Amoha stirred beneath the thin blanket as the shrill sound of her phone shattered the quiet calm of the morning. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, as the screen of her phone buzzed angrily on the wooden nightstand beside her bed. She squinted at the bright display—"Mummy". A soft sigh escaped her lips. Her slender fingers brushed against the cool screen before she slid her thumb across it to answer the call.

"Hello?" her voice was soft, still laced with sleep.

"Are you still sleeping?" Her mother, Sushma's sharp tone cut through the air, erasing any trace of comfort the morning held.

Amoha sat up, her dark black hair falling messily around her face. The thin cotton shirt she slept in was wrinkled, the fabric sticking to her warm skin. Her dorm room was dimly lit, the pale sunlight from the half-open window casting a soft glow across the small space. She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

"I just woke up," she replied quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course, you did," her mother scoffed. "It's already past seven. Is this how you plan to become a doctor? Sleeping your life away?"

Amoha closed her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line as the familiar sting of her mother's words settled deep into her chest. She pulled herself out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floor as she walked toward the small attached bathroom. She set the phone down on the bathroom shelf and turned on the faucet. The sound of rushing water filled the space, but it didn't drown out her mother's voice.

"I hope you're studying hard," her mother continued. "We've put so much into you. The coaching fees, the hostel fees—you think money grows on trees?"

Amoha didn't answer. She stripped off her clothes and stepped under the cold spray of the shower, flinching slightly as the chill ran down her spine. Her mother's voice crackled through the speaker, sharp and relentless.

"You think we're made of money? Do you even understand how much pressure your father is under? And for what? For you to sit around all day doing nothing?"

Amoha's fingers curled into fists as the water poured over her, washing away the sleepiness from her body. Her mother's words, however, clung to her skin like thorns, digging deeper with each passing second. She hated how easily they slipped under her guard. She hated how much they still hurt.

"I am studying," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the sound of water.

"Really? Then why are your marks not improving?" Her mother's voice sharpened. "If you don't start performing, you're going to embarrass us. What will people say? That we wasted so much money on you? That you're nothing but a disappointment?"

Amoha's throat tightened, but she stayed quiet. What was the point of arguing? Her mother would never believe her anyway.

She finished her shower quickly, wrapped herself in a towel, and padded back into her room. The mirror above the small wooden dresser caught her eye, and despite herself, she paused.

Her reflection stared back at her—a girl with soft, round cheeks and delicate features. Her skin was fair, smooth, and glowing with the soft pink flush that came after a shower. But her eyes—the deep black with slight brown in centre, eyes that mirrored her mother's—looked dull. Tired.

And then her gaze dropped.

Her arms weren't thin, her stomach wasn't flat, and her thighs touched. Baby fat. That's what everyone called it. It shouldn't bother her. But it did.

"You've gained weight again, haven't you?" her mother's voice cut through her thoughts, and Amoha's hand tightened around the edge of the dresser.

"You should stop eating so much junk. That's why you look so... round," her mother added with a cold laugh. "You used to be so cute when you were little. What happened?"

Amoha's eyes prickled with tears, but she blinked them away, forcing herself to breathe.

"I'm not fat," she whispered, but even she didn't believe it.

"You'll never find a good husband if you keep looking like this," her mother sighed. "Not that it matters if you don't even pass your entrance exam."

Amoha swallowed the lump in her throat. She turned away from the mirror and reached for the first clean set of clothes she could find—an oversized hoodie and a pair of black jeans. Loose enough to hide the parts of herself she didn't want to see.

"I need to make breakfast," she said quietly, hoping to end the conversation.

Her mother barely paused. "Breakfast? Eating again? You should be focusing on your studies, not filling your stomach all the time."

Amoha bit her lip hard enough to taste copper. She walked toward the small kitchenette in the corner of her room and pulled out a packet of Maggi from the cabinet. She set a pot on the stove and turned the burner on, the soft hiss of gas mixing with the sound of her mother's voice still buzzing in her ear.

"You're wasting your life, Amoha. All your father and I ask is for you to be serious about your studies. But you don't care, do you? Just wasting money, wasting time. Ungrateful. Selfish."

Selfish. The word stung more than any insult.

She poured water into the pot, added the noodles, and stirred them mechanically. Her movements were practiced, detached. The packet of seasoning spilled into the boiling water, filling the room with the familiar salty, spicy scent.

Her mother didn't stop.

"You think life is going to be easy for you? You think someone will always be there to pick up after your failures?"

Amoha prepared a cup of coffee while the noodles cooked, her fingers trembling slightly as she poured the hot liquid into a mug.

"I'm trying," she said softly.

"Try harder."

Amoha's lips trembled. The Maggi was ready. She transferred it into a bowl and sat at the edge of her bed, the warm cup of coffee resting between her hands. She took a small bite, but the food tasted like nothing. The heaviness in her chest made it hard to swallow.

Her mother was still talking, but Amoha couldn't focus anymore. She stared down at her bowl, her chest tight. Her mother's voice was a constant hum, an inescapable noise in the background.

"—You think you'll pass like this?"

"I have to go," Amoha cut in softly, her voice strained.

Her mother scoffed. "Of course. Just run away from the conversation like always."

Amoha's fingers tightened around her phone. "I'm going to college," she said, her voice firmer this time.

"Fine. But don't expect anything from us when you fail."

Amoha closed her eyes. "Bye, Mummy."

She ended the call before her mother could say anything else. The silence that followed was deafening. Her hands were shaking.

