(Edited)

Love and Connection

What do these words truly mean? As a child, I was blissfully unfamiliar with their complexities. When my friend introduced me to these concepts, I found myself in a state of mild confusion. She proudly declared that her parents adored her, but she couldn't stand the color pink or my sister, and her aversion to my sister made me question the idea of love.

I remember that day vividly, a four-year-old girl sitting beneath a tree at her preschool with her dear friend.

"Your sister, Misha, she's caused trouble again. Mrs. Davis scolded you, thinking you were responsible," my friend lamented.

"It was all just a misunderstanding," I responded innocently.

"Why are you so trusting, Misha? People can easily deceive you," she commented.

At that age, I was too young to grasp the complexities of human emotions. My sister seemed to harbor resentment towards me, and though my parents cared for me, I wasn't quite certain if it was love.

As the years passed, my relationship with my twin sister, Prisha, remained unchanged until our seventh birthday arrived. There was an unusual air of tension on that day, marked by heightened security.

"Happy birthday, Prisha," everyone greeted her, but no one paid me any attention. My parents were engrossed in conversation with guests and security personnel. My five-year-old brother, Sahil, bravely approached me, seemingly impervious to Tanya's disapproving gaze.

Yes, he loved me. Initially, he gravitated towards Prisha, but when he turned three, he began to play with me. Prisha wasn't thrilled about it, but she had no choice but to share.

"Mishu Di, Happy birthday. I brought this for you," Sahil said, revealing a Barbie doll from behind his back.

It was adorable. Before I could react, Prisha snatched it away.

"Wow, Sahil! It's so cute. Thanks," she exclaimed, tearing open the packaging and clutching the doll.

"But..." Sahil started to say before our mother intervened.

"What's going on, Prisha? Sahil got it for Misha, so give it back," she said, taking the doll from Prisha's hands.

My mother approached me, kneeling down to my level.

"Happy Birthday, Mishu," she said, returning the doll and planting a loving kiss on my forehead. "You're always the strong one. Promise me you'll continue to look after your siblings like you always do."

I smiled and made the promise, realizing that my mother not only cared but also loved me deeply. That day, I met many people who accepted me. A few boys and girls played with me, excluding my sister, who had her own group, naturally larger than mine. However, she watched me with an oddly intense gaze.

We were in the midst of a game of football when the ball went out of bounds. As I reached to retrieve it, I sensed Prisha racing toward me. When I turned back, I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my head and saw Prisha standing before me, clutching a bat that was now stained with blood.

I grasped my throbbing head, feeling something wet. Suddenly, I saw her eyes widen in horror, and she hastily retreated while a cloth covered my mouth. Everything faded into darkness.

"DAD! MISHA! NOOO!" my father sprinted towards me, but my world went black.

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We face so many ups and downs in our lives. Sometimes due to a tragic incident, your life changes. You may face hard times, but losing hope is never a solution. If no one stands for you, you have to stand for yourself.

In this story, I have tried to relate the experience few people face when a big tragic incident occurs in their lives. This story may not be perfect because it's my first book. Before I used to write stories for myself, but now I'm trying to share them here.

"Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear hardship today."

Thich Nhat Hanh

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Sibling Struggles and Redemption

"How dare you tell them that you are my sister, you piece of s**t?" My 12-year-old twin sister yelled as she stormed into my room, her anger palpable. Her rare presence in my room was a clear sign that I was in trouble.

"What are you talking about?" I stammered, my nervousness evident in my slurred words.

"You!" She seethed, her anger intensifying. Then, with a sinister smile, she deliberately collapsed to the floor, feigning injury.

"Ahhh! Daddy," she cried out in pain, and dread washed over me. I knew what would happen next.

In a matter of moments, our father, mother, and younger brother rushed into the room, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion. Father swiftly picked up Prisha, ignoring my existence, and they all left the room, leaving me to my anxious anticipation.

I sat on my bed, bracing for the inevitable punishment that would follow, as it always did.

A little while later, the door to my room creaked open, and I jolted upright. A momentary lapse in judgment caused me to slip and fall to the floor, crying out in pain.

"Sis, what happened?" my brother asked, kneeling beside me and checking for injuries. I was too terrified to respond.

He glanced at me, his eyes filled with understanding of my fear. My mother and he were the only ones who acknowledged my existence and cared for me. My father, on the other hand, seemed to fear or resent me, while my sister openly displayed her animosity. My punishments often involved being grounded and doing household chores, including the dreaded kitchen duty. I couldn't fathom why, but the thought of entering the kitchen terrified me.

That day, however, there was no punishment. My father unquestionably favored Prisha and typically took her side, punishing me if she accused me of wrongdoing. But on this day, he did not.

I expected the punishment to come the following day, but it never did. My father started ignoring me completely. Prisha's hostility grew, but she refrained from acting out at home. At school, she unleashed her cruelty on me and allowed her friends to torment me in secret.

She made my life a living hell. Teachers began to despise me too, as she either lodged complaints or coerced me into doing bizarre things like tearing paper or licking the blackboard.

She was relentless. Sometimes, she accused me of stealing her belongings, accusations that held no truth.

The ringing alarm clock jolted me awake, and I groaned at the prospect of facing another dreaded Monday. Mondays were my least favorite day of the week.

I got ready and headed downstairs for breakfast, prepared to face another day at school. However, when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I encountered my parents in the midst of a heated argument. They fell silent when they saw me. While my mother's gaze was filled with love, my father's expression left me utterly astounded.

His eyes, once emotionless, now held a sense of concern and care. Confusion washed over me as I looked at him, and for a fleeting moment, I detected a hint of hurt in his eyes. It vanished quickly when Prisha entered the room.

"Come on, Prisha, you'll be late for school. Let's have a special daddy-daughter day today," he said and left with Prisha following closely behind.

Jealousy surged within me. He always had these special days with Prisha, catering to her every need. I had my mother, but she continually reminded me to toughen up and not expect anything.

At school, Prisha ensured I had no friends left. I still had one friend, but she had moved away with her family a few weeks ago for personal reasons.

That day, Prisha physically attacked someone, and predictably, the blame fell on me. Do you want to know why? Well, I haven't told you yet.

Prisha and I are identical twins, indistinguishable except for our eye colors.

That night, I cried myself to sleep.

I woke up, everything throbbing with pain. A concerned boy looked at me.

"Are you okay, baby?" he asked, and I, a 10-year-old, blushed.

"Yeah," I mumbled, embarrassed.

"See, I told you she's fine. You're such an attention seeker," Prisha commented, glaring at me as I cast my gaze downward.

"Stop it," the boy snapped, helping me to my feet. "You will not speak to her like that, Prisha."

He took my hand and walked away, leaving Prisha with a warning glance.

Suddenly, everything went dark. The boy, Prisha, and the garden disappeared. A voice urged me to run, and I did. I sprinted until I saw a light and...

I woke up, drenched in sweat, my heart racing. It had been a dream.

What happened on that day? Why didn't my father punish me? Why did Prisha avoid me at home? Who was the boy in the dream? Why did I run? So many questions, and no answers.