S𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫.

“Get up, Sehr! It’s late already. Breakfast is ready; go freshen up and come downstairs,” Mama said in an annoyed tone.

As it was my first day at the university, Mama was determined to make sure I didn’t start off late.

She called out to me, trying to wake me up.

When I didn’t respond, mom pulled the blanket off and opened the curtains, letting the sunlight flood the room.

I growled, reluctantly getting out of bed. I trudged to the bathroom half-asleep. As I showered, I started singing a mix of Desi Bollywood and Hollywood songs, a small habit that always lightened my mood.

Fifteen minutes later, I stepped out wrapped in my cute sand-colored bathrobe.

‘What the hell should I wear today? Not that something is special. Maybe I’ll go with a ruffle-tie corset dress and soft mid-thigh shorts, I guess,’ I muttered to myself, deliberating on my outfit. After deciding, I quickly dressed myself and tied my hair up in a high ponytail with a silk hair ribbon.

Once ready, I headed downstairs for breakfast, where my family was already seated at the dining table, waiting for me.

“Hey, you all! Good morning.” I greeted them with excitement in my tone.

“Oh Lord! You aren’t ready yet. What a careless child you are, Sehr,” Mama exclaimed, clearly worried about my first day.

“Why, what’s special?” I asked, taking a bite of my sandwich.

“Isn’t it your first day at university, Aapi?” my younger brother, Ashan, remarked, reminding me of my most important day of the day while he applied jam to his bread.

I paused, wondering how I could have forgotten such an important day. ‘Oh fuck, right. My first day at Harvard University! How could I possibly forget it?’

“Damn,” not giving it a second thought, I said to myself, feeling a mixture of anxiety and excitement rising. After finishing my breakfast quickly, I ran back to my room to get dressed.

I muttered to myself, “Come on, come on, what should I wear?” as I nervously dug through my clothes.

I ultimately decided on a black mesh V-neck crop top, blue flare jeans with a high waist, and Gucci boots. “Yes, I guess that would do.” I mumbled to myself.

I got dressed and gave myself one last look in the mirror before feeling a rush of confidence. “This is it, Sehr. Your big day,” I whispered to myself.

I grabbed my bag pack and hurried downstairs, where my family was waiting to see me off.

“Now you look ready,” my mom said, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Thanks, Mama. I’m off now,” I replied, hugging her tightly.

As I arrived, I stepped out of the car, and Harvard’s crisp morning air welcomed me. From a distance, the university’s majestic buildings stretched above the skyline, their tall spires making the campus look like something out of a fantasy novel, and for a moment I just stood there taking it in.

Even though I had the option to live in the campus dorm, I decided against it. My house is just twelve blocks away, and walking home every day not only gives me a break from the campus chaos but also lets me spend time with my family. With my dad’s health not being the best lately, I felt like I needed to be there for him. Before the semester began, I made sure to clear this arrangement with the university administration so there wouldn’t be any issues.

As I walked through the gates, the campus was crowded with students moving in every direction, all trying to find their way. I soon came across the main hall where the orientation was being held. Inside, the room was packed with new students chatting excitedly. My heart was racing with excitement as I finally found a seat after asking a few professors for help.

A distinguished-looking professor stepped onto the stage and welcomed the new students. “Welcome to Harvard University. You are here because you are among the best and brightest. This is a place where you will not only gain knowledge but also discover who you are and what you can achieve.”

Hearing those words, I felt a surge of pride, and honestly a little overwhelmed, realizing I was now part of something extraordinary. As the orientation continued, I started talking to a few people around me, and before long we were already bonding over shared classes and interests.

༺༻

“The better the university, the better the professors,” I said softly. “It only makes sense that a prestigious university would have top-notch educators.” I stopped mid-step when a ball rolled across the floor and bumped lightly against my leg. Assuming it belonged to someone, I bent down and picked it up.

My gaze swept the hall, instinctively searching for whoever it belonged to. A guy stepped into the locker room, his football jersey clinging to his damp skin, droplets of sweat tracing the curve of his neck. Two girls slipped in after him, giggling softly. Before I even registered what I was doing, my feet moved on their own. I Followed the sound until I realized, a beat too late, that I was standing inside the boys’ locker room.

