The world looked freshly washed, as if the rain had rinsed away its sins. Trees glistened with silver droplets, and the cloudy sky stretched wide, soft and endless. Puddles shimmered on the roads, reflecting laughter. Children ran barefoot, giggling, while others pedaled their bicycles with careless joy. A group sat on the curb, munching on hot French fries—no doubt bought from the little shop outside the society gate. It was a sight so simple, yet so achingly beautiful. A sight untouched by worry. A sight of freedom.

A girl sat on a wooden bench, her loose blue shirt brushing against printed trousers that swayed gently in the breeze. A pair of glasses framed her dark brown eyes—large, soulful, and crowned with long lashes. Her cheeks held a natural blush, her lips a soft baby-pink, as though painted by innocence itself. She watched the scene before her with a quiet smile.

To her right rose a tall building, eight or nine floors high, its balconies alive with life. Women stood with their daughters or husbands, leaning against the railings, laughing, gossiping, and watching the rain. When she turned her gaze to the other three buildings around her, she found the same sight—families gathered, sharing simple joy beneath the cloudy sky. She smiled again, her heart warmed. What a comforting sight.

In front of her, tall trees swayed gracefully, dancing with the rhythm of the breeze. She closed her eyes, letting the cool air brush against her face. A shiver ran through her, but instead of retreating, she welcomed it, smiling softly. There was no doubt—nature always wore the colors of the spirit.

“Today, I want to ask you something… as a friend.”

The voice startled her, gentle yet steady. She turned her head toward the woman sitting beside her. Her long, dark brown hair framed a face with the same deep eyes as the girl’s—eyes that mirrored each other like a reflection. Faint wrinkles traced the corners of her skin, but they did nothing to dim her beauty. If anything, they whispered of a time when she had been radiant, effortlessly so. She wore a long shirt with loose trousers, a light scarf draped around her neck, her presence calm yet striking.*

“Yes, Mom,” she replied with a soft smile.

Her mother’s eyes lingered on her as she spoke. “You’ll be turning twenty-seven next month… and I realized, I’ve never truly asked you this before. What do you want in your life?”

The girl’s smile faltered. For a moment, silence pressed between them. She turned to look at her mother, her lips curving again—but this time, it was a painful smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. Emotions welled up, threatening to spill, yet she held them back.

“Aren’t you a little late to ask that?” she said—her voice polite, but laced with quiet sarcasm, trembling with the weight of old wounds.

Her mother felt the words like a blade. It was as if something heavy had gripped her heart, squeezing tight. Still, she forced her face to remain calm, hiding the ache that burned deep inside.

“No… I just wanted to ask,” her mother said softly. “You’re doing your research now—you’re an MPhil scholar. Soon, you’ll have your degree. And after everything… after your recent breakup, the one that shattered your heart into pieces… what do you want to do next?”

She rose from the bench as she spoke, her scarf shifting with the breeze, and gestured gently. “Come… let’s walk.”

She rose to her feet beside her mother, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Sometimes,” she said softly, still smiling, “it feels like you don’t really know me at all, Mom.”

Her mother looked at her with questioning eyes.

She smiled gently. “He didn’t hurt me, Mom. From the beginning, I knew we couldn’t last. The first time he hurt me, I cried—I wanted to leave him right then. But soon I realized it wasn’t love… it was an addiction. In just one and a half months, I had become addicted to him. So I stayed… until I broke free of that addiction. And then, I left—just like that.”

Her mother’s eyes widened in shock.

The girl’s smile shifted, curling into something darker—a smile that carried both power and warning. It wasn’t the smile of a broken heart, but the smile of someone who had survived it. A smile sharp enough to destroy anything that dared to hurt her again.

“Did you… play him? Are you becoming a player?” her mother asked, disbelief heavy in her voice.

The girl let out a soft sigh, her eyes lowering for a moment. In that silence, the ache returned—the quiet reminder that her mother still didn’t truly know her. Then she lifted her gaze and smiled faintly.

“No, Mom. I’m not a player. I can’t stay around someone who hurts me.

“That was your third relationship… and none of them lasted more than three months,” her mother said quietly.

The girl only smiled, meeting her mother’s eyes. Then she laughed lightly and gave a playful wink.“And it was always me, Mom. I was the one who ended things. I was the one who dumped them.”

