Anaya
People were crying.
Some loudly.
Some dramatically.
Some whispering like this was a social gathering instead of a funeral.
The air smelled of incense and burnt wood. Mantras echoed somewhere in the background. White clothes. Red eyes. Fake sympathy.
And there I was.
Sitting on the cold marble floor.
Zoned out.
I couldn't even focus on what was happening in front of me.
Should I be crying?
Should I be screaming?
Should I be fainting like those daughters in movies who collapse at their father's funeral?
Or...
Should I be relieved?
The thought made my stomach twist.
What kind of daughter thinks like that during her parents' last rites?
A voice snapped through my fog.
"Anaya? The pandit is calling you."
I blinked.
My aunt stood in front of me - gold bangles clinking, lips pursed like she was personally offended by my existence. She had always been like that. Always judging. Always interfering. Always borrowing money from Ma while whispering about how useless I was.
Pathetic.
I forced a small smile.
"Yeah... I'm going."
I stood up slowly and walked toward the fire where the pandit sat chanting.
Everyone's eyes were on me.
Poor girl.
Orphan now.
Such tragedy.
If only they knew.
I sat down in front of the sacred fire.
The heat brushed against my face.
The pandit instructed me softly, guiding my hands through the rituals.
My hands didn't tremble.
They didn't even feel like mine.
They were finally gone.
The words echoed inside me like something forbidden.
Gone.
No more screaming in the house.
No more broken plates.
No more footsteps outside my door at night.
What kind of daughter feels peace at her parents' funeral?
I picked up the sacred rice.
For a second, I stared at it.
What the hell was I feeling?
Grief?
No.
Guilt?
Maybe.
Relief?
Yes.
The rice slipped from my fingers into the fire.
The flames rose for a moment.
They swallowed everything.
Just like my parents had swallowed every hope I ever had.
Every dream.
Every little piece of courage.
Maybe I should've-
No.
My mind drifted.
And suddenly I wasn't twenty-two anymore.
I was twelve.
"Sali kamini! Kidher hai tu?!"
Ma's voice echoed through the house.
My heart pounded in my tiny chest.
"Come out! If I find you, I'll kill you myself!" Papa's voice followed, louder. Angrier.
I was inside my cupboard.
Curled into myself.
Trying not to breathe too loudly.
Trying not to exist.
Tears soaked into my sleeves as I pressed my hands over my mouth to silence my sobs.
Maybe if I stayed quiet enough...
Maybe if I disappeared enough...
They wouldn't find me.
The cupboard door flew open.
Light flooded in.
Ma's hand grabbed my hair.
And the world tilted.
After that, days blurred into each other.
Yelling.
Fear.
Pain.
Silence.
Every single day.
"Anaya."
The present snapped back into place.
The fire crackled in front of me.
The rituals were over.
People started standing up, murmuring prayers.
I stood too.
Numb.
A soft sound reached my ears.
Crying.
I turned slightly.
A little boy clung to his mother's saree, tears streaming down his face. His father knelt beside him, gently wiping his cheeks.
"It's okay beta," the man said softly.
The mother laughed lightly and kissed the child's forehead.
They looked happy.
Safe.
Normal.
I stared at them.
That's what parents were supposed to look like.
Not monsters.
Not nightmares.
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
Not because I missed mine.
But because I never had that.
Not once.
I looked back at the smoke rising into the sky.
Should I be crying?
Or should I be thankful?
Because for the first time in my life...
I felt free.
And that scared me more than anything.
The fire had started to die down.
The flames were no longer wild. Just embers now. Quiet. Almost peaceful.
I always felt useless.
That word followed me like a shadow.
Useless daughter.
Useless burden.
Useless girl who eats but does nothing.
They never let me study.
"Ladkiyon ko itna padhne ki kya zarurat hai?" Ma would snap.
Papa would throw my books away whenever he saw them.
But I still studied.
Under streetlights.
With borrowed books.
With torn notebooks hidden under my mattress.
I used to memorize entire chapters so even if they burned the pages, they could not burn the knowledge inside my head.
When they tried to force me into marriage at nineteen, I remember standing in the kitchen doorway listening to them talk.
"Ladka 35 ka hai, par paisa bahut hai."
"She should be grateful someone even wants her."
That was the night I decided.
I would not die in that house.
I packed a small bag. Two pairs of clothes. My certificates. The little money I had saved.
And I ran.
No dramatic music. No tears.
Just bare feet on cold road and a bus ticket to a city that did not know my name.
I worked in a café in the mornings. Cleaned offices at night. Studied in between.
I slept four hours a day.
Sometimes less.
But I topped every exam.
And then one day...
A scholarship letter arrived.
Full academic scholarship.
For a moment, I thought maybe God had finally looked at me.
Maybe I wasn't useless.
Maybe I was just born in the wrong house.
I blinked and looked back at the ashes.
Now they were almost gone.
Reduced to smoke and dust.
Was I supposed to forgive them now?
Because they were dead?
A strange emptiness settled inside me.