That’s when I saw a shirtless guy walking backward toward me, laughing and pointing to the girls he’d left behind. His voice was low and teasing, completely unaware of my presence. I froze, realizing too late where I was. The sharp scent of cologne and body spray filled the air.

One of the girls scoffed, eyes fixed on me like I was some inconvenience in their rom-com. “Oh, so you don’t want to go out with us just because of her?” Her eyes still fixed on me with thinly veiled irritation.

“Sorry, who?” he asked, still facing away, oblivious to the fact someone was right behind him.

My hands curled into fists before my brain could catch up. The urge to smack him for pretending being Mr. Perfect was almost physical. The giggling, clingy flamingos still casting judgmental glances my way were enough to make my stomach twist. Each one orbiting him like little annoying planets. They looked so eager to go out with him on a date which they would have to wait for later, it was almost embarrassing. It’s clear that they were ready to fight for his attention. Disgusting.

When he turned, and I simply gaped at him. He seemed to be someone a year or two older than me. Messy chestnut brown-colored hair falling effortlessly over his forehead, giving him a casually disheveled look. His cinnamon-brown eyes stood against his light-olive skin, drawing me in despite how irritating his presence already felt.

His face was perfectly sculpted and clean-shaven, the sharp lines of his jaw impossible to miss. With a slight smirk, he confidently walked closer to me. His beguiling gaze were fixed right on me, and I felt utterly annoyed at his audacity to stare so intently. I had half a mind to tell him off right then and there, but I decided to ignore him instead.

“Does this belong to you?” I asked, refusing to meet his gaze as I tossed him the ball I had been holding for a while now, careful not to touch him even by accident.

“Oh,” he said ever so casually, like I hadn’t just thrown something at him. “You want me to sign it for you?”

Before I could answer, he snatched the pen straight from my hand and scribbled something across the ball.

“Keep it,” he said flashing that same smug smile as before, handing the ball back to me. “When I make it big, it might actually be worth something.”

“Woah, listen up, Mister… aren’t you full of yourself?” I shot back, crossing my arms. “I’m not here to collect your fan mail, okay? I came to return the ball, not to hear your bullshit.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What’s wrong? Afraid that I’ll steal your heart?”

I rolled my eyes, not letting his charm get to me. “Oh, please. The only thing you’re stealing is the last of my patience. Maybe if you spent less time flirting and more time practicing, you wouldn’t need my charity.”

He chuckled, clearly unbothered. His confidence only seeming to grow. “At least I’m entertaining. What do you offer? A lecture on being boring?”

I smirked, leaning in slightly. “At least I know how to keep my shirt on when talking to girls. You might want to try that sometime, mister?”

He let out another chuckle, staring at me with a tiny smile etched across his face like he’d just won something. I tossed the ball back at him. He lingered a beat longer than necessary, like he expected thanks or a smile. I gave him neither. Instead, I shoved my bag over my shoulder and headed for the door, my pulse still loud in my ears. I didn’t need his apology, and I certainly didn’t need whatever pity he might offer.

As I stepped outside, I spotted Laila and Iseul deep in conversation, clearly gushing over something. I walked up to them, and the minute Laila laid eyes on me, she practically exploded.

“Did you see that last match Ruhaan Malik played?” Laila blurted, her eyes lighting up. “He’s so freaking hot!”

Iseul nodded enthusiastically. “And he’s got all the green flags… a total catch! Plus, he’s a billionaire’s son. The son of Auveria Group’s chairman.” She started counting her fingers deliberately, like she was listing reasons to fall in love.

“Can you believe that?” Laila added immediately, almost glowing.

I’d always heard of Auveria Group—who hasn’t? I don’t know much about it, just that it’s a huge biotech company. Officially, it’s Auveria Biotech, but no one really calls it that. Everyone just says Auveria Group, probably because it’s everywhere now. Clinics, research centers, even small branches in towns you wouldn’t expect.

They started out with research and rare diseases, or at least that’s what I’ve heard, but now they handle pretty much everything: regular checkups, long-term treatments, even general medicine.

I’ve never been inside one, but apparently if you’re wealthy enough to afford their treatments, you’re getting some of the best care in the world. With decent insurance, it’s affordable too. Either way, it’s kind of the go-to place. Nothing I ever paid much attention to, but you hear the name everywhere.