“But you’re wrong, Mom,” Velora corrected with a smile that carried both pride and irony. “One lasted two years, another six months, and the last… three months.” She said it as if it were some achievement, her tone calm, almost playful.

Her mother stared at her in disbelief, her patience thinning. Finally, she asked again, her voice firm this time.“What do you want in your life, Velora?”

It was no longer curiosity—it was desperation, as though she were done circling her daughter’s walls.

Velora returned to the bench and sat down, a soft smile on her lips. “Right now, let’s just have some tea. I’m craving it,” she said lightly.

Her mother studied her closely. Her daughter looked younger than her years—her small face still carrying a trace of innocence. Yet her eyes… those eyes spoke louder than words. They held a power that could burn anyone alive, eyes that could never hide emotion.

Yes, her eyes. They were her inheritance—passed down from her mother, who once had the same fire. But where Velora’s eyes glimmered with unspoken strength, her mother’s now carried the weight of survival. They told stories of pain no one could imagine, of battles fought silently.

She looked at her daughter with a tenderness that welled up into tears, though she didn’t let them fall. Instead, she prayed silently in her heart:

“God, please… don’t let her suffer. Bring happiness into her life. Let someone enter her world who loves her so deeply, so purely, that she forgets her wounds and learns to feel love again—real love.”

Her mother rose, giving a small nod of indication before heading off to make tea.

Velora stayed on the bench, her gaze drifting once again to the world around her. The scenery was the same—the freshly washed trees, the damp streets glistening under a pale sky—but her emotions were not.

She lifted her eyes to the heavens where a flock of birds soared freely now that the rain had passed. A painful, sarcastic smile curved across her lips.

Everything is so carefree, she thought. Carefree childhood. Carefree laughter. Carefree love.

Her eyes lowered to her feet, and the light within them shifted—darkened. Fire and pain swirled there, spilling out in silence. She smiled again, but this smile never touched her eyes.

People think heartbreak comes from lovers, her thoughts whispered like venom. But they don’t know the real kind—the heartbreak that comes from your own blood. The kind that shatters you long before you even know what love is…

She sighed softly and closed her eyes, as if trying to lull her inner wounds back to sleep—those dark scars that always threatened to disturb her present peace. For a moment, silence wrapped around her like a gentle shroud, steadying her heart.

When she opened her eyes again, the world seemed unchanged, yet somehow gentler. She smiled—calm, serene—as though nothing had ever touched her. The control she had over herself was almost breathtaking, a quiet power that demanded respect.

Just then, her phone vibrated in her trousers’ pocket. She pulled it out, and the screen lit up with a message from her mother:

“Come upstairs, tea is ready.”

Velora smiled again, her lips curving with a tenderness she rarely revealed. She lifted her eyes to the sky, inhaling deeply. Whatever storms she had endured, whatever shadows clung to her past—her mother remained her heartbeat, the one constant in a world of uncertainties.

She rose from the bench and walked toward the tall building on her right. Her steps echoed softly in the damp corridor until she reached the elevator. With a calm hand, she pressed the button for the eighth floor.

As she waited, she tapped her foot lightly against the marble floor, her eyes drifting upward. A small security camera blinked above the elevator doors. She tilted her head and smiled at it, amused by its silent watch.

Her gaze wandered down the hallway. Every door was closed, every corner empty. Of course, she thought, everyone was out on their balconies or in the courtyard, lost in laughter, in conversations, in the carefree joy that only rain could bring.

A soft smile curved her lips once more. What a peaceful life… she thought, savoring the serenity of the moment, the kind that reminded her of childhood dreams she rarely let herself revisit.

She pushed the door open, stepped inside, and called out with a bright smile,

“Hello, Mom!”

Her mother, standing by the kitchen counter, turned with a gentle smile.

“Come, let’s go to the balcony with some tea. I’ve made pancakes, cookies, and potato cutlets.”

At the mention of food, Velora’s mouth watered. She ran up and hugged her mother.

“Mom, you’re the best!”

Her mother laughed, and Velora joined in. Their laughter mingled warmly, wrapping the room in a rare, fleeting peace.

Suddenly, a deep, playful voice rang from the drawing room:

“Oh wow, the beauties are laughing… tell me too, I want to laugh!”

