THE SLAP

In the dim, sterile light of five in the morning, Meera stood before a clouded mirror. The glass, hazy with condensation and age, reflected a girl's face, but all she saw were the temporary flaws: the hollows beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, the slight tremble in her hands. With a sigh that tasted of exhaustion, she gathered her thick, dark hair and twisted it into a hasty, messy braid, securing it with a worn elastic band.

Meera's Point of View

Every bone in my body ached for more sleep, but I was already dragging myself into college prep mode. The night had been brutally long; I had only fallen into bed around three after finally finishing a huge project. Still, I knew there was no escape from my duties. If I stayed in bed a minute longer, my aunt would beat me mercilessly. Her breakfast had to be on the table by 6:30 a.m., no exceptions.

At 5:15 a.m., I forced myself into the kitchen. The scent of cold, stale air met me as I began to cook. I hadn't been working for long when a faint, sharp voice called my name. I stepped out of the kitchen, and my heart instantly sank.

Standing there was the last person I ever wanted to see: my uncle's sister.

"Ho gya kalyan," I thought, a wave of icy dread washing over me. (It's all over.)

That woman despised me, and I had never understood why. Then, my eyes widened in horror. A heavy suitcase sat beside her feet. No, not a month. Please, don't let it be a month. The last time she stayed, my life had turned into a living hell. While my aunt's simple taunts were painful, this woman's words cut deeper, especially her cruel insults about my late mother. Her abuse made me want to lash out, to permanently silence her, but I forced the violent thoughts away.

"Take my suitcase to my room," she ordered, her voice a shrill, high-pitched command. "Then tell my brother to come downstairs, and also bring the breakfast to the dining table."

As I started to move, she stopped me again.

"Meera, are you still going to college, or did your uncle finally get some sense and stop your education?"

"I am still studying," I replied softly, my voice barely a whisper.

"Fine," she snapped. "But you're not going for the next fifteen days. I'm here now. And you'll prepare the lunch I tell you to make."

"But-" I tried to protest, starting to feel a familiar, fierce resistance bubble up. I was fine with cooking the food she wanted, but I would not stop attending college, not at any cost. If she tried to stop me, I was prepared to run away. In fact, I had been planning to escape for a long time, but I always decided to finish my studies first, then leave for a respectable job.

"Did your mother teach you no manners how you should talk to your elders before she died and left a bad omen like you behind?" she screamed, her face contorted in anger.

Something deep inside me shattered. "You can taunt me all you want," I said, my voice shaking with a sudden rage and grief I could no longer hide. "But don't you dare say anything about my mother." Tears welled up instantly, but I blinked furiously, determined not to let her see me cry.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the cold, unforgiving floor. A sharp, burning pain flared across my left cheek. She had slapped me so hard I was sure her handprint was now permanently etched there. I scrambled to my feet and ran, my legs carrying me instinctively to my only sanctuary: my room, which was really just a glorified storeroom.

Inside, I quickly locked the door behind me and threw myself onto my small bed, burying my face in my pillow. The sobs, which I'd fought so hard to hold back, finally escaped in a torrent of tears and anguish.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

After nearly thirty minutes of crying, my phone rang. The name "SARA" flashed on the screen. I answered, my voice still thick with tears.

"Hello, Sara."

"Meera, where are you? You sound terrible," she asked, her voice full of immediate worry.

"I'm home. What's wrong?"

"Why are you at home? Aren't you coming to class today?"

"Oh, shit," a jolt of pure panic hit me. The project. Today was the last, absolute day to turn it in. I had to go, no matter what it took.

"No, I'll be there," I said, trying to sound completely normal. "Just wait ten minutes. Bye."

After I hung up, I stood before the mirror again. I looked like a disaster. My eyes were red and swollen, and my hair was a complete mess. But there was no time for perfection. I pulled myself together in five minutes, grateful that college started at 9:30 a.m. and I still had just enough time to get there.

