all.
Then she turned to Aunt Rhea, suddenly brighter. "You wouldn't believe the media frenzy! Someone recognized me even while I was on the stretcher!"
They both chuckled.
I stood there, invisible.
I sank into the stool near her feet while Aunt took the chair by her side. The beeping monitor was louder than the words I couldn't say. Louder than my heartbeat. Louder than the ache swelling in my chest.
I waited.
Hoped she would turn to me. Ask me how school was. Ask me how I got here. Ask me… anything.
She didn't.
My fingers clenched the edge of the stool. I wanted to scream. Shake her. Beg her to see me.
Then she said it—so casually it felt like a slap.
"Rhea, I have a favor to ask."
Aunt turned to her. "What is it?"
"I signed a five-year contract with a major agency in New York—Velvet Models and Elite! It's a dream opportunity."
My eyes widened. My heart dropped. It felt like my whole brain short-circuited.
"Wow, that's…" Aunt Rhea began, clearly stunned.
"A big deal," Mumma finished with a proud smile. "Congratulations," Aunt added, trying to smile.
But Mumma wasn't done.
"I need you to take care of Ara. Can you take her to India with you? Raise her like your own—with Leo and Liza?"
I couldn't speak.
She didn't even look at me. Didn't ask if I wanted to go. Didn't ask how I felt. She just… decided. Like I was baggage she needed someone to store safely.
Aunt Rhea blinked, surprised. "I mean—if Ara's okay with it…"
"She doesn't have any problem," Mumma said, waving her hand like it didn't matter. "She just needs time to adjust in a new environment. You know how she is."
That's it. I think I wanted to vanish. Disappear into the floor. Or maybe teleport to Mars and forget I was ever born.
Aunt Rhea opened her mouth like she wanted to say something. But she didn't.
That was it.
I stood up slowly and walked out.
Didn't even look back.
My shoes felt heavy. My chest hollow.
I could feel Leo staring at me from the chairs outside the room, confused by my silence. He looked like he wanted to say something—maybe even crack a joke.
I ignored him. Just like he always ignored me.
I locked myself in the nearest washroom. The second the door shut, I broke.
Cried salty, heavy tears—ugly sobs that racked my body.
The kind of crying that hurts your lungs.
The kind you don't want anyone to see.
"C-control, Ara… control…" I whispered into the mirror. My reflection looked unfamiliar. Swollen eyes. Red nose. Shaky lips.
I splashed water on my face again and again until my skin burned.
I hated how familiar this felt.
Back home, the silence in the car was unbearable. Mumma didn't say a word. She looked out the window like I wasn't even there.
She started packing the second we reached home. Her flight: 11 AM. Mine: 5 PM.
Same day.
Different moods.
Different countries.
Different lives.
I curled into my bed like a child, clutching the pillow to my chest. I buried my face into it, screaming into the fabric. I felt like I was breaking into pieces, like I would disappear if I moved too fast.
My favorite plushie—Leo used to call it "Mr. Paws" to annoy me—was soaked in tears.
I had no real friends at school. No one who truly saw me. In my family, I was the invisible girl. I had never met my father. Mumma refused to talk about him. And now, I was losing her too.
I had no one. No one.
That night, the maid knocked on my door. "Ma'am, dinner is ready."
I dragged myself to the dining room. My stomach felt twisted, but I forced my feet to move.
Mumma was already at the table. Perfect as always. She hadn't even changed out of her hospital clothes, but she looked like she belonged in a magazine.
It had been months since we sat for dinner together.
I sat beside Aunt. Leo sat across from me, beside Mumma. She didn't look at me once.
I stared at my plate. Couldn't eat. Couldn't think.
I think... I wanted some memories.
I quietly slipped my phone behind a bowl of mango sago and took a photo of her.
Click.
Click.
She noticed.
Her eyes—those sharp, siren eyes—locked onto mine. "I thought you were upset about me leaving."
"I just…" I started.
"Just eat," she said, cutting me off.
I shut my mouth.
That was that.
The rest of dinner was a blur. I barely touched my food. I just stared at the phone screen, where her image was frozen in time. I knew I could find thousands of her photos online. But still… I wanted these.
The real ones.
The ones that hurt.
The ones no one else had.
That night, as I lay in bed, the darkness pressed in on me. I stared at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me. My mind raced with memories—moments I wanted to hold onto, even if they hurt.
The smell of her perfume.
The click of her heels.
The rare days when she used to braid my hair while humming a lullaby.
I think her cold siren eyes will haunt me in my dreams.
The next morning came like a nightmare I couldn't wake from.
The most, most, most very difficult day.
Mumma's departure.