In a small, dusty village in the heart of Rajasthan, India, I sat by the window of our little stone house. I am only five years old, but I have learned to recognize the sound of every footstep on the sand outside. The sun had long set behind the dunes, and the desert air was turning cold.
I was waiting for my father. My heart always hoped he would come home with a smile or a small treat wrapped in his pocket. But as the clock ticked, my hope began to fade. When the door finally swung open, the familiar, bitter smell of alcohol filled the room. He didn't look at me; his steps were heavy and unsteady. I watched him from the shadows, a tiny girl in a vast desert, realizing that my real life was becoming a place I wanted to escape from.
Suddenly, I felt a soft, trembling hand on my shoulder. It was my mother. Her eyes reflected the same moonlight that hit the desert sand—beautiful but filled with a cold, quiet sorrow. She didn't say a word about the smell of alcohol or the father who had forgotten his way. Instead, she pulled me close to her chest, and I could hear her heart beating. It was a tired heart, worn out by years of struggle and the heavy silence of our home.
"Go to sleep, my little flower," she whispered, her voice cracking like dry earth. "In your dreams, the world is kind." She was my shield against the storm, but I could feel her shaking. In that moment, I realized that we were both trapped—she in the reality of this small village, and I in the hope of a world that didn't exist yet.
It was 11:30 PM when the silence of the night was shattered. The front door banged against the wall, and I jumped in fear. Papa had returned. He stumbled into the kitchen, his voice loud and angry, screaming at Maa because the food wasn't to his liking. He looked at the simple meal she had prepared with such disgust, as if it were poison. From the shadows of the hallway, I watched everything. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Maa stood there, trembling but silent, taking every harsh word he threw at her. In that moment, I hated the smell of the house, I hated the darkness, and I wished more than ever to disappear into a world where voices were kind and plates were never empty.