Chapter 4 – The Night the Sky Cried With Her

The clock struck eleven.

The house was silent except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the clink of tea cups in the living room.

Rajesh sat on the sofa, newspaper half-folded in his hands. Shobha leaned against the chair, her voice sharp even in the stillness.

“I really don’t understand what’s wrong with that girl,” Shobha muttered. “She’s always sitting alone, looking miserable, like the whole world owes her something.”

Rajesh sighed, rubbing his temple. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s even mine.”

“Rajesh!” Shobha frowned, though her tone wasn’t one of shock — more like agreement.

“I mean it,” he said flatly. “Look at Ishania — confident, ambitious, smart. And then look at Ishani. Always crying, always lost in her own head. She can’t even talk properly without sounding weak.”

“She’s been like that since childhood,” Shobha scoffed. “Always pretending to be innocent when she’s the one causing trouble. Maybe if she had a little bit of Ishania’s charm, we wouldn’t be so embarrassed to call her our daughter.”

Rajesh leaned back, his voice colder now. “You know, when the doctor told us it was twins, I was the happiest man alive. I thought—” he paused, a bitter laugh escaping, “—I thought we’d be blessed twice.”

His words hung in the air, cruel and heavy.

“But now,” he continued, shaking his head, “I wish it had just been one. Ishania was enough. I don’t even know why Ishani’s still here. She’s brought nothing but disappointment.”

Shobha’s eyes narrowed slightly, her voice almost a whisper. “Maybe… fate made a mistake.”

Neither of them noticed the faint creak of the door upstairs.

Ishani stood frozen in the hallway, her heart hammering so hard she thought they might hear it.

Every word pierced through her like glass.

Her hands shook, her throat burned.

You wish I was dead…

She wanted to scream, to run in and ask why. But her voice had died long ago.

She turned away quietly, her eyes blurry with tears. The room spun around her.

She stumbled back to her room, clutching the wall for balance.

Her admission letter still lay open on the table.

She stared at it for a long moment, the ink swimming before her eyes.

Then she tore it in half.

And then again.

And again.

Each rip sounded like her heart splitting open.

“I tried,” she whispered between sobs. “I tried so hard, Papa. Ma. I tried to be enough.”

But the walls didn’t care.

They never did.

Outside, the night was cold, the streets half-lit by broken lamps.

Ishani stepped out barefoot, her thin nightdress already damp with drizzle.

She didn’t take an umbrella.

Didn’t take her phone.

Didn’t care.

She walked until the drizzle turned to rain.

Until the tears mixed with the storm.

Until she couldn’t tell which was which.

When her legs gave out, she sank to her knees in the middle of the empty road.

Her hair clung to her face, and her sobs were swallowed by thunder.

“Why?” she cried, looking up at the sky. “Why did you give me to them? Why did you make me live this life? I didn’t ask to be born!”

Her voice cracked, breaking into a thousand pieces, like her soul had finally had enough of being silent.

That’s when she saw it — the glare of headlights cutting through the rain.

A black car screeched to a stop just a few feet away.

Through the fogged windshield, she saw two figures — the driver and someone beside him.

The passenger door opened, and a tall figure stepped out, holding an umbrella. His voice came sharp and annoyed.

“Are you out of your mind?” he barked. “Do you want to die or what?”

Ishani didn’t move. She just sat there, shivering, staring blankly at the road.

The man sighed, muttering under his breath as he crouched beside her. His friend shouted from the car, “Bro, leave her! She’s crazy!”

He ignored it.

“If you really want to die,” he said coldly, “then at least don’t do it in front of my house. Go somewhere else.”

Ishani’s eyes lifted weakly. For the first time, she saw his face — sharp jawline, stormy eyes, a darkness that mirrored her own.

He sighed again, frustration flickering beneath his tone. “God, you’re soaked.”

He reached out, helping her stand, though she barely had the strength. “Come on. You’re going to freeze out here.”

He led her to a nearby bus stand, shaking his head as he draped his jacket over her shoulders.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said quietly, his voice lower now. “I don’t know what happened to you, and I don’t care to know… but listen.”

He looked at her — really looked at her — eyes steady even through the rain.

“Whatever you’re running from, don’t make yourself someone else’s curse. You were about to make me and my family into culprits for your death. Don’t do that to anyone.”

His tone wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cruel either. It was real — the first real voice she’d heard in years.

Ishani just stared, lips trembling, unable to find words.

He straightened up, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Go home. Wherever that is. You don’t belong on a road like this.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, his friend honking impatiently from the car.

Ishani sat there under the dim light of the bus stand, the jacket still warm on her shoulders, her heart beating strangely fast.

She didn’t even know his name.

But for the first time in her life, someone had stopped.

Someone had looked at her.

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