I furrowed my brows, confused. “Wait, who’s this guy you’re both going crazy over?”

Laila pointed behind me, her excitement practically contagious. “Him. Ruhaan Malik.”

I turned, my eyes narrowing. There he was. The Ruhaan Malik. The locker room guy. Mr. Attitude himself.

He stood a few meters away, leaning against a pillar. His damp hair was pushed back carelessly, the sunlight catching on the chestnut strands. His shirt clung just enough to hint at the muscles underneath, sleeves rolled halfway, veins trailing down his forearms like they were there on purpose.

He laughed at something one of his teammates said, and for a moment, his features softened. That effortless, lazy smile—it was unfair. No one should look that good while doing absolutely nothing.

My stomach did a small, traitorous flip. I quickly blamed it on the heat.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath with a quiet huff, “a cocky rich guy with a football obsession.”

In the evening, when I returned home, something felt… off. The house was quieter than usual. Nina and Ashan had mentioned earlier that they were going shopping, so I knew they wouldn’t be home. The only people who should have been home were Mom and Dad. I shrugged it off and headed to my room, but then I overheard my parents talking in low, hushed tones behind their closed door. I wasn’t sure if I should intrude, but curiosity got the better of me. Standing just outside their door casing, I pressed my ear against the wood.

My mom’s voice was strained, thick with emotion. “No, I couldn’t hurt her… I want her to know the truth, but it’s been so many years. I—” She paused, and I heard her sigh, then sob softly. “It feels like… I don’t want her to be heartbroken. Please, understand,” she cried.

My dad’s voice followed, gentle but firm. “I know how you feel, sweetheart, but we have to face the truth… or we’ll carry the guilt of not telling her who her real parents are. We won’t be able to live with ourselves.”

I froze. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like the ground had disappeared beneath my feet, as if the earth had swallowed me whole. My stomach twisted in knots, and I wished—God, I wished I hadn’t heard any of it. I wished I had gone deaf right before that moment.

Images—blurred, fragmented—flashed before my eyes, like pieces of someone else’s life. My life? A young girl playing cricket on a lawn with her dad. The father threw the ball gently, and the girl, bat in hand, prepared for the shot. Off in the distance, the girl’s mother sat on a bench, feeding a baby boy. When the girl hit the ball for a four, her father swept her up in his arms, spinning her around.

“My little warrior…” the father’s voice echoed in my head. Just like the same dream I see every night.

My mind throbbed, the pain sharp and stabbing, like a thousand needles pricking all at once. It felt like my brain was being squeezed in a vise, the pressure building with every memory that resurfaced. I could barely hold myself together, and before I realized it, my feet carried me into their room.

Each step was heavier than the last, like my legs weren’t mine anymore. I forced myself inside, my eyes blurred with tears, my heart racing as if it was about to burst out of my chest. It was pounding so loud it drowned out my thoughts, like the relentless ticking of a bomb about to go off.

My step-parents turned toward me, their faces pale with shock. “Sehr, we—” they started, but Mama cut in.

“Sweetie, come here, come sit with me,” she said, wiping her tears, her voice trembling as she reached out.

I ignored her outstretched hand. I couldn’t look at her. My throat tightened, and I could barely form the words, but somehow they came out broken and disjointed, full of anger and hurt.

“Wh-who are my real parents?” The words tore out of me, my voice wild, almost unrecognizable.

Mama’s face crumpled, a look of disappointment and disbelief spreading across the room like a heavy fog. My dad, trying to maintain some semblance of control, gently led me to the couch.

He took a deep breath as if trying to gather the strength to speak. “Sehr, when you were seven… we were taking you and Ashan to your new house. It was supposed to be a surprise. You didn’t even get to see it…”

I stared at him, barely processing the words. My heart felt like it was being squeezed harder and harder.

“We were on a phone call with your father while they were driving,” the woman I had believed was my mother for years said softly, her voice trembling with the memory. “We heard you say, ‘Are we there yet? I can’t wait.’ Y-yu…you were so excited, so full of energy that you just couldn’t wait to see your new home.” She continued, her voice thick with regret.

