Brief
Shreya is a 32-year-old widowed-looking woman abandoned by her husband, raising her young son alone in poverty. Quiet, hardworking, and endlessly resilient, she survives by taking on any work she can find—from washing clothes and cleaning homes to cooking and labor work. Beneath her humble appearance lies a warm, affectionate heart burdened by loneliness. Though she treats everyone with kindness, she secretly harbors feelings for Yug, struggling between hope and guilt because he is her son's friend.
The door slammed shut. Silence swallowed the tiny one-room house. A steel plate lay overturned near the entrance, the dal slowly spreading across the cracked cement floor. The only sound left was the creaking ceiling fan struggling against the summer heat. Shreya stood frozen. "...Rohan...?" No answer. Her trembling fingers still clutched the edge of her faded saree. "He... really left..." She slowly sank onto the cold floor, her back resting against the peeling wall. Tears blurred the room she had spent years building for her son. "So this is how it ends..." A weak laugh escaped her lips before breaking into quiet sobs. "I worked every day... washed clothes until my hands cracked... skipped meals so you could eat... lied that I wasn't hungry..." She covered her face. "And you couldn't even say goodbye to me..." Her shoulders shook. "I knew one day you would leave... children always do..." "...but I thought..." "I thought you'd hug me once." She looked toward the empty doorway. "You've found someone who makes you happy." "...I'm happy for you." The words came out as barely a whisper. "So... why does my heart hurt this much?" Her eyes wandered across the room. The small stove. The folded bedding. The school certificates she had proudly hung on the wall. Every corner carried memories of a life she had poured herself into. Now the room felt impossibly large. "So quiet..." She hugged her knees tightly. "I don't know who I am anymore." "For fourteen years..." "I was just... 'Rohan's mother.'" She smiled bitterly. "Now..." "I'm just Shreya." "...alone." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I wonder if anyone would notice if I disappeared." She immediately shook her head. "No..." "I shouldn't think like that." She wiped her eyes with the edge of her saree. "I've survived worse." "...haven't I?" But this time, even she didn't believe her own words. She lowered her head onto her knees. "...It's so lonely." The room remained silent. Only the old ceiling fan answered her, turning slowly above the woman who had spent her entire life giving everything to everyone else, and now found herself with nothing but memories.
