Meher sat on the edge of her bed, her palms braced against the cotton quilt as if the fabric alone kept her upright.
The room, washed in the faint silver glow of the city beyond her curtains, felt suspended — a soft, dim pocket where the darkness seemed to breathe. Somewhere below, cars moved like restless thoughts, headlights blinking through the thin drapes in slow, rhythmic pulses.
She rubbed her thumbs together, a habit she had never broken, as her mind drifted toward that familiar ache — a voice from years ago, sliding into her consciousness like a cold draft through an unsealed window.
Inaya's voice, unwelcome yet known, threaded itself into her thoughts:
You remember what she did to you in college… when you were alone in that foreign country?
Meher's jaw clenched. She lifted her face, as if speaking into the room could drown out the phantom.
"No," she whispered to herself — quiet but resolute. "You did the right thing. You can't stoop to her level. Don't be like her. She had power and she used it for the wrong reasons. You're not her."
But memory was cruel; it did not ask for permission. It pressed forward, dragging the past behind it like a shadow. Laughter — sharp, high, merciless — rose around her, and the room tilted, the present thinning as the past flooded in.
— Flashback —
The lecture hall swarmed with voices and movement. Footsteps echoed off polished floors, chairs scraped, and late students hurried to their seats. Meher, burdened by her books and the weight of being the new transfer student, pressed into a corner, hoping to disappear.
But Zoya's voice found her anyway — clear and cutting.
"So? Miss… Rich? Won't you treat us to lunch?"
Heads turned. The question hung over the room like a spotlight. Meher felt heat crawl up her neck.
"I told you," she said softly. "It's not like that. I don't have money right now. I'll treat you later, I promise."
Zoya's eyes narrowed, lips curling into a smile that wasn't a smile at all.
"I think you don't want to leave this university in peace. You're the new transfer — who will they support? A rich, arrogant brat like you… or me?"
Meher swallowed hard. "I don't want a fight. I promise I'll treat you tomorrow."
"Now I don't need your money," Zoya said, straightening, letting the room watch her victory. "I just want to humiliate you. Be careful."
The shove came without warning. Meher stumbled, catching herself on a desk. Zoya's friends snickered, and the hall — the entire hall — watched without blinking, without speaking, without caring.
A few days later
"Give me my book back."
Meher's voice was thin, trembling around the edges.
Zoya dangled the book by its spine. "Why? You're rich. Go buy new ones."
"It has my class notes. I stayed up all night writing them," Meher pleaded.
Zoya tossed the book casually to a friend, who caught it with a laugh. Meher lunged, desperation overriding dignity.
"Please, give me my book back."
The friend only smirked and handed it back to Zoya. Zoya let it fall. Pages scattered in a sickening arc across the corridor, handwritten notes fanning out like broken feathers.
Zoya placed a hand on her chest, feigning concern.
"Oh, so sorry. It slipped."
Laughter rippled again — always that laughter. Meher crouched, gathering the pages with trembling hands.
Silence pressed in around her as she rose, clutching her bent notes to her chest.
A girl nearby spoke gently, almost fearfully:
"Meher… your parents are rich. Tell them. They can do something."
Meher shook her head, voice barely more than breath.
"I told them. My father says it's natural… to take it as a joke."
She blinked rapidly, swallowing shame.
"I don't want trouble. I'll let it go."
Another afternoon
She sat alone on a bench beneath the old campus tree — its leaves rustling just enough to sound like comfort. Her heart lightened as she clutched a small bundle of letters, the envelopes slightly wrinkled from their journey.
"Finally… letters from Aaira aapi. I somehow managed to get them."
Her voice softened as she broke the first seal. Her sister's handwriting bloomed across the page, warm and familiar.
Aaira's letter:
Hi Meher. It seems you've forgotten me. How's the new university? I miss you… If anyone troubles you, don't worry. I'll come teach them a lesson. Just wait for me, okay? —Aaira
Meher's eyes stung. Her throat tightened. She folded the letter carefully, as though the words were something that could bruise.
Then fingers — rough, impatient — snatched it from her grip.
Zoya.
"Letters? Boyfriend? Boyfriend can wait. Talk to us first."
A gesture from Zoya. The envelopes were rifled through like trash.
"Please — they're from my sister. Give them back."
Zoya shrugged lazily.
"A letter from a sister? Why make a fuss?"
Meher's voice cracked open:
"I haven't heard from her for months. Please — please don't—"
But Zoya was already flipping open a lighter, its flame rising — tiny, bright, hungry.
"What are you doing? Please — no."
Meher launched forward, but hands grabbed her, dragging her back. The first letter caught flame. Then the next. Pages curled, blackened, fell to ash. Meher slapped at the fire with frantic, shaking palms until her skin reddened and the ashes scattered in the breeze.
Zoya watched the destruction calmly. Then she turned and walked away, her friends trailing after her like shadows.
Meher knelt among the burnt pieces, trying to hold ashes as if they could become whole again, her tears dropping onto the charred fragments.
— Back to Present —
The room came into focus again. Meher wiped her face roughly, smearing away the tears that had risen uninvited. Her breath shook.
"She did that to me… then she left when her family had no money."
The bitterness in her voice wasn't sharp. It was heavy. Exhausted.
Then something shifted — a firmer edge, a steadier note.
"I won't play her games. I won't hurt people like she did. But I'll make sure she can't hurt anyone else — not with words, not with petty cruelty. I'll do it without becoming her."
A soft knock broke the fragile quiet.
"Yes?" she called.
Asad's voice floated up the staircase — steady, familiar.
"Come downstairs. I want to talk."
Meher paused. Drew in a long breath.
She pushed herself off the bed, smoothing her shirt with shaky fingers.
"Okay."
She wiped the remaining salt of her tears, straightened her back, and stood.
To be continued....