The truth

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Not again! I am done with this!” the girl shrieked, her voice cutting through the stillness of the early morning. At just thirteen, she carried a fierce energy in her expression. Her short, wavy black hair framed her face, highlighting her ocean-coloured blue eyes that sparkled with determination. Standing at a height of 5′2", she possessed a warm, sun-kissed complexion that seemed to glow even in the shadowy light of dawn.

4:58 AM.

Again.

Tara stared at the glowing numbers on her alarm clock. "You’ve got to be kidding me". Her heart was pounding. She couldn’t remember everything from the dream. She never could. But she remembered the screaming.

“Why me?”

This had been happening for years.

Every few weeks, sometimes every few days, the same nightmare came back.

And every single time, she woke up at exactly 4:58.

I can’t take this anymore; does this only happen to me? The persistent cycle of the same haunting dream. She caught herself speaking aloud. She decided to go for a jog. The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, bathing everything in a soft, golden hue. With each step, she felt a gradual sense of peace enveloping her.

I liked jogging before sunrise. There was something about being awake while everyone else was still sleeping that made the world feel like it belonged to me.

Maybe that’s why I loved dawn and dusk. They were quiet. No questions. No expectations.

Just me and the sky.

“Mumma, I’m back!” the girl exclaimed, her voice echoing with childish vibrancy. Tara, her brow slightly furrowed, was met with the warm yet distracted gaze of her mother, Sunamya Chatterjee. “Tara, I need a favour,” her mother said, her tone a blend of urgency and affection. “Could you pick up your sister after school today? We will be away for some time.”

Sunamya, in her mid-thirties, carried herself with an elegant grace that turned heads. Her olive skin, sprinkled with delicate freckles, bore a youthful glow, and her long, wavy hair fell down her shoulders like a waterfall. Standing at 5′1, she was small in stature, which contrasted sharply with her commanding presence as a dedicated doctor.

Mum dropped the spoon.

Tara looked up.

“You, okay? “Of course. “Mum smiled too quickly.

Dad didn’t look up from his tea. Something was wrong.

Tara didn’t know what.

Across the kitchen, her father, Rakesh Chatterjee, usually the life of any gathering, was unusually absorbed in the process of brewing tea. Standing at 5′5", he had an easy charm about him, with olive skin and curly hair and had a playful personality. Yet, today, a furrowed brow replaced his usual wide grin, as he didn’t glance at the television, where news reports flashed on-screen, clearly forgotten.

Tara felt a twinge of concern but decided to shrug it off for now; she couldn’t let the strange energy distract her from school. With one last look at her parents, she grabbed her backpack and headed out, the door clicking shut behind her, a small sound that somehow carried the weight of tension lingering in the air.

After arriving home, the bickering between Maya and her sister Tara continued, filling the air with their playful yet intense fight. “Give it to me!”

“No!”

“Maya!”

“Tara!”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re old.”

“I’m thirteen!”

“Exