Fractured Lives

The Wife – A Love That Hurts

The bedroom was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a single bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, the city carried on—cars honking, people laughing, life moving forward. But inside these walls, time stood still.

She sat on the edge of the bed, fingers clutching the edge of her saree, heart pounding like a caged animal. She could hear him moving in the other room—the clink of ice against glass, the slow shuffle of his feet as he poured himself another drink.

Her husband.

A man she once believed she loved. A man who had held her hand with such tenderness when they first married. A man who whispered sweet promises in the dark. But now? Now, he was something else.

“Come here.” His voice cut through the silence, slow and deliberate.

She swallowed hard. If she ignored him, he would get angry. If she obeyed, she knew what would happen. Either way, she would lose.

Her bare feet touched the cold marble as she rose. She walked toward him, each step feeling heavier than the last. He sat in the armchair, swirling his whiskey, his eyes dark with something hungry.

“You’re late tonight.” His voice was smooth, but there was venom beneath it.

“I was with my mother—”

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist so tightly that she gasped. His grip was bruising, his fingers digging into her skin. “Did I ask for an excuse?”

She shook her head, eyes lowered.

He pulled her down onto his lap, his lips pressing against her neck—but there was no warmth, no affection. Just control. His fingers traced her collarbone before moving lower, gripping her waist possessively.

This isn’t love.

She had told herself for years that what they had was real. That love came in different forms. That the roughness in his touch, the pain in his presence, was just a part of marriage.

But why did it feel like she was suffocating?

His hands tightened around her waist. “You’re mine, don’t forget that.”****"No one else will ever want you."

She bit her lip, forcing back tears. Because a part of her still wanted to believe in the love they once had.

But deep down, a darker thought crept in.

What if she had never truly loved him at all?

---

The Lost Man – A Champion Turned Ghost

The cold night air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it.

He sat slumped on a rusted park bench, a bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. The stench of cheap whiskey clung to him, mixing with the sweat and regret that never seemed to leave his skin.

A few children played in the distance, their laughter piercing through the silence. It made him sick.

“Shut up!” he suddenly roared, voice raw and broken.

The children froze, wide-eyed, before running away. Their parents glanced at him, whispering, judging. He was used to it.

Two men stood nearby, muttering as they stole glances at him.

"That's him, right? The guy from the news years ago?"

"Yeah. He was supposed to be a legend. Now look at him."

He let out a bitter laugh, taking another swig from the bottle. He didn’t care anymore.

Once, he had been a king. A rising soccer star, one step away from national fame. His name had been everywhere.

And then… the final match happened.

His fingers tightened around the bottle. The memory clawed at his mind—the blinding stadium lights, the roaring crowd, the snap of a bone.

The blood. The pain. The end of everything.

Now, he was nothing. Just a washed-up has-been who roamed the streets, a joke for people to whisper about.

He should have died that day.

At least then, he wouldn’t have to wake up to this hell.

---

The Student – Hiding Her Scars

The bathroom mirror was cracked, much like her life.

She lifted her school shirt slightly, biting her lip as she stared at the fresh bruises on her ribs. Purple. Deep. Painful.

She pulled the fabric back down quickly, adjusting her uniform. No one needed to know.

She had learned early on that showing weakness only made things worse. At school, the bullying was endless. At home? She was invisible.

Her parents were dead. A car crash. A mistake. A moment that shattered her world. Now, she lived with relatives who barely tolerated her presence.

Outside, the whispers began.

"She’s such a freak."

"Did you see the way she hides her face? So pathetic."

"I bet she likes getting hurt. Maybe she enjoys it."

She walked past them, keeping her head down, hands clenched into fists.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight back. But what was the point?

No one would listen. No one cared.

And so, she walked home in silence, the weight of the world pressing down on her small, bruised shoulders.

---

The Fighter – Blood, Sweat, and Survival

The underpass smelled like piss and desperation. But it was home.

He sat against the cold concrete, pressing a rag to the fresh cut above his eyebrow. The fight tonight had been brutal.

He had lost. Again.

The underground fight circuit was unforgiving. If you weren’t strong, you were nothing.

And right now? He was nothing.

His stomach growled, but hunger was the least of his problems. Respect. Survival. These were the real struggles.

He wasn’t some trained champion. He wasn’t rich, famous, or skilled. He was just a boy with fists and nowhere else to go.

Tonight, he had been knocked out cold. Laughed at. Spit on.

But he wouldn’t stay like this forever. He couldn’t.

Because in this world, you either rise… or you get buried.

---

Four Lives, Four Struggles… One Fate

They had never met. Their worlds couldn’t be more different.

But fate had already begun its work.

And soon, their paths would collide in ways none of them could ever imagine.

Some would rise. Some would fall. And some would never escape the fate already written for them.

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