Morning came slow, heavy, and almost cruel.
The world outside had already moved on — birds chirped like everything was fine, the neighborhood dogs barked as if they hadn’t heard the sound of a girl breaking down in the middle of the night.
Ananya didn’t move for a long time.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her throat ached from the song she’d forced out of it, and her eyes still burned from the tears that had refused to stop. But there was something heavier pressing on her chest — the weight of her own voice, captured in that one raw recording.
The song — Pain — still sat in her phone’s recorder. A simple file. Just her voice. Just her truth. And still, she couldn’t bring herself to listen.
What if it sounded broken?
What if it wasn’t enough?
Or worse… what if it was real, but nobody ever cared?
---
At school, nothing felt different.
The chalk dust floated through the air, someone shouted for a basketball near the canteen, and two girls argued over a seat in the second row.
Ananya walked the halls like a ghost.
Her throat still burned, and she hardly spoke. When Kaviya found her near the water tank, she looked concerned.
“You look like you haven’t slept,” Kaviya said.
“I didn’t.”
“You sang again, didn’t you?”
Ananya didn’t answer.
Kaviya sighed. “You’re going to hurt yourself one day. Why do you push so hard?”
Ananya shrugged. “Because no one else is going to fight for my voice.”
That silenced Kaviya for a moment.
---
It wasn’t until lunch break that everything shifted.
Ananya sat under the neem tree near the staff building, her lunch box unopened. She scrolled through her notes, trying to write again. The pen hovered over the paper, her fingers aching to start something new — a song about survival, maybe.
She opened her recorder app, intending to review her vocal takes — but something caught her eye.
One new share notification.
Her heart jumped.
She tapped it open.
Her song — Pain — had been shared. Not posted. Not uploaded. Sent.
Her fingers froze. Her lungs locked.
She hadn’t shared it.
Who had?
She turned around sharply, eyes searching, and there stood Kaviya.
Guilt on her face.
“I sent it,” she said before Ananya could speak. “I didn’t listen, I swear. But… I saw the title, and I just knew it had to be something special.”
“To who?” Ananya’s voice cracked.
Kaviya hesitated. “Mr. Dev.”
The music teacher.
Ananya’s chest went tight. “Why would you do that?”
“He’s organizing auditions for the South Zone Creative Arts Fest,” Kaviya said quickly. “He’s been looking for original songs. No one was submitting. And I just thought… maybe this is your moment.”
Ananya stared, stunned.
"You had no right," she whispered.
“I know,” Kaviya replied. “But I had hope.”
---
That night, Ananya sat in the shed again.
The recorder still sat on the table. Her lyric book lay open. But she didn’t sing.
She just breathed.
For the first time, someone might hear her voice.
And that terrified her more than being ignored ever did.
But somewhere beneath that fear… was something else.
Something like light.
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