My father, or rather the man who had raised me, looked at me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It was just a normal family moment… until everything changed in an instant. The crash… it was so sudden. We didn’t know anything had happened until the line went dead. Your father’s voice just… disappeared. And then we got the call.”

I felt myself sinking deeper into the couch like the weight of the world had been placed on my shoulders. My head spun as blurry images from the past kept flashing, mixing with his words.

He swallowed hard, then continued. “When we arrived at the hospital… the car was destroyed. People said it had flipped over. They told us… that there were four bodies. They were wrapped up in black bags.”

The black bags. The weight of those words hit me like a punch to the gut. Four bodies.

“But you and Ashan…” His voice wavered. “You were the only ones still breathing. The doctors did everything they could.”

I blinked, trying to keep my tears from falling, but it was no use. Everything blurred. The whole world seemed to tilt and twist.

“Your real parents didn’t make it, Sehr. Your mother… she was my wife’s sister,” he said, his voice breaking. “We… we adopted you and Ashan after that. We couldn’t bear the thought of losing both of you. We wanted you to have a family… and we couldn’t have children of our own.”

His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, suffocating and inescapable.

Everything felt wrong. Everything I knew… was a lie.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. My mind was reeling, trying to connect the dots, trying to make sense of it all. The memories, the voices, the love I thought was mine. It wasn’t. My parents weren’t mine.

Nothing was mine anymore.

The man I had always called my father stood up quietly, his steps slow and deliberate. He walked over to his wardrobe, a place I had never given much thought to before. But today, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, almost forgotten key, something inside me tensed. I recognized that key from somewhere, but my mind was too clouded with emotion to remember where.

He inserted the key into a hidden desk drawer, one I didn’t even know existed. The soft click of the lock echoed in the silent room. When he opened it, he reached in and carefully pulled out a picture frame.

He walked over to me, holding it gently, as if the photo inside was something sacred. His eyes searched mine for a moment, then he handed me the picture.

The photo was old and the edges slightly worn.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at my real parents. My thumb instinctively traced their faces, following their outlines along the smooth surface of the glass. They looked so alive, so full of warmth and love. I could almost feel their presence as I held the picture close.

And then, it all came crashing down.

The voices and the memories, they hit me all at once like a tidal wave, flooding my mind.

“Sehr, don’t run!” My mom’s voice echoed.

“Sweet dreams…” Her soft whisper filled my head.

“My little warrior.” My father’s proud voice repeated.

“Come on, Sehr, we have to go!” Their voices blended, growing louder in my head, each word overlapping, crashing into one another like an unstoppable force.

And then, my childish voice cut through it all,

“Yay! Surprise!”

It echoed, pulling me further into a storm of memories I didn’t even know l had.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the flood, but the memories wouldn’t relent. They washed over me. The moments I thought were long buried, pieces of a life I barely remembered, fragments of a world that had been stolen from me.

My real parents. The words tore at me, twisting painfully in my chest. My mom’s sister is my mama now. My aunt.

And my uncle, my dad’s best friend. He’s my new dad.

How had I not seen it? The way they looked at me, the way they had always loved me so fiercely. They weren’t just my aunt and uncle, they had been my parents for years.

But the truth was, my real parents— the ones in this photograph, were gone. Lost in a terrible accident that had left me with two lives: one I could remember and one I’d never truly known.

My head throbbed, the pain growing unbearable as the memories collided with the present. I felt like I was being ripped apart, two versions of myself warring for control. The girl who had always believed she knew who she was and the girl whose life had been built on a secret.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Without thinking, I bolted out of the room, clutching the photo frame to my chest as if it were the only thing holding me together. My legs moved on their own, my feet barely touching the ground as I stumbled into my bedroom.

I slammed the door shut behind me, my heart pounding, my breaths coming out in ragged gasps. My back hit the bed, and I collapsed, curling into myself as I held the frame so tightly it hurt. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision as I sobbed-deep, gut-wrenching sobs that seemed to tear through my entire body.

The voices wouldn’t stop. They were still there, echoing in my mind, repeating the same phrases over and over again. My parents’ laughter, their words of love… my childish excitement. It all felt so distant and yet so painfully close.

And all I could think was… why?

Why didn’t they tell me sooner? Why had they let me live with this lie, believing my whole life was something else? Why let me grow up without knowing the truth about my real parents?