But then the fear set in. How was I supposed to get out? The main door was impossible; if she saw me, I was as good as dead. The key to the back door was with my uncle. My thoughts raced, spinning uselessly, and I sank onto the bed, feeling utterly defeated. Then, my eyes fell on the balcony.

A sudden clarity washed over me. "Thank you, Krishna," I whispered, the words barely audible, as I pressed my hands together in a gesture of deep gratitude. The idea, a desperate plan, was now fully formed.

"I have to be strong now," I told myself. A long, shuddering breath did little to calm the frantic drumming of my heart. The very thought of my uncke or aunt or uncle's sister discovering my escape sent a sharp, icy terror through me. But the deadline-the absolute last day for the project-was today. I had to take this terrifying risk.

A small, choked sob of sheer frustration escaped my throat. What should I do?

The shrill, insistent ring of my mobile phone startled me, pulling me out of the whirlpool of worried thoughts. It was Sara.

"Yes, Sara, what's up?" I asked, struggling to make my voice sound normal and steady.

"I should be asking you that!" her voice shot back. "Are you on your way or still sitting in your room moping.

"Don't ask me this, Sara ," I pleaded, my patience wearing thin. "Leave all that and please listen carefully, okay?"

"Okay. Is something serious?" she sounded instantly concerned.

"Yeah, kind of. I need to know... how do you always manage to jump from your balcony when your parents ground you?" I finally blurted out.

There was a short silence, then a triumphant, high-pitched shriek. "Oh, that's easy! First, you have to- WAIT A MINUTE!" Sara's voice screeched higher. "Are you escaping from your prison? I knew it! My friendship is definitely good for you-let alone good, it's amazing!" Her voice was thick with excited pride. "You've finally got some senses, Meera! My darling, I'm with you all the way! I am ready to make you my roommate!" She paused, an even more dramatic idea dawning on her. "Wait... Let me go ask my mother to prepare for your 'grah pravesh'!" (a traditional welcoming ceremony).

"No! Sara, just listen to me!" I shouted, desperately cutting through her joyful rant.

"What? You don't want to be my roommate? That's fine, girl, I'll just ask my dad to give you your own room! Is that better?" she said, trying, and failing, to contain her soaring excitement.

"This girl is testing my patience," I muttered to myself, rubbing my forehead. "Sara, my uncle's sister is here for fifteen days, and she told me I can't-"

"That witch!" Sara roared, interrupting me with the force of a thunderclap. "Ugh! Actually, it's good she's here! I'm going to beat her so badly she'll have to beg you for forgiveness!"

"Sara, just tell me how to jump or I'm hanging up!" I said, injecting every bit of my remaining firmness into my voice.

"Bhalayi ka to zamana hi nahi raha" (You're so ungrateful/It's not the time for kindness) she sighed, trying to sound offended but failing.

"Okay, listen. First, throw your slippers down to test the distance. Then, sit on the ledge and..." She continued, giving detailed, quick instructions. Soon after, we said our urgent goodbyes.

Now, I was poised to do the very thing I used to constantly scold my reckless friend for. But as they say: desperate times call for desperate measures. The pressure of the deadline had pushed me to an action I had always sworn I'd never take.

I followed Sara's steps with meticulous care. First, my slippers dropped lightly onto the soft earth below. Then, gripping the railing, I lowered my body from the balcony ledge. With a single, silent prayer to Krishna for protection, I let go and dropped. I landed safely, the impact jarring but not painful. To my utter surprise, I actually felt an unexpected rush of exhilaration-a thrill.

I think I should change my group. Maybe I am losing my sense, I thought wryly, a small smile touching my lips.

I ran, heart pounding, toward the college gates, relief flooding me that I wasn't late. But as I hurried through the entrance, a heavy, cold feeling suddenly settled in my chest. It was a dread, a prickling sense that something was fundamentally wrong. I tried to shake it off, dismissing the thoughts as mere anxiety from my recent stunt, and quickened my pace toward the classroom.