You know what hurts in silence?
Not when someone scolds you, not even when they misunderstand you…but when the people you love say something in concern, something true, and it forces you to look inward, really look.
And realise…maybe they’re not wrong.
It was around 11 PM, our house’s unofficial family hour. Cards. Chai. Laughter. A little harmless gossip. That warm, messy kind of love every Indian household knows.
Now, I won’t lie, me and my younger brother, we’re usually the ones who sneak away from this “family bonding” hour. Not because we don’t enjoy it, we actually do… but well, every house has those two kids who are always wrapped in their own chaos, right?
In ours, I was the first. And my younger brother? A proud follower of all my glorious traditions.
He even says I inspire him, lol, poor guy.
Anyway, during this “family time,” there’s a slot for lectures too. The kind where we talk about what went wrong, what mistakes not to repeat, basically a highlight reel of our flaws, masked as lessons. Maybe that’s why we both prefer hiding in another room, pretending to be busy with “work” or whatever sounds legit.
But on this particular night, the one I can’t forget, I slept early.
I don’t remember why exactly… maybe I was tired, or maybe I was finally fixing my messed-up sleep schedule. Or maybe, just maybe, I was escaping.
My brother didn’t get the luxury to skip that night, so he sat with the rest of the family.
Later, he told me fragments… the way he always does, half-forgetting, half-remembering.
“Where’s B?” My uncle asked.
“She’s sleeping,” replied mama.
“She okay? She slept early today?!” He asked again while processing something.
“She was just little tired today,” my brother said, probably saving me like he always does.
And then came the pause. The kind of pause that fills rooms without making a sound.
“She feels different these days,” said mama.
“She doesn’t really sit with us anymore,” aunt added.
“Always in her room…”
“Doesn’t speak much now.”
No one said it in anger. Not as a complaint.
Just concern. Quiet concern.
And when my brother told me this the next day, laughing it off, i didn’t. I couldn’t.
Because somewhere, i knew they were right. They weren’t blaming me.
They were just confused. Curious. Maybe even a little worried.
Because I’ve changed. And not in a good way. Not in a bad way either. Just… in a way no one fully understands. Not even me, some days.
They don’t know what goes on inside me. But that’s not their fault.
Maybe I never tried to explain.
Maybe I didn’t know how.
That night, after I heard what I wasn’t meant to hear…..I cried. Quietly. In the dark. Cried until my chest hurt. And I had no answer.
I kept asking myself, “Why am I like this now? What happened to me?”
And with every thought came this strange ache… that maybe, just maybe, I was disappointing everyone. Even myself.
For hours, I punished myself in my head. Dug through old memories. Replayed versions of who I used to be. Until, at some point… I stopped. The ache didn’t go away, but something lifted. In that night of heaviness, I didn’t find answers, but I found a crack where light could come in.
It was like I had been carrying a load I didn’t understand, and for the first time, I allowed myself to put it down.
And in that quiet, I found something unexpected: Peace. A decision. To heal. To grow. To find my way back, not just for me, but for them too. To be the reason my family smiles again, not the silence they try to understand.
I must’ve drifted off while thinking, imagining, planning, hoping.
And the next morning, I woke up differently. Not with noise or purpose, but with calm.
For the first time in a long while, I had actually slept well. I felt light. Happy.
I stepped out of my room…something so small, yet suddenly so meaningful.
Everyone had already had their tea, so I quietly made my own. Then I took a quick shower and, unlike every other day, walked out to the living room.
My mom and aunt were watching TV.
I sat down beside them.
They looked surprised, that soft kind of surprise that glows in the eyes.
But more than that… they looked happy.
It hit me, they were never loud with their love, but it had always been there, waiting at the door.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt it. Not because I liked sitting there, but because they did. And there’s a quiet joy in doing something for someone else, especially for the people who raised you.
In that moment, I realised,
It wasn’t about fixing everything at once.
It was about showing up, even when I didn’t know what to say.
Sometimes, when you overhear something you weren’t meant to, it breaks you a little.
But sometimes… it leads you back home.
Written by Bhumi Gehlot
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