She set the phone aside and stared at her untouched bowl of Maggi. Her throat burned, and her chest felt tight.

Her mother's words circled in her head, sharp and cruel. Selfish. Ungrateful. Fat.

Amoha closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. She pressed her hands to her face, her nails digging slightly into her skin.

After a moment, she opened her eyes, forced herself to take a sip of coffee, and stood up. She grabbed her bag from the chair and walked toward the door.

Her legs felt heavy as she stepped into the hallway.

Keep moving. Just breathe. Pretend it doesn't hurt.

She put one foot in front of the other and didn't look back.

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Amoha walked through the gates of her medical college, her steps light yet hesitant. The morning sun glinted off the polished glass windows of the main building, but the warmth of the sun didn't reach her heart. Her bag hung off one shoulder, weighing heavier than usual—not because of the books, but because of the tiredness clinging to her soul.

She passed through the corridor lined with students, some laughing, some chatting, some absorbed in their notes. She moved quietly, her head slightly lowered, her eyes downcast.

No one noticed her. Or maybe they did—but not in the way she wished to be seen.

Her classroom was already half full when she arrived. The familiar hum of chatter buzzed through the air, mixed with the occasional sound of a pen tapping against a desk. Amoha slid into her usual seat—third row, near the window. Not too close to the front to attract attention, not too far back to look like she was hiding.

She pulled out her notebook and opened it, her gaze drifting toward the small silver locket resting against her chest. The delicate image of Bhagwan Krishna and Maa Radha gleamed faintly under the light. Her fingers brushed over the smooth surface, seeking comfort in the coolness of the metal.

Her mother's words still echoed in her head—sharp, lingering, cutting deeper than they should have. Ungrateful. Selfish. Fat.

Her eyes glazed over as the professor entered the room and began scribbling on the board. She tried to focus, but her thoughts kept slipping between the lines of the lecture and the dull ache inside her chest.

"Amoha."

Her gaze flicked upward as a familiar voice called her name. Anika was standing at the edge of her desk, a saccharine smile stretched across her face. Anika was one of the prettiest girls in the class—tall, slim, with perfectly styled hair and makeup that always looked effortless. Her two shadows, Riya and Pooja, stood just behind her, mirroring her expression.

"Morning," Anika said, her tone dripping with false sweetness.

Amoha's fingers tightened around her pen. She nodded silently, already bracing herself for what was coming next.

Anika's eyes flicked down toward Amoha's body, lingering just long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. Her smile curled wider.

"You know," Anika began, her voice light but cutting, "I was just wondering—how do you even manage to fit into those jeans? Must be so uncomfortable."

Riya snickered. "Maybe that's why she doesn't talk much. Too out of breath from walking up the stairs."

Amoha's face burned, but she said nothing. Her gaze dropped to her notebook as her fingers toyed with the locket around her neck. The familiar ridges of Krishna and Radha's figures pressed against her skin, grounding her.

"Oh, come on," Pooja's voice chimed in. "Don't be so mean. Amoha's really... cute." Her smile was thin. "In a round kind of way."

More laughter. Quiet, but loud enough.

Amoha's throat tightened. Her heart hammered painfully beneath her ribs, but she didn't lift her head. What was the point of arguing? If she fought back, they'd only push harder. If she stayed quiet, they'd eventually grow bored.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

"Anyway," Anika sighed, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "I guess it's good you don't care about how you look. I mean, someone's got to focus on studying, right?"

Amoha's gaze darkened. She hated how her heart reacted to their words, how her chest tightened and her face flushed with embarrassment. She hated how much she cared.

The professor's voice called from the front of the room. Anika smiled one last time before turning away, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor as she walked back to her seat.

Amoha's gaze dropped to the thin silver chain around her neck. Her thumb brushed over the locket. The faint image of Krishna's flute and Radha's smile etched into the surface reminded her to breathe.

She took a shaky breath and stared out the window. The trees outside swayed gently in the breeze, their green leaves shimmering under the soft light. The world moved on as if nothing had happened.

Her chest still ached.

Her eyes drifted toward the lecture notes on the board. She forced herself to write down the words, her hand steady even though her heart wasn't.

The day dragged on, each lecture blending into the next. Amoha stayed quiet, only speaking when necessary. During the lunch break, she sat at the far end of the cafeteria, alone with her notebook and her half-eaten sandwich.

She watched the other students laugh and talk, moving in groups that seemed so effortlessly perfect. She wondered what it would feel like to belong—to laugh without second-guessing herself, to feel accepted without constantly questioning why.

She never lingered on that thought for too long.

When the final lecture ended, Amoha packed her things and slipped out of the classroom before anyone could stop her. She walked down the empty hallway, her gaze focused on the tiled floor beneath her feet.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A part of her tensed—was it her mother again?

But it was just a notification from her study app. A reminder to revise the cardiology chapter before the next test.

She leaned against the cool metal railing of the staircase and let her head fall back. The sky beyond the window was soft with hints of pink and lavender. Her hand lifted to the locket around her neck, her fingers brushing over it as she closed her eyes.

"Give me strength," she whispered. "Please."

Amoha didn't ask for happiness anymore. She just wanted to feel like she wasn't breaking.

After a moment, she opened her eyes and pushed away from the railing. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and started walking toward the hostel.

Her chest still felt tight.

But at least, for now, she was still breathing.

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Okay, not gonna lie but I started crying at the end of the chapter... Anyways.. Do vote and comment if you love the chapter or not. And this story will do make you cry but make you fill with hope and strength too..

Thank you..!✨❤______________________________

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