I cried until my body felt numb and the pain in my chest dulled into an ache that I knew wouldn’t go away anytime soon. Time passed— minutes, hours, I didn’t know. I just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, the photo still clutched tightly in my arms.

At some point, the door to my room creaked open. The handle went down slowly, and I heard the soft sound of footsteps as my mom—my aunt, I corrected myself-entered the room. She didn’t say anything at first, just sat down beside me on the bed. Her presence was familiar, and comforting, even though everything inside me felt shattered.

“Sehr, I-” She tried to speak, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before she could finish, I moved, throwing myself into her arms, and hugging her as tightly as I could. It was instinctive, automatic. No matter what had changed, she was still my mom. The woman who had raised me, loved me and cared for me through every moment of my life.

She gasped softly, caught off guard, but then wrapped her arms around me, holding me just as tight. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I still love you. We still love you. Always.”

“I know, Mama,” I murmured, my voice barely audible as I pulled back just enough to look at her. “I know. But… I just wish you’d told me sooner. I wish I didn’t have to find out like this. Maybe… maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

Her face crumpled, guilt and sorrow washing over her features. “I’m so sorry, baby. We thought we were protecting you. We didn’t want you to feel this pain. But now… now I see that we were wrong. I should’ve told you.”

My aunt— no, my mama— hugged me again, her arms tightening around me in a way that felt both protective and fragile like she was afraid I might break if she let go.

And, in truth, I felt like I might. The weight of everything I had just learned hung heavy in the air between us, but at that moment, there was also an unspoken understanding.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as we sat together. I buried my face into her shoulder, letting myself get lost in her familiar scent, the warmth of her embrace. She whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never wanted to hurt you.” Her voice cracked at the end, and I could feel her tears on my cheek.

“I know, mama,” I whispered back, my voice hoarse. “I know.”

I pulled back slowly, just enough to look at her. Her face was worn with worry, her eyes red from crying, but in her gaze, I saw nothing but love. A genuine deep love. And in that moment, I realized something important: love isn’t defined by blood.

“You should’ve told me earlier,” I said, my voice trembling as I wiped the tear that had escaped from her cheek. “I just… I wish I had known, so maybe I wouldn’t feel this… this pain right now.”

Her face fell, and she nodded, choking back a sob. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. We should have told you a long time ago. But… we were so scared. We didn’t know how. You were so young, and… I guess, over time, it got harder and harder. We kept thinking, ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ and then the days turned into years.”

I sighed deeply, my chest feeling both heavy and light at the same time. “It’s okay, mama,” I said softly, trying to find some sense of calm in the chaos of my mind. “It’s just… It’s a lot to take in. But I know you love me. I never doubted that.”

Her face softened, and she reached out, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “You’re right. We do love you. So, so much.” She sniffled and gave a small, watery smile. “You’re my daughter, Sehr. Always. Blood doesn’t change that.”

I nodded, feeling the truth of her words settle into my heart, even as the pain lingered. “I know, mama. I know.”

We sat there in silence for a moment, the air thick with emotion. Then, almost as if she were trying to break the tension, she suddenly brightened and gave me a small smile. “You know,” she began, her voice shaky but warm,

“It’s been a long time since we baked those brownies you love so much.”

I looked at her, surprised by the sudden change in tone, but then I saw the glimmer in her eyes. It was her way of trying to bring some normalcy back into the moment, and honestly, I needed that. I needed something familiar, something comforting to ground me after everything I’d just learned.

I hesitated, but then, slowly, I nodded. “Yeah, it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Why don’t we go make some?” she suggested, her smile widening just a little more. “Just the two of us, like old times. You can even lick the batter off the spoon,” she added with a wink.

Despite the heaviness in my chest, I couldn’t help but smile back at her. “Okay,” I agreed quietly. “Let’s do it.”

She smiled and hugged me again before we both got up.

Together, we went downstairs to the kitchen, and for a while, things felt a little more normal. We laughed as we gathered the ingredients, with her telling me stories of the first time I’d ever baked brownies as a little girl.

As the familiar scent of chocolate filled the air, I found myself feeling a little lighter. The pain wasn’t gone, not by a long shot, but for the first time since hearing the truth, I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, we’d be okay.