Love stories never end,

But they have their unique style,

You don't love a person,

But a soul.

Have you tried being a simple person?

_________________________

The Diary

Misha's Pov,

When you entered this world, Mish, the circumstances were incredibly dire. You and Prisha bore an uncanny resemblance to each other, but a single characteristic set you apart—your hair. You had the same black hair as your father, whereas Prisha had inherited my blond locks.

Now, there's something crucial you must understand; we have an adversary whose son is utterly fixated on you.

When you were abducted, it was this young man who secretly visited you, ensuring your survival. He's two years older than you, and both he and his mother kept you safe during that dreadful time. However, after we successfully rescued you from his father's clutches, your dad took matters into his own hands and ended his father's life. We offered shelter to his mother and him since their house had been destroyed. Surprisingly, his mother proposed marriage to us, but we declined as we had already arranged your union with Karan.

Eventually, they left our home, and his mother later passed away for reasons unknown to us. Strangely enough, they didn't venture far from New York, so we took the young man in out of pity for his tragic loss and because we didn't know where his maternal grandparents resided.

Once you were discharged from the hospital, you revealed how this young man had always been there to protect you, and a genuine friendship formed between you two.

Life was relatively peaceful for all of us until your seventh birthday, which turned into a horrifying ordeal.

As was our tradition, we organized a surprise celebration for you and Prisha. While you were playing with Karan and Romi (the young man), we had our suspicions that Romi harbored jealousy towards your bond with Karan, but we brushed them aside. Little did we know how wrong we were.

On that fateful night, following the cake-cutting ceremony, both Karan and Romi engaged in a heated argument on the terrace, and you tried to intervene. Tragically, you accidentally fell from the terrace.

That day, we almost lost you, and Romi was sent to a treatment center after the doctors diagnosed him with a severe mental disorder. His obsession with you was so intense that he attempted to take you away right from the hospital. We managed to protect you, but during this turmoil, we uncovered more unsettling secrets.

Romi had an older brother, and together they schemed to separate you from us permanently. Romi was secretly conspiring with his brother behind our backs, and this revelation terrified us. It was at this point that we made the decision to disappear.

Your father, devastated by the thought of losing you, left everything behind and relocated to India. Initially, our plan to make your father disapprove of you was only meant to last for a year. However, as we discovered that you had also lost your memory, we had to prolong the charade until you could fully recover.

Always be vigilant and safeguard yourself from Romi, Mish. He managed to escape from that center when you were eight years old, and we received a letter in your name, bearing a chilling message: "I am coming for you, Mishu. You are MINE." Rest assured, we are here for you, but without Karan's father, your father cannot protect you alone.

Romi D'Amora is his name, Mish. He is, and always will be, your adversary. Remember this name; remember his real name.

End of chapter 2.

Romi D'Amora's name had shaken me to the core, and the realization that he might be coming for me had triggered a panic attack. It was a terrifying experience, and I couldn't help but wonder if I had been okay after reading that chapter.

The truth was, no, I wasn't fine. Panic attacks had been a hidden torment in my life. Whenever my dad and Sahil used to verbally abuse me or torment me with hurtful words, it would often lead to these debilitating episodes. I had never revealed this struggle to either of them; it was a secret I had carried silently. However, since moving to New York, their behavior has changed, and I have not experienced any panic attacks during that time.

But now, as the fear of Romi resurfaced, I found myself struggling to breathe. I desperately tried to call out to my dad or Sahil for help, but my voice came out as a mere whisper, drowned out by the loud TV downstairs.

In my desperation, I reached for my phone, intending to text someone for assistance. However, as I held it in my trembling hands, my vision blurred, and I couldn't tell whose message box I had opened. Despite this, I managed to type out a message before losing consciousness completely.

When I eventually regained consciousness, my head throbbed with pain. Something heavy rested on my hand, and as my vision cleared, I realized it was Karan. But why was he here?

All the memories rushed back in a whirlwind. I remembered reading the diary, having a panic attack, and desperately reaching for my phone. Had I accidentally called Karan instead of my dad or Sahil?

I watched him sleep peacefully, despite the discomfort in my hand. His presence made me feel safe and secure as if nothing could harm me as long as he was near.

My brother's voice interrupted my thoughts, and I saw him and my father standing at the door, their expressions filled with concern. Karan's sudden awakening must have startled him.

"How long have you been awake?" my brother asked.

"Long enough to see you sleeping on my hand, which is now in pain," I replied weakly, feeling drained.

"I'm really sorry about that. I didn't even realize when I fell asleep," he said, removing his hand and rubbing it.

"That's okay. But how and when did you get here?" I inquired.

"Do you remember calling me before you fainted?" he asked.

"Oh," was all I could muster. What more could I say? Should I tell him about my panic attacks, about Romi (whom he probably knew about), or about how I had mistakenly called him instead of Sahil?

An uncomfortable silence hung in the room.

"Mish, you had a panic attack. And according to the doctor, this wasn't the first time," Sahil spoke, breaking the silence. His eyes appeared as if he had been crying, while my dad remained silently distressed.

"Yeah, I've had quite a few of them in the past. I just never let anyone know about them," I admitted, eliciting worried looks from them. "Don't look at me like that; it wasn't your fault."

"But why did you hide it, Mish? I could have stopped ignoring you and helped you," my dad said, his voice heavy with regret, speaking for the first time in a while.

"I didn't trust anyone at that time. I thought you wouldn't believe me and would just ignore me instead," I confessed.

This revelation left them somber, and none of them pressed for further questions. I still vividly remember my first panic attack when I was just 15 years old.

Flashback...

