LOST CHILD
I knew it.
I knew he had left me there on purpose.
It wasn’t something I had to think twice about, nor something I needed proof for. It was written in the way he avoided my eyes, in the way his words felt too smooth when he lied. He had left me. Intentionally.
And it’s not like I was hurt by that. At least, that’s what I told myself.
But for a moment… I was scared.
Truly, helplessly scared.
When I turned around and couldn’t find him anywhere, my mind went blank in a way I had never experienced before. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t irritation. It was something far more unsettling. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t even know who to call.
My phone had died. Completely.
And the most ridiculous part was—I didn’t even remember his number. Not his, not my brother’s. Not anyone’s.
I had always lived a life where help was just one call away, where someone would always come if I needed them. But in that moment, standing in the middle of a place that suddenly felt unfamiliar, I realized how fragile that comfort was.
If he hadn’t come back…
I don’t know what I would have done.
The thought alone made my chest tighten.
How could he do that?
How could he just leave me there without even thinking twice?
A sharp pain struck my chest, sudden and unfamiliar, making me inhale sharply. I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress whatever was rising inside me, refusing to let it take shape.
I was terrified.
Not because I couldn’t find my way home. Not because I didn’t have money or a working phone.
But because, for a moment…
I realized I had no one.
I stood there, surrounded by people, by noise, by movement… yet I had never felt so alone in my entire life. It was strange how a crowded place could suddenly feel so empty when you didn’t know where you belonged in it.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t even think properly.
My mind refused to work, as if it had frozen along with my body.
I kept looking around, hoping—no, expecting—to catch a glimpse of him somewhere.
Maybe he was just outside. Maybe he had stepped away for a moment.
Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding.
But he wasn’t there.
And the moment that truth settled inside me, something shifted.
I wasn’t angry.
I should have been. I should have cursed him, shouted, created a scene like I always do. But none of that came. Instead, there was this quiet, unfamiliar ache that spread slowly through my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Why did it affect me this much?
He left. That’s it. It’s not like he owed me anything. It’s not like I had any right to expect him to stay. After everything I did… after the way I forced him into this marriage, what right did I even have to question him?
Still…
Why didn’t he think even once before leaving?
Why didn’t he stop for a second and think what I would do if he wasn’t there?
My fingers curled slightly at my sides as that thought refused to leave me.
For a moment, I felt small.
Not in the way people insult you or make you feel less, but in a way that made you realize how little control you actually have when things don’t go your way.
I had always been the one in control, the one making decisions, the one forcing outcomes.
But standing there, unable to even call someone for help, I felt that control slip through my fingers so easily.
And it terrified me.
I hated that feeling.
I hated how vulnerable it made me feel.
I hated how my heart wouldn’t stop racing.
I hated how my eyes burned, threatening to betray me in the middle of a public place.
I pressed my lips together harder, forcing myself to stay composed.
This is nothing.
This doesn’t matter.
I repeated it in my head like a mantra, trying to convince myself, trying to push away the heaviness building inside me.
He stopped the bike as we reached the house, and I got down without looking at him.
I stood there, waiting in silence as he unlocked the door, my hands feeling colder than they should.
The moment the door opened, I walked in without a word, my steps quicker than usual, as if I was trying to escape something that had followed me all the way back.
I didn’t stop in the hall. I didn’t wait. I went straight to the room and lay down on the bed, turning my face into the pillow as if hiding there would somehow make everything quieter.
I didn’t close the door.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t do anything at all.
And then it came.
The tears slipped out before I could stop them, silent at first, almost hesitant, as if even they weren’t sure they were allowed to exist. But once they started, they didn’t hold back.
They soaked into the soft fabric beneath my face, spreading slowly, carrying with them everything I refused to say out loud.
I didn’t cry because he left.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
I cried because of what I felt in that moment when I thought he wouldn’t come back.
I cried because of the fear that wrapped around me so tightly that I couldn’t even breathe properly.
I cried because, for a brief second, I realized how easily I could be left behind…
and how helpless I truly was when that happened.
My fingers tightened around the bedsheet as I pressed my face deeper into the pillow, trying to muffle the sound of my own breathing. I didn’t want him to hear. I didn’t want him to know.
I hated this.
I hated feeling weak.
I hated feeling scared.
And more than anything…
I hated the fact that it was him—out of all people—who made me feel this way.
He didn’t come after me.
He didn’t step into the room, didn’t ask why I was crying, didn’t even check if I was okay. He did nothing. He stayed in the hall, as if whatever was happening inside this room had nothing to do with him.
And maybe it didn’t.
Maybe I was expecting something I had no right to expect.
I buried my face deeper into the pillow, my tears soaking through the fabric as the ache in my chest refused to settle. I shouldn’t have gone with him in the first place. I should have stayed back, locked inside those four walls where at least I knew what to expect.
