•| TWO |•
Samira stood in front of the narrow mirror fixed to the pale blue wall of her room, adjusting the strap of her worn college bag on her shoulder while simultaneously trying to tame the loose strands of hair that refused to stay pinned.
Morning sunlight filtered in through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow across her face-a face that carried quiet determination far beyond her years.
She was a bright student, one of the top performers in her university, known by professors for her sharp mind and disciplined work ethic.
But brilliance alone didn't pay tuition fees, nor did it cover books, travel, and daily expenses.
Because of the financial strain weighing heavily on her family, Samira had taken up multiple part-time jobs-tutoring school kids in the evenings, helping at a small café on weekends, and sometimes even freelancing online late into the night.
Sleep was a luxury she rarely afforded herself, yet she never complained.
Support, however, was something she had long stopped expecting from her parents.
Their mindset belonged to a different time-rigid, traditional, unyielding. In their eyes, a woman's world began and ended in the kitchen. Education was acceptable only until marriage proposals arrived. Ambition in daughters was tolerated, not encouraged.
"Samira! Can't you listen? Your dad is asking for coffee!"
Her mother's voice echoed sharply from the kitchen, pulling Samira out of her thoughts. She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling a quiet sigh-not of rebellion, but of resignation.
"Yes... coming," she replied, steadying her voice before stepping out of her room.
Walking into the kitchen, she automatically reached for the steel kettle, pouring freshly brewed coffee into her father's cup with practiced hands. The morning routine felt mechanical now-something she performed out of duty rather than connection.
She carried the cup to the living room where her father sat reading the newspaper, his attention never fully leaving the printed pages even as she extended the coffee toward him.
"Here," she said softly.
He took it without looking up, offering neither thanks nor acknowledgment-something Samira was used to. She didn't wait for a response. Instead, she turned back toward the doorway, already mentally running through her schedule for the day-lectures, library work, then her evening tuition shift.
Grabbing her bag from the chair near the entrance, she slipped her feet into her shoes in a hurry.
"I'm going. Bye," she called out.
Before leaving, she leaned in to kiss her mother's cheek-a small gesture of affection she never skipped despite everything. Her mother paused, slightly surprised but softening nonetheless.
"Take care!" her mother shouted from inside as Samira stepped out of the house.
The words followed her down the short pathway, and despite the emotional distance that often lived between them, Samira found herself smiling faintly.
"Okay," she replied aloud, though her mother probably couldn't hear it anymore.
Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she walked toward the main road-toward her university, her responsibilities, her struggles... and her dreams.
Mrs. Mehra sat in the backseat of the car, her posture poised but her expression laced with mild concern as she watched the driver inspect the smoking bonnet from the front.
The car had broken down rather inconveniently in the middle of a moderately busy road, drawing occasional honks and curious glances from passing vehicles.
She adjusted the edge of her saree and leaned slightly forward, trying to assess the situation through the windshield before finally lowering the window halfway.
"Will it take time?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with urgency.
The driver wiped the grease from his hands onto a cloth before turning toward her with an apologetic nod. "Yes, Ma'am... I think it will take time. The engine has overheated. I'll have to call for assistance if it doesn't start."
She sighed softly, leaning back into the seat. Of all days for this to happen... she thought, glancing at her wristwatch.
Beside her, little Kiaan shifted in his seat, his school bag still neatly strapped over his tiny shoulders, shoes polished, uniform crisp. His big eyes looked out the window for a moment before turning toward his grandmother with growing worry.
"Granny... what about school?" he asked, his small voice carrying innocent concern rather than excitement at missing it.
Mrs. Mehra's expression melted instantly at his question. She reached over and gently patted his cheek, her lips curving into a reassuring smile.
"Don't go today," she said softly, deciding quickly. "It's okay. One day leave won't hurt."
Kiaan's eyes brightened immediately, the disappointment vanishing as fast as it had come. "Really?"
She chuckled lightly at his reaction. "Hmm... but since we're already out..." she paused thoughtfully before tilting her head. "Do you want to eat something, Kiaan?"
The boy nodded eagerly, a wide grin spreading across his face as if the broken car had suddenly turned into an adventure.
"Yes!"
"Okay then," she said, amused by his enthusiasm. "Wait here. I'll get you something."
Carefully opening the car door, Mrs. Mehra stepped out onto the roadside, adjusting her saree pallu over her shoulder as she looked around for a nearby café or snack shop.
The morning sun was warm but pleasant, and the street buzzed with everyday life-office workers, college students, vendors setting up stalls.
Kiaan sat inside the car, his small legs swinging restlessly from the seat as he waited for his grandmother to return.
The excitement of missing school had already begun to fade, replaced by boredom.
His eyes wandered aimlessly outside the window-watching people pass by, bikes zooming past, a balloon seller on the corner-until something small and furry caught his attention.
A tiny cat had appeared near the pavement.
It was white with patches of orange, its tail flicking lazily as it sniffed near a food wrapper. Kiaan's face instantly lit up, his earlier boredom forgotten in a heartbeat.
"Aww... it's so cute," he whispered to himself, pressing his palms against the glass.
The cat meowed softly and began to walk away, unbothered by the world around it.
Without thinking-without understanding danger the way adults did-Kiaan slowly pushed the car door open. The driver was still at the front, bent over the engine, too engrossed in the repair to notice the tiny figure slipping out quietly.
Kiaan's shoes touched the ground, and he shut the door as softly as his small hands allowed before tiptoeing toward the cat.
"Shhh... wait..." he giggled under his breath, delighted. "Cat... stop running."
The cat, of course, did the opposite-trotting farther ahead toward the edge of the road.
Kiaan followed.
Step by step... giggle by giggle... completely unaware of the traffic just a few feet away.
At that exact moment, Mrs. Mehra stepped out of the nearby shop, a small food packet in her hand. She was checking her purse when something-some instinct only grandmothers seemed to possess-made her look up toward the car.
Her breath stopped.
The packet slipped slightly from her grip.
Her eyes widened in pure, bone-deep terror as she saw Kiaan-not near the car... not on the pavement... but dangerously close to the road, chasing the cat that had now darted forward.
And a car was speeding straight in his direction.
"KIAAN!!!" she screamed, her voice tearing through the noise of the street as she dropped everything and ran.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs as her feet moved faster than they had in years, fear lending her strength she didn't know she still possessed.
Kiaan turned slightly at the sound of her voice-confused, distracted-right as he stepped closer to the road.
The screech of brakes echoed.
The horn blared.
Mrs. Mehra reached out-
And the oncoming car closed the distance in a terrifying blur.