Age: 14
The night she stopped feeling.

The Malhotra house smelled like a celebration that evening—fresh flowers, burnt candles, and the sweetness of her mother’s favorite vanilla incense.

But beneath that sweetness was something rotten.
Something wrong.
Something Aarya had seen with her own eyes.

Her hands shook as she stood in the doorway of the living room.
Voices murmured around her—laughter, gossip, clinking glasses.
Her sister sat on the sofa, too calm.
Too perfect.

Aarya swallowed hard, pushed her fear down, and spoke.

“Papa… Maa… I need to tell you something. It’s important.”

Everyone turned.

Her father’s annoyed sigh echoed first.
“What now, Aarya?”

Then her mother’s impatient glare.
“Don’t start your nonsense before the guests leave.”

But Aarya couldn’t stop.
Her heart was pounding so loud she could barely hear her own voice.

“I saw her. I saw Di today. She wasn’t at her friend’s house. She was… she was with—”

Aarya’s sister’s eyes flickered with fear—only for a second—before she masked it with innocence.

“Papa,” the older girl said softly, “She’s lying again.”

And that was it.

That one sentence carried more weight than the truth Aarya held.

Her sister clung to their mother’s arm, pretending to cry.

“Aarya hates me, Maa. Why does she always try to ruin everything?”

Her mother immediately hugged the older daughter, protecting her.

Her father’s voice thundered through the room.
“Aarya! Stop this drama! Why do you always want attention?”

Attention?
Aarya felt her breath hitch.

She had never wanted attention.
She had never received any.

“I’m not lying,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“I saw him. I heard everything. Please… please believe me.”

Her brother snorted.
“Of course you did, Miss Perfect. Always trying to act like a saint.”

The family’s judgment hit her like invisible blows:

Her mother’s disgust.
Her father’s rage.
Her siblings’ mocking smirks.

Aarya looked at each of them, waiting… hoping… for someone—anyone—to say:

“Aarya, we believe you.”

But silence answered.

Silence that cut deeper than betrayal.

She took a step back.
Her chest tightened.
Her lungs refused to pull air in.

Her mother hissed, “Your sister would never do something like that. Stop ruining her reputation.”

Her father added, “You shame us. Every day. Grow up.”

Her sister smiled—victorious, cruel, relieved.

And that was when it happened.

The moment Aarya would later describe as her “emotional death.”

Something inside her chest froze.
A quiet, cold, hollow kind of freezing.
Not sudden… but sharp.

Her heartbeat slowed.
Her hands stopped shaking.
Her tears dried before they could fall.

It was as if the world turned blurry, distant—like she was watching her own life from outside her body.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Her voice… simply died.

The room kept spinning with accusations, commands, and disappointment.
But she no longer reacted.

She didn’t feel anger.
She didn’t feel sadness.
She didn’t feel anything.

Her parents were still shouting.
Her siblings were still pretending.
Her life was still collapsing.

But Aarya…
Aarya Malhotra had already disappeared.

Not physically.
Emotionally.

A 14-year-old girl, made of gentle dreams and soft laughter,
turned into something else that night—

Cold.
Silent.
Untouchable.

A legend shaped by betrayal.
A destiny born from pain.

And while her family returned to their celebration,
laughing as if nothing had happened…

Aarya stood in the corner of the room,
eyes blank,
heart frozen,
soul turning to stone.

It was the last night she ever cried.

Because after that night—
She would never feel again.