Both mother and daughter turned to see her father leaning against the sofa with a teasing smile. They couldn’t help but smile back.

“Your daughter only loves food, so she’s happy whenever she sees something to eat,” her mother teased.

Her father laughed heartily.

“Then you should make her happy every day!”

Velora grinned mischievously.

“Exactly, Dad! After all, I am the only daughter here!”

The room instantly filled with their laughter—the playful bond of father and daughter echoing like music. Her mother folded her arms and gave them a mock glare.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m just the maid here, right? You two just eat and laugh while I do all the cooking.”

Her father chuckled and rose to defend himself, his voice soft and warm:

“No, no… you are my heart, my life, my love.”

Her mother blushed despite herself, shaking her head as she carried a tray toward the balcony. Their laughter, the aroma of tea, and the fading daylight promised a rare, perfect evening.

After filling her stomach with tea, pancakes, and cutlets, Velora slipped away to her room. She collapsed onto her bed, letting out a long sigh.

Now came the part she couldn’t escape—checking her research data. She stared at her laptop for a moment and laughed softly.

Who would have thought? A girl who had always hated begging, who swore she’d never bow her head before anyone, was now practically pleading with strangers to fill her survey forms.

The irony made her chuckle again, but the laughter soon faded into a heavy silence. She had never been good at making friends. In all her life, there were only two—one from her very first class in school, and another from the second semester of university. Two friends in twenty-seven years. That was her reality.

Velora was neither an introvert nor an extrovert; she was an omnivert. She could adapt to people and situations, but when it came to relationships, she created them only from the heart. If she decided to keep someone close, she would make it happen—whatever it took.

She was warm and friendly toward every girl she met, her smile and kindness making her approachable. But she had her boundaries, and she made them clear.

“I’m friendly,” she often said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m your friend.”

That single line drew the line around her world, keeping her safe, yet also setting her apart.

Velora never took anything from her friends. She was always the giver. Even on her own birthdays, she decorated the room, set the table, and planned everything herself—just so her two closest friends could enjoy the day.

Her papa jani’s words echoed in her heart:

“Never be a taker to your friends, always be a giver.”

She followed this like a silent rule, never breaking it. Velora wasn’t just a giver—she was a generous giver. But sometimes, in the quiet of the night, she wondered if anyone would ever give back to her the way she gave to the world.

She checked the responses to her survey.

“Wow… 39… 41… yay! But—ugh, still just 41.”

Her smile faded. A heaviness pressed against her chest. For the past one and a half months, she had been working tirelessly on data collection, yet she had only 41 responses. She needed 100.

With a sigh, she opened the folder containing her research proposal. The screen lit up with bold letters:

“The Long-Term Effects of Parental Divorce on Children’s Mental Health.”

Her breath caught. Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her chair. How ironic… The very wounds of her childhood—the pain of her parents’ divorce—had pushed her to choose this topic. She wanted to understand, to heal, and to raise awareness for those who suffered the same fate.

And yet… she couldn’t even find enough participants. Divorce was so common in society, yet the people she needed seemed invisible, scattered, unreachable.

Her mind drifted back—uninvited, but sharp.

A little girl stood trembling in the corner of the living room. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she cried, voice breaking, “Please… don’t beat my mom!” Her small fists were clenched, but her body shook helplessly.

Beside her, her 5-year-old brother wailed loudly, not understanding what was happening—only knowing the sound of chaos, fear, and his mother’s pain. He clung to her dress, his sobs echoing louder with every crash of anger in the room.

A few steps behind, her 9-year-old brother stood frozen. He didn’t cry, didn’t shout—he just stared with wide eyes, his little body stiff against the wall. Fear had paralyzed him.

The sounds of shouting, the thud of something hitting the ground, and their mother’s pleading filled the house. The little girl’s voice cracked as she begged, “Please stop!” but her words vanished in the storm.

And then—something inside her broke. She pulled her little brother’s hand away, glanced at her older brother still frozen, and ran.

She bolted outside barefoot, tears blinding her vision. The street was empty, yet she screamed, her voice piercing the silence, “Somebody help! Please!”

She opened her eyes. A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“What a tragedy… I’m drowning in the same pain I’m trying to study.”

Her scars were carved in childhood, yet she wore them as wings. The world saw only her strength, but strength was born from surviving the fire.