As I made my way back home from school, the clock had already struck 7, and anxiety began to creep in. I dreaded the possibility of facing my father's anger once again, a fear that had become all too familiar. The journey back took approximately 10 minutes, and I knew I had to take a shortcut along a dimly lit and usually deserted road. The sense of urgency made me quicken my pace.

Amidst the darkness and silence, I suddenly heard faint footsteps and the unsettling sound of drunken laughter approaching from behind. Panic surged within me, urging me to move even faster. Were my ears deceiving me? As I finally reached the end of that eerie road and dared to look back, there was no one there, just the empty path stretching behind me.

Upon arriving home, my father greeted me with a look of anger in his eyes, although for a fleeting moment, I glimpsed another emotion concealed beneath the surface. His voice dripped with disdain as he demanded, "Where were you?" The burden of not informing him about my extra classes weighed heavily on my conscience, but I couldn't muster the courage to explain. That morning, my attempt to reach out had been met with a harsh rebuke for simply addressing him as "dad."

"I...I..." I stuttered, unable to utter a single coherent word, my eyes welling up with tears.

Surprisingly, on that particular evening, he refrained from delivering any punishment. Instead, he instructed me to have dinner in my room and go to sleep. I was left bewildered by this unusual turn of events, anticipating that he might unleash his anger on me the following day.

The dread of impending punishment haunted me, and it triggered something deep within me that night. Upon returning to my room, an overwhelming sense of suffocation gripped me, as if my lungs had ceased to function. I struggled to breathe but dared not make a sound that might disturb anyone else in the house.

I couldn't bring myself to call for help, fearing the consequences of disrupting their peace. Throughout the night, I battled to take each breath silently, clutching my mouth to stifle any cries of pain or panic.

The next day, my father's demeanor remained unchanged, as though nothing had occurred the previous evening. However, from that day onward, I found myself grappling with frequent panic attacks, each one a reminder of that harrowing night and the turmoil that had taken root within me.

End

At that moment, I found myself immersed in a whirlwind of emotions and memories, not ready to share the deep, painful memories of my panic attacks with anyone, not even my dad, Sahil, or Karan. Remarkably, they seemed to sense my unease and respected my need for silence, choosing not to pry into the matter. Life returned to a semblance of normalcy for the time being.

The day passed uneventfully after my brief panic attack. Karan had to leave early due to some family emergency, and my dad and Sahil exhibited an unusual level of care, ensuring I ate more than usual. As evening approached, at around 6 p.m., I suddenly remembered something vital—the date with Karan.

Isn't it strange how certain painful memories tend to stay vivid while the good moments become somewhat hazy in our recollections?

Following lunch, my dad called me into his room and handed me a few items that once belonged to my mom. He informed me that it had been my mother's wish for me to wear her necklace when I discovered their secret and obtained the diary. The necklace consisted of a simple chain with a blue pendant featuring a unique design.

I couldn't help but be curious about the pendant's design. "What is this design, Dad?" I inquired.

"I'm not the one who can answer that, Mish. You'll find out when you complete the diary," he replied.

"But..."

"No, Mish. No more discussion on this topic," he firmly interjected.

"Alright, Dad," I conceded, setting the box aside. After a brief silence, I glanced at him and noticed tears in his eyes as he went through my mom's belongings. Hesitantly, I decided to ask something, fearing that my questions might upset him further or go unanswered.

"Dad, I want to ask something," I began cautiously.

"Yes, beta. Ask me," he replied, wiping away his tears.

"You said that Prisha died in that accident, but Mom told you to take care of me. It means Mom was alive, right?" I asked.

Understanding my question, he looked at me without uttering a word. After a moment of waiting and witnessing a myriad of emotions play out in his eyes, I began to think that maybe I should let go of my inquiry. However, he eventually offered a response that brought tears to my eyes.

With a slight nod, he added, "She was just hospitalized, Mish, but Prisha didn't make it. Your mother was devastated by Prisha's loss and deeply concerned about you. It took a toll on her health, and the doctors warned us that it was detrimental to her and the baby. She was pregnant, Mish."

I was shocked to my core. Both of us sat there, still and teary-eyed, before my dad continued, his voice now tainted with bitterness. "They located us in that hospital and almost pushed your mother off the medical bed. To save the baby, she removed her drip, and then..." His voice trailed off as he looked down. "I managed to get them out of the hospital and out of India with the help of the police, but it was too late. She fell into a coma."

Upon hearing this, I rushed to my dad and embraced him. We both cried for what seemed like hours, mourning the pain and loss we had endured. Remembering my impending date, I eventually excused myself.

"Wait, Mish," my dad stopped me.

"Yes?"

"Sahil mentioned that he left a book in your room. Please help him find it; otherwise, he'll definitely fail his next exam."

I chuckled and said, "Haha, Dad, he'll never change."

"I know," he replied with a wide smile forming on his face. "You're just like your mom, you know? I miss her."

"We all miss her, Dad," I affirmed as I headed to my room.

Inside my newly organized mini-library, I was engrossed in searching for Sahil's book when my phone rang. It was Karan.

"Hey," I answered.

"Hey. I'll be there at sharp 7. Are you ready?" he asked.

"What?" I was so preoccupied with finding the book that I had hardly heard him.

"Yeah, did you forget about our first date, Mish?" he teased.

"Oh! I'm really sorry. I thought you'd take some time, so I was just getting ready," I teased him back. How could I forget my very first date?

"Okay, see you then."

"Okay, bye."

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was already 6 p.m., and panic set in.

I hadn't gone shopping. I didn't have a new dress. In fact, I didn't have a suitable outfit for my first date.

What should I wear?

Oh, why do girls have to choose so many things while getting ready? A dress, makeup, the right hairstyle, the perfect shoes... But I knew it was all worth it. It was my first date, and it was with my crush, Karan.

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Thanks for reading.

Lots of love.

xxx