Ink Doesn’t Lie

The lights in the shop had been off for nearly an hour, but they stayed.

Aksha sat in the tattoo chair quiet, still unnervingly composed. Arjun stood a few feet away, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, knuckles clenched so tight his nails dug crescent moons into his palms.

She had asked him to tattoo her.

Not just anything.A line of script over her ribs.Something no one would see unless they were close enough to feel her breath.

What does it say? he asked.Her voice was almost a whisper -what you survive becomes you.

He nodded, heart stammering.

You sure?

She lifted her shirt without flinching.

He saw the bruises then not fresh, not old and he looked away like it burned.

Look at me, Arjun-she said.He did.

It was the first time he had really seen her skin. Not in a sexual way in a human way. In a witnessing way.

The ink machine hummed to life.As he worked, his hand steady but his breath uneven, she didn’t make a sound. Not a flinch , not a hiss. Her eyes stayed locked on his face, and he hated how vulnerable he felt being watched like that.

How do you not feel this? he murmured.

I’ve felt worse.

Silence.

Then she said-You draw pain. I wear it.

Later, when the tattoo was done, she didn’t leave.They sat on the floor together, backs against the counter. His hoodie was too big for her, but she wore it anyway. Rain tapped at the glass like fingers too impatient to knock.

I was thirteen,she said suddenly, staring at nothing.

He turned toward her.

My father used to lock the bedroom door and turn the TV up so loud, you could hear it through the walls. Action movies, game shows it didn’t matter. Just noise. Loud enough to cover everything else.”

Her voice didn’t waver, but it dropped, like the words were heavier now.

And my mother… she never asked. Not once. She just kept folding laundry or cooking dinner like nothing was wrong. Like she couldn’t hear the screaming. Or maybe she just didn’t want to.”She took a shaky breath, but there were still no tears. Only that hollow calm that comes after years of surviving.She’d ask me if I’d finished my homework. If I’d cleaned my room. But never the real questions. Never the ones that might’ve forced her to see what was happening.I left at seventeen. Haven’t been back.No tears. Just facts. Her voice carried the weight of someone who had learned crying didn’t buy you mercy.

He wanted to hold her but he didn’t.

Instead, he offered the only thing he could.

I don’t draw people,he said. But I’ve drawn you a hundred times.

She looked at him, expression unreadable.

I know she whispered.And then she did something unexpected.She took his hand.Not casually but Deliberately.

She threaded her fingers through his like she was choosing him. And Arjun who had always felt like a second choice didn’t pull away.

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