But when he said he was going out to buy shoes…
I felt happy.
Stupidly, shamelessly happy.
For a moment, it felt like something normal. Like I could step outside, breathe a little, exist somewhere beyond that room and the tension that clung to it.
And he let me come.
That was enough for me to build things in my head that didn’t even exist.
As I walked through the shop, looking at those endless rows of footwear, I found myself thinking…
maybe I could convince him. Maybe I could make him buy me one.
Maybe I could tease him into agreeing. Maybe I could drag him to a restaurant after this and eat something good, something warm, something that didn’t taste like forced silence and unspoken resentment.
For a moment, I let myself imagine it.
A simple outing.
A normal day.
But all of that collapsed in a single second.
The moment I turned around…
And he wasn’t there.
He didn’t forget me.
He didn’t get distracted.
He left.
Intentionally.
The realization hit harder than I expected, breaking something inside me that I didn’t even know was so fragile.
My fingers curled tightly into the bedsheet as fresh tears slipped out, heavier this time.
I felt foolish.
Foolish for stepping out with him.
Foolish for expecting anything.
Foolish for letting my guard down, even for a moment.
Because at the end of the day…
He was just reminding me of what I already knew.
That I was never meant to feel safe beside him.
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, almost roughly, as if I could erase the feeling along with them. I buried my face deeper into the pillow, pressing against it until it felt hard to breathe, until the weight inside my chest had somewhere to go.
This was a mistake.
Everything about this was a mistake.
I had stepped out of that house thinking it would feel freeing, thinking it would feel normal, thinking maybe… just maybe… things wouldn’t always be this suffocating.
But I was wrong.
Painfully wrong.
My fingers tightened against the bedsheet as the thought settled deeper, heavier, more permanent this time.
I will never trust him again.
The promise formed quietly in my mind, but it carried a weight that didn’t need to be spoken out loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It was calm, controlled, and far more dangerous because of it.
I won’t go out with him again.
I won’t let myself feel this… again.
Because whatever this was—the fear, the hope, the humiliation of being left behind—it was something I never wanted to experience twice.
I closed my eyes tightly, letting the last of the tears slip away into the pillow.
From now on…
I would stay within these walls.
Where nothing could surprise me.
Where nothing could hurt me like that again.
I don’t know when sleep took over me. Somewhere between the quiet sobs and the weight pressing against my chest, my body gave in, escaping into a silence my mind couldn’t reach.
When I opened my eyes again, the room was darker. The light had shifted. Time had passed without asking me. It was already night.
I sat up slowly, my body still heavy, my head aching faintly as if it carried the remains of everything I had felt earlier. My eyes moved around the room instinctively.
He wasn’t there.
For a brief second, something inside me tightened again, but I pushed it away before it could grow.
I stood up from the bed and walked toward the door, my steps quiet against the floor. I glanced outside and saw him in the kitchen, moving around as if everything was normal, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t left me behind like I was something that could be forgotten and picked up later.
I breathed out slowly and walked back inside.
I sat on the bed again, pulling my knees close to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself as if I could hold everything together from falling apart again. My cheek rested against my knee, and for a moment, I just stayed like that, staring at nothing.
And then…
It came back.
A memory I didn’t want.
A memory I thought I had buried deep enough to never feel again.
I was small. Barely five or six.
My parents had taken me to a mall. Vihaan wasn’t there that day—he had school—so it was just the three of us. For a moment, it felt like something good. Something rare. Like maybe, just maybe, we could be like other families.
But that didn’t last long.
It never did.
They started fighting.
Loud. Ugly. Careless.
Right there, in front of everyone.
I remember standing between them, looking from one face to the other, not understanding the words but feeling the anger, the tension, the way their voices rose like they were trying to hurt each other more with every second.
And then…
My father walked away.
Just like that.
My mother followed in the opposite direction.
And they both forgot me.
They forgot that they had brought a child with them.
I was left there.
In the middle of a place that suddenly felt too big, too loud, too unfamiliar.
I remember sitting down, my small hands clutching my dress as tears rolled down my cheeks, my sobs lost in the noise of strangers passing by. People looked. Some paused. Some didn’t. But no one stayed. No one came for me.
Time felt endless.
Minutes stretched into something that felt like forever.
I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know who to call. I didn’t even know if someone would come back for me.
I just sat there… crying… waiting.
Hoping.
For almost two hours.
And then my mother came back.
Like nothing had happened.
Like I had just been there all along, exactly where she left me.
She picked me up, said something I don’t even remember… and took me away.
But that fear…
That moment…
It never left me.
It settled somewhere deep inside, flowing through my veins like something permanent, something that didn’t fade with time.
And today…
When he left me there…
For a moment—
I was that child again.