Ara's POV
I rushed into the hospital straight from school, heart hammering in my chest. My bag thumped against my back, shoes squeaking faintly on the polished floor. Aunt Rhea and Leo were already there, stiffly seated on the cold metal chairs outside the operating theatre.
I dropped my rucksack beside them without a word. The hallway lights buzzed faintly above, casting long shadows across the floor. The sharp scent of antiseptic bit at my nose.
"Ara," Aunt Rhea stood, gently placing a hand on my arm. "She's inside. It's not serious—just a few bruises. The doctors are checking her now."
I nodded. My throat was dry and scratchy, like I'd swallowed sandpaper. The sterile white walls, the beeping machines, the sound of someone crying down the corridor—it all felt too loud. Too real. Too painful.
Leo rolled his eyes. "It was just a bicycle, not a car. She's fine. Probably just being dramatic, as usual."
I didn't answer. My fingers curled into fists.
We waited in silence. Seconds dragged into minutes. My legs wouldn't stop bouncing. I kept staring at the theatre doors, hoping they'd open. Afraid 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 stood at the top of the stairs, watching her descend like she was walking away from me forever. She hadn't even looked back.
The door creaked open.
A nurse stepped out. "Family of Aria Rao?"
We jumped to our feet.
"She's stable," the nurse said. "Minor injuries—just bruises and scrapes. She's been moved to Room 312. You can go in now."
My breath caught.
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. Every step toward Room 312 tightened something in my chest.
I reached the door.
Paused.
Just for a second. Afraid of what I'd see… or what I wouldn't.
Then I pushed it open.
There she was.
Aria Rao Reyes. My mother.
A bruise on her forearm. A white bandage on her forehead. Gauze wrapped around her calf. But otherwise — untouched. Her hair was still curled. Lipstick — barely smudged. She lay back like this was a hotel bed, not a hospital one.
She was scrolling through her phone.
"Mumma," I breathed.
She looked up. "Ara… hello," she said, voice flat. Polite. Like she was greeting a stranger.
I stepped closer. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm alright." Her tone held no warmth. No relief. No emotion at all.
Then she turned to Aunt Rhea, suddenly animated. "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 took the stool near her feet. Aunt sat by her side. The beeping of the monitor was louder than the words I couldn't say.
I waited.
Waited for her to turn to me. Ask about school. About me. Anything.
She didn't.
My hands clenched the edge of the stool.
Then she said it — so casually it stung.
"Rhea, I have a favor to ask."
Aunt turned. "What is it?"
"I signed a five-year contract with a major agency in New York—Velvet Models and Elite! A dream opportunity."
My heart dropped.
"Wow, that's—" Aunt Rhea began.
"A big deal," Mumma finished. She was glowing now.
"Congratulations," Aunt said, trying to smile.
But Mumma wasn't done.
"I need you to take care of Ara. Bring her to India. Raise her like your own — with Leo and Liza."
I froze.
She didn't even look at me.
Didn't ask if I wanted to go. Didn't ask how I felt.
Aunt Rhea blinked. "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 to adjust. You know how she is."
Like I was luggage she didn't want to carry anymore.
I wanted to vanish.
Aunt looked like she wanted to object — but didn't.
I stood. Walked out.
Didn't look back.
My shoes felt heavier with every step.
Leo watched me as I passed. His face unreadable. He looked like he wanted to say something — maybe crack a joke.
I ignored him.
Locked myself in the washroom.
And broke.
Ugly sobs tore through me. The kind that made your lungs burn.
"C-control, Ara… control…" I whispered at my reflection. My face was blotchy, nose red, lips trembling. I splashed cold water again and again until my skin stung.
I hated how familiar this felt.
---
Back home, silence filled the car. Mumma didn't say a word. Just stared out the window like I wasn't there.
She began packing the moment we got in.
Her flight: 11 AM.
Mine: 5 PM.
Same day.
Different moods.
Different countries.
Different lives.
I curled into bed, hugging my pillow. Screamed into it until my voice cracked. My favorite plushie — Mr. Paws — soaked in tears.
I had no real friends at school. No one who really saw me. In my family, I was invisible. I'd never met my father. Mumma refused to talk about him. And now, I was losing her too.
I had no one.
---
That night, the maid knocked softly. "Ma'am, dinner is ready."
I dragged myself to the table. My stomach twisted. But I walked.
Mumma was already seated — flawless, even in hospital clothes. Months had passed since we last sat together like this.
I sat beside Aunt. Leo sat across from me.
She didn't look at me once.
I stared at my plate. Couldn't eat. Couldn't think.
I think… I just wanted memories.
I slowly slipped my phone behind a bowl of mango sago and snapped a photo.
Click.
Click.
Yah I know, i know I can find numerous photos of her on internet but I just want to click them myself.
She posed for every photo. Even while eating she unknowingly posed for every photo.
She noticed. She noticed me smiling.
Her siren eyes locked onto mine. "I thought you were upset about me leaving."
Aunt and leo suddenly looked at me like I just caught doing a crime.
"I just…" I began.
"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 photo. One no one else would have.
A real one. The kind that hurt.
That night, the darkness didn't just surround me — it pressed in, like it wanted to swallow me whole. The ceiling fan spun slowly above me. My mind raced with moments I didn't want to lose.
The smell of her perfume.
The click of her heels.
The days she used to braid my hair while humming lullabies.
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.