That was it.
That was our story.
Finished.
"Uhh... miss?"
I turned.
A middle-aged man stood a few feet away. Formal shirt. Expression unreadable.
"Is this the funeral of Mr. and Mrs. Mishra?"
I frowned slightly.
"Uh... yes. I am their daughter. Aap kaun hai?"
He adjusted his glasses.
"Can I talk to you? In private?"
I glanced around. My aunt was busy pretending to cry for the tenth time.
I nodded and led him a little away from the crowd, near a side wall of the cremation ground.
"Yes?"
He hesitated.
"Miss... your father had some unfinished business."
I let out a dry laugh.
"You came all the way here to discuss unfinished business? This is not the appropriate time and place. It can wait."
He sighed.
"Fifty lakhs cannot wait, miss."
My brain froze.
"What?"
The word came out louder than I intended.
He calmly pulled out a folded document from his briefcase and handed it to me.
I stared at the paper.
My father's signature.
I knew it. I had seen it enough times on school forms he barely signed without complaining.
Loan amount: ₹50,00,000.
Interest mentioned in small letters.
My fingers felt cold.
"He signed it himself," the man continued. "And I hope you will find a way to repay. My boss does not like waiting."
I looked up slowly.
"My parents are dead."
"Yes," he said calmly. "Which makes you the legal heir."
My heartbeat started pounding in my ears.
"I didn't even know about this," I whispered.
"That does not change the agreement."
The smoke from the pyre drifted past us.
Fifty lakhs.
I had worked years just to survive.
Years to build something small for myself.
And even in death...
They had left me chains.
"How much time?" I asked quietly.
"Ten days."
My stomach dropped.
"Ten days?" I repeated.
He nodded.
"After that, things will not remain... polite."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Who is your boss?" I asked.
The man gave a faint, almost respectful smile.
"You will know soon enough."
He took the papers back.
"We will be in touch, Miss Mishra."
And just like that, he walked away.
I stood there.
Ashes behind me.
Debt in front of me.
For the first time since the funeral started...
I felt something.
Not grief.
Not relief.
Fear.
Because freedom had lasted exactly three hours.
And now I owed fifty lakhs to a man who "did not like waiting."
By the time I reached my apartment, the sky had turned grey.
Not dramatic grey.
Just dull.
Like everything else in my life.
I unlocked the door to my rented place - if you could even call it that. One small room. A tiny kitchen corner. A bathroom that barely fit one person. The paint was peeling near the ceiling.
But it was mine.
No shouting.
No footsteps outside my door.
No fear.
As soon as I stepped inside-
"Woof! Woof!"
"Miki!"
My dog came running toward me, her tiny paws tapping loudly against the floor. She jumped against my legs, barking excitedly like I had been gone for years instead of hours.
I bent down, exhaustion heavy in my bones, and hugged her.
Her tail wagged so hard her whole body shook.
"You're the only one happy to see me, huh?" I murmured.
Miki licked my hand like she disagreed with the world.
I gave her a small, weak smile - probably the first real expression on my face today.
I locked the door and sat down on my mattress placed directly on the floor. No bed frame. No fancy sheets. Just a thin mattress and a pillow that had seen better days.
Miki jumped beside me immediately.
I stared at the cracked wall in front of me.
"What shall I do, Miki?" I whispered.
She tilted her head like she actually understood.
"Fifty lakhs..." I let out a shaky breath. "I'll go crazy."
The number felt unreal.
₹50,00,000.
I had worked for years.
Saved every rupee.
Skipped meals.
Walked instead of taking auto.
And still, I barely had enough to survive comfortably.
How was I supposed to pay fifty lakhs in ten days?
I reached into the small container near the bed and took out one of Miki's treats.
She sat straight instantly, eyes wide, ears alert.
"Greedy," I muttered softly.
I handed it to her.
She ate like she hadn't seen food in weeks.
I laughed quietly despite everything.
"Arre, slow down. I'm not dying tomorrow."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Tomorrow.
Ten days.
My chest tightened.
What if they weren't joking?
What if "not polite" meant something worse?
I leaned back against the wall and pulled Miki into my lap, gently caressing her fur.
She melted into me like I was her whole world.
Maybe I was.
"You know," I whispered, "if things get bad... I'll make sure you're safe first."
Miki licked my wrist.
My throat felt dry.
I wasn't scared for myself.
I had survived worse.
But I was tired.
So, so tired.
My body ached from the long day.
The smoke from the funeral still clung to my clothes.
The number fifty lakhs kept echoing in my head until it started sounding meaningless.
Fifty.
Lakhs.
Fifty.
Lakhs.
My eyelids grew heavy.
Just five minutes, I told myself.
Just five minutes to stop thinking.
Miki curled beside me, her breathing slow and steady.
I stared at the ceiling one last time.
Freedom lasted three hours.
Debt lasted forever.
And just like that-
I drifted to sleep.
Unaware that somewhere else in the city...
A man had already been informed about me.
And he did not like waiting.
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