CHAPTER 3 – SHADOWS OF INNOCENCE

A man stood across the room, his gaze fixed on his wife with a tenderness that seemed to light up his entire being. In that moment, he was the happiest man in the world. Dark curls tumbled over his forehead, a neatly kept black beard framed his strong jaw, and long lashes softened his eyes whenever they rested on her.

She was youthful, radiant, and far younger than him—he, twenty-eight; she, only nineteen. Her short wavy hair framed her delicate face, her tall, elegant posture exuded grace, and her large eyes sparkled with life.

“Lady Diana, I want a girl,” he said softly, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

Nora laughed, the sound light and musical. She knew why he always called her Lady Diana—her short hair, striking beauty, and graceful height reminded him of a princess.

“No, Fletcher, I want a son,” she teased, returning his smile.

Fletcher’s grin faltered briefly, shadowed by a memory. Two years earlier, they had lost their first child, a boy, to miscarriage. The pain lingered silently, yet in this moment, hope and love glimmered stronger than any past sorrow.

At dawn, Nora gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Fletcher’s heart swelled with joy; he felt as if the world itself had paused to celebrate.

Everyone in the family rejoiced. Fletcher’s parents, siblings, Nora’s parents, and her brothers and sisters gathered eagerly, each longing to cradle the fragile new life in their arms. Little Velora became the apple of everyone’s eye.

As the first granddaughter and eldest child in both families, every smile, every coo, and even a single tear became a source of love, concern, and excitement. Their home, situated close to Nora’s parents and not far from Fletcher’s, ensured that Velora was surrounded by attention, care, and admiration. She became a miniature celebrity, pampered and adored at every turn.

Life was beautiful, peaceful, and wrapped in love. Fletcher loved Nora as naturally as breathing, and the household thrived on harmony, laughter, and warmth. Fletcher worked tirelessly managing his factory and business, ensuring his family wanted for nothing. Nora devoted herself to the children’s upbringing and education, guiding their studies and nurturing their minds.

A year and a half later, Velora’s younger brother Oscar was born. His laughter and tiny hands reaching for the world created a melody of family bliss. Velora watched over him with pride and protectiveness. The siblings formed a silent, tender bond, unspoken but unbreakable.

But life, which had seemed serene, began to shift. Fletcher gradually started to distance himself from Nora. He arrived home late, lost in his own world. Silence replaced warmth; arguments became frequent. Fletcher’s anger echoed through the house, and though Velora and Oscar were young, they sensed the storm, their hearts shrinking in fear. Yet his love for Velora remained untarnished; he could never bear to see tears in her eyes.

Nora, meanwhile, poured her love into Oscar, leaving Velora to quietly navigate the turbulence of home life. Day by day, the arguments intensified. The laughter of children could no longer cover the rift growing between their parents.

Then came the revelation that would change everything. Nora, pregnant with their third child, discovered Fletcher’s betrayal—he had been unfaithful just days before her delivery. Nora wept, but Fletcher refused to acknowledge his actions, manipulating her until she felt trapped. Yet life moved on—she gave birth to their son, Theo.

Luxury and wealth continued to shield the children. Expensive clothes, toys, and elite schooling filled their days. Nora played an essential role in their education, fulfilling what Fletcher, uneducated in academics, could not provide himself. But the cracks in their family widened.

Fletcher’s temper escalated. One name—Sandy—was enough to ignite fury. He raised his hand at Nora. Velora and Oscar froze, their young minds too small to comprehend the chaos. They did not know who Sandy was, yet her presence had shattered the sanctuary of their home.

Despair overwhelmed Nora. One night, in desperation, she ingested a large number of sleeping pills, attempting to end her life. Fletcher, terrified, rushed her to the hospital. She survived, but the spark in her eyes—the warmth and light that had defined her—was gone.

At home, the air was thick with tension. Nora’s depression turned her harsh; her anger spilled over onto Velora and her siblings. Fletcher still loved his children with all his heart, but his love for Nora had waned into distance and strain.

One day, in a fit of desperation, Nora screamed for a divorce. Fletcher, in anger, raised his hand once more. Velora froze. Divorce—a word foreign and incomprehensible to her. In her small mind, it seemed like an expensive toy, out of reach and impossible to grasp.

