Dear diary

My name is Tara, and today once again... I feel invisible. I love my family with all my heart, but why don't they treat me the same? Sometimes I wonder... am I really a part of them, or just a burden they have to carry? 😔

Everyone in the Chauhan family loves my elder sister, Isha. She's beautiful, confident, and always gets what she wants. Maybe that's why my parents adore her so much. But me? I'm just the quiet one — the one who smiles even when her heart breaks a little more each day.

Still, I'm grateful... because I have two people who truly love me — my best friends Ruhi and Yash. They never judge me, never make me feel less. With them, I can breathe, I can laugh, I can be myself.

Every night, before I close my eyes, I whisper the same prayer —

"Dear God, please... give me the same love from my parents that they give to Isha. Just once, I want to feel what it's like to be someone's favorite."

Maybe one day, things will change.
Maybe one day... they'll see me. 🌙

______

The Slap

I was coming back from college, tired but smiling a little — at least the day was over. My bag felt heavy, but not as heavy as my heart. As I stepped inside the house, everything was quiet... until I heard voices coming from the living room.

It was Papa and my stepmother.
Their tone was sharp, angry — and I don't know why, but something in me froze. My hands trembled as I took a few slow steps toward them.

Before I could even speak, before I could even understand what was happening..

THUD!

My cheek burned. My ears rang.
I was on the cold floor, tears stinging my eyes.

Papa's voice roared through the silence.

"How dare you come home late! Not even one minute of respect you can show!"

I tried to say  "Papa... I—"
But my words died in my throat. I could only feel the pain of that slap, not just on my face, but deep in my heart.

And then... I saw it.
My stepmother's eyes softened — not with concern, but with pity.
And just behind her, walking gracefully with a smile, was Isha.

The moment my sister entered, everything changed.
Papa's anger vanished. My stepmother rushed to her, smiling warmly.
They hugged her. They asked if she was tired, if she wanted juice, if she was okay —

and I just stood there, unseen, my face still burning.

Something inside me broke quietly.
I turned away before they could see the tears in my eyes. I ran to my room, slammed the door, and locked it.

Then I collapsed on the bed and cried — not just because of the pain, but because of the love I keep begging for and never receive.
I pressed my face into the pillow to silence the sobs.

"Why, God?" I whispered. "Why am I never enough?" 😔

Sometimes, silence hurts more than any slap ever could.

The Quiet After the Storm

After what felt like hours, my tears finally dried. My eyes were swollen, and my head throbbed painfully. I must have fallen asleep while crying, because when I opened my eyes, the room was dark and silent.

For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling — empty, numb, and tired. Everything felt so heavy... my heart, my body, even the air around me.

Slowly, I pushed myself up from the bed. My face still hurt where Papa's hand had struck, and I could still hear the echo of his voice in my head. But I didn't want to cry anymore. Not again.

I walked to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the warm water run over me. It felt like tiny drops of comfort — washing away the tears, the pain, the memories of that moment. I closed my eyes and whispered softly,
"Maybe one day... I'll be free from this pain."

When I came out, I put on my softest clothes — a loose white t-shirt and my favorite cotton pajama. They smelled of fresh soap and peace. I brushed my wet hair and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

My eyes were red, my lips trembling... but somewhere deep inside, I saw a small spark — a part of me that refused to break completely.

I walked to the window and looked at the moonlight slipping through the clouds.
The world outside was calm, so unlike the storm inside me.

"Maybe tomorrow will be better," I whispered to myself.
But deep down, I wasn't sure if I still believed it. 😔

After standing by the window for a while, I felt the cool night breeze touch my face — gentle, almost like it was trying to comfort me. The house was silent now; even the walls seemed to be asleep.

I turned away and walked back to my bed. The pillow was still damp from my tears. I hugged it close, curling up beneath my blanket. The softness of the fabric against my skin made me feel a little safe — like a fragile warmth in a cold world.

My thoughts drifted back to Papa's anger, to Isha's smile, and to the way no one even noticed I had run away crying. My chest tightened again, but this time, I was too tired to cry.

I whispered softly,
"Maybe tomorrow... someone will care. Maybe tomorrow... they'll see me."

And with that final thought, my eyes slowly closed. The pain, the noise, the loneliness — everything began to fade.

Wrapped in silence, I fell asleep...
dreaming of a world where love didn't hurt so much. 😔💔

🌤️ — A New Morning, Same Pain

The soft rays of sunlight slipped through my window, brushing gently against my face. I blinked slowly, my body still heavy from the night before. For a moment, I forgot everything — the slap, the shouting, the tears. But then it all came rushing back, like a wave I couldn't escape.

I sat up on the bed, my hair messy, my eyes still swollen. The silence of my room felt louder than ever. I took a deep breath and whispered to myself,
"New day, Tara... just breathe."

Dragging my tired feet to the bathroom, I turned on the shower. The water was cold at first, making me gasp, but soon it warmed — and with every drop that touched my skin, I tried to wash away the pain from last night. I closed my eyes and let the water run through my hair, over my shoulders, down to my heart that still ached quietly.

After the shower, I wiped the foggy mirror and looked at myself.
My reflection looked fragile... yet somehow, still standing.
"You can do this," I whispered again — not because I believed it, but because I needed to hear it.

I slipped into my light blue jeans and a simple white top — my comfort clothes. My hands trembled a little as I tied my hair into a loose ponytail. The dark circles under my eyes couldn't be hidden, no matter how much I tried.

Grabbing my bag, I looked around my room one last time — the same room that had heard all my secrets, my tears, my prayers. I sighed softly and whispered,
"Let's just survive another day."

Then, with a faint smile that didn't quite reach my eyes, I walked out — ready to face the world that never seemed to notice my pain. 😔💧

After dressing up, I walked slowly toward the kitchen. My steps echoed in the quiet house — everyone was still asleep except me. The moment I entered, my eyes fell on a note left on the counter.

It was from my stepmother.

"Don't bother making breakfast for your father. I've already told the maid to handle it later. You can make your own."

Her handwriting was neat... cold... distant — just like her.

I sighed softly, placing the note down. My stomach growled quietly, but not from hunger — more from the ache of being unwanted even in the smallest things. Still, I couldn't leave without eating something.

I walked to the stove and made a simple breakfast — just a piece of toast and some tea. As the kettle hissed, I stared blankly at the steam rising, lost in my thoughts. I remembered how I used to dream of mornings filled with laughter, with Papa reading the newspaper, Isha teasing me about being late.
But that world never existed for me.

When the toast popped, I smiled faintly to myself and whispered,
"Maybe one day, someone will make breakfast for me."

I ate quietly, every bite tasting a little like loneliness. Then I packed my bag, grabbed my notebook, and walked toward the door.

Papa's car keys were on the table — I thought for a second about leaving a note, saying goodbye, but what was the point? They wouldn't even notice I was gone.

The sun was shining outside, yet everything inside me felt cloudy. As I stepped out, the wind brushed against my face — soft, warm, almost like a whisper of courage.

"Let's just make it through today, Tara," I told myself and began walking toward college, my heart heavy, but still beating — still hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone would see the girl behind the silence. 😔🌸

_______

Don't just watch the chapter vote also 😒