The next morning arrived heavier than usual.
It was the day of the exam.
For most students, it was just another test—a mixture of nervousness, last-minute revisions, whispered formulas, and hopeful guesses. But for Areeba, it felt like stepping into something she wasn't prepared for—not academically, but emotionally.
She hadn't studied properly.
Not because she didn't want to, but because her mind refused to stay in one place. Every time she tried to open her books, the words blurred into memories—voices, accusations, broken trust, and the suffocating realization that the friendships she once believed in were never what she thought they were.
Her heart felt tired.
Her thoughts were louder than any classroom.
She sat at her desk during the exam, staring at the question paper. The words made sense, yet they didn't. It was as if her mind was present, but her soul had detached itself from everything.
She wrote something.
She didn't know what.
Her pen moved, but without direction. It wasn't answers she was writing—it was confusion, exhaustion, and a silent scream no one could hear.
Time passed.
The bell rang.
Students began discussing answers, comparing attempts, arguing over correct solutions. But Areeba remained quiet. When someone asked her how the exam went, she forced a small smile and said, "It was good."
A lie she told so easily… it almost scared her.
Without waiting for more questions, she picked up her bag and left early.
From that day onward, Areeba slowly started disappearing.
Not physically—she was still there.
But emotionally… she withdrew.
You could now only find her in two places: the classroom or the library.
And even there, she wasn't really present.
She stopped sitting with people. She avoided conversations. If someone approached her, she would respond briefly and walk away. If she needed something, she would step out, ask, and return immediately—like a guest in her own life.
Otherwise, she hid herself.
Completely.
Days passed like this, one after another, blending into a dull routine.
Then exams ended.
Vacations began.
Everyone was excited—plans, trips, outings, celebrations. But Areeba had nothing planned.
When she reached home, she went straight to her room.
And stayed there.
Hours turned into days, and days into silence.
She would sit by the window sometimes, staring outside without really seeing anything. Other times, she lay on her bed, doing absolutely nothing—not even scrolling through her phone.
Just… existing.
Mili and Sameer noticed.
At first, they didn't say anything. They thought maybe she needed time. But slowly, they tried to bring her back—through jokes, teasing, casual conversations.
But even their efforts felt distant.
Sometimes they would joke about her "so-called friends," trying to lighten the mood.
"Acha, Noor ka kya scene hai?" Sameer would tease.
Or Mili would say, "Safa se patch-up ho gaya kya?"
But Areeba didn't react like before.
No arguments.
No explanations.
Just silence.
Or sometimes, a cold response:
"I have no friends."
"I don't know any Noor, Safa, or Wisha."
"Stop saying those names again and again."
Her words weren't angry.
They were empty.
And that emptiness hurt more than anything.
Two days later, her phone rang.
It was Wisha.
Areeba stared at the screen.
She didn't answer.
The phone rang again.
And again.
And again.
Each ring felt like a pull from the past—a past she was trying so hard to escape.
Finally, Areeba picked up her phone… but instead of answering, she typed:
"I don't want to talk anymore. I know you mean well, but I can't get between you all. It's better if you stay with them."
She hit send.
A few seconds later, a reply came:
"Just pick up the call first."
Areeba hesitated.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
Then, with reluctance, she answered.
Before she could say anything, she heard Wisha crying.
"Why are you behaving like this?" Wisha's voice broke. "I didn't do anything… then why are you leaving me?"
Areeba closed her eyes.
This was exactly what she didn't want—to feel again.
"I know you didn't do anything," Areeba said softly. "And I'm not blaming you. I'm not blaming Noor or Safa either."
"Then why?" Wisha cried.
A pause.
A deep, painful pause.
"It's just my problem," Areeba finally said. "I trusted too deeply. I had too many expectations… and they ruined me."
Her voice didn't shake.
It was calm.
Too calm.
"I don't blame anyone," she continued. "I'm just… done. I can't do this anymore. I was just waiting for graduation so I could let go of everything completely."
On the other side, Wisha cried harder.
And Areeba… felt something break inside her again.
Because no matter how much she tried to detach, she still cared.
And that was her weakness.
After a long conversation, Areeba somehow agreed to stay in touch.
Not because she wanted to.
But because she couldn't ignore someone crying for her.
Then came the result day.
A normal day for the world.
A life-changing one for Areeba.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Wisha.
"Result is out."
Areeba's heart skipped.
She opened the result link.
Her eyes scanned the screen.
And then—
Everything went blank.
She failed.
For a moment, it didn't feel real.
"This is not possible…" she whispered.
Areeba?
Fail?
The same Areeba who always performed well… who never disappointed… who always stood strong?
Her hands trembled.
She refreshed the page.
Again.
And again.
As if repeating it would change the outcome.
But it didn't.
It stayed the same.
Harsh.
Unforgiving.
Real.
Calls started coming in.
Classmates.
Professors.
Friends.
Everyone.
But Areeba didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Because this time, it wasn't just about friendships.
She had failed herself.
Her parents.
Her teachers.
Everyone who believed in her.
Tears finally came.
Not silently this time.
They poured out uncontrollably—as if all the pain she had been holding inside finally found a way out.
After a long time, she picked up her phone.
And called her father.
She always told him first.
Every result.
Every success.
Every achievement.
And today… this.
"Hello, beta," her father answered, his voice warm and happy. "Result aa gaya? Kitna score hai iss baar?"
His excitement…
It broke her.
"I… I failed," she said, barely able to speak.
Silence.
A long, painful silence.
And then—
"Oh… okay."
That was all he said.
But his tone changed.
And Areeba felt it.
The disappointment.
The heaviness.
The unspoken words.
That "okay" echoed louder than any scolding ever could.
Her heart sank.
After ending the call, she received another one.
Her professor.
She hesitated… but picked it up.
"It's okay," he said calmly. "These things happen. Don't lose hope."
He tried to console her.
But nothing reached her.
Because sometimes, words aren't enough.
She switched off her phone.
Completely.
Then walked out of her room… and sat on the stairs.
Alone.
The house was quiet.
The world felt distant.
And for the first time in a long while—
Areeba cried.
Not for her friends.
Not for broken trust.
But for herself.
For the girl who once believed in everything.
For the girl who tried too hard.
For the girl who lost herself while trying to hold onto others.
And now…
She sat there,
With nothing left—
Except the silence within.