“Papa… please… give Mom a divorce!” She pleaded, her tiny hands reaching for him, her voice trembling.

For the first time, she heard the word spoken by those she loved. Divorce—a sound she could not understand. A whisper of a world too heavy for her innocence.

Her laughter trembled, her heart fractured. The very blood that had nurtured her now delivered trauma. The home that had cradled her first dreams became a storm that scarred her mind.

Eyes wide, heart fragile, Velora pleaded in vain, unaware of the weight behind grown-up pain. In that moment, childhood innocence was lost, yet life—harsh and unyielding—called her name.

Three more years passed. Velora was now nine, Oscar seven, and little Theo five. Yet the loud arguments, shouting, and occasional slaps still echoed through the house like a storm that never ended.

Coming home from school, Velora noticed the mess immediately.

“Oh… they had a fight again,” she muttered, picking up a brush from the ground.

“This brush must’ve been thrown by Mom at Papa,” Oscar added, tossing his bag onto the sofa.

Theo, drinking water casually, looked around. “Where’s Mom?”

Both Velora and Oscar shrugged. “Don’t know,” they replied in unison, their expressions careful.

Just then, Nora emerged from her room. She smiled gently, but her eyes betrayed the pain she carried deep inside. Kneeling, she hugged each child and kissed their cheeks one by one.

“How was your day?” she asked softly.

“Good!” they chorused, voices bright despite the heaviness in the air.

“Go, change. Lunch is ready,” she said, and they ran to their rooms.

Nora let out a deep sigh, hiding briefly behind the door to watch them. Yesterday, her sister had reminded her how arguments like theirs were stealing the children’s innocence. Today, seeing Velora, Oscar, and Theo speak casually about the chaos, her heart ached. She promised herself she would try to focus on the kids, shielding them from the storm outside and within the home.

Velora’s report card came next. She had a B+. Oscar had an A.

“Look at Oscar! You need to work harder, Velora,” Nora said, praising Oscar and giving him a gift.

Velora felt the sting deep in her chest. She lowered her eyes in shame, her small shoulders slumping. In front of Fletcher, Nora continued to praise Oscar. But Fletcher noticed his daughter’s pain and hugged her tightly.

“You did great too, my girl,” he whispered, making her smile faintly.

From that day, Velora tried harder. But the daily fights of her parents began to take a toll. The shouting, slamming doors, and angry words seeped into every corner of her life.

One day, the argument escalated beyond control. Velora, trembling, ran outside barefoot, her small feet cutting against the rough ground. Standing in front of the main gate, she cried out, “HELP!”

Her body shook violently, tears streaming down her face. She ran as fast as she could to her grandparents’ house.

Her grandparents were stunned. Her feet were bleeding, her face scratched, wet with tears.

“Granny… Mom… and Papa… they fought!” She stammered, trembling.

Her grandfather closed his eyes in pain, and her grandmother cried as she took in the sight of her beloved granddaughter.

They cleaned her, dressed her in fresh clothes, and slipped new shoes onto her small feet. Then their anger flared—not at Velora, but at the parents who caused her suffering. They scolded both Nora and Fletcher fiercely.

Fletcher’s gaze softened when he looked at Velora. He said nothing, letting the room settle. Nora clung to Velora, crying. Velora’s heart ached; she could never upset her father—he was her first love, her protector, her everything.

Weeks passed. Life regained a fragile calm, but the scars remained.

Velora held her report card tightly, trembling. She had earned an A. But fear clawed at her chest. What if Oscar scored higher? What if Mom gave him more love?

Her heart raced. Even small victories felt tainted by comparison.

“So… what’s your result?” Oscar asked mischievously.

“You… got an A plus?” Velora whispered.

He nodded, grinning. Velora looked at her own card, the numbers and letters feeling meaningless compared to Oscar’s praise.

At home, Oscar ran inside shouting, “Mom! I got an A plus!” Velora lingered at the door, clutching her card. Her mother showered Oscar with praise and even a small reward in cash. Velora swallowed hard, forcing herself to step inside with a composed face.

..................................................................................

Inside, a quiet lesson lingered:

Sometimes, praise for one

casts a shadow on another.

Little hands reach for love.

and sometimes find only comparison.

Every child deserves to feel seen.

not measured.

Every achievement, no matter how small,

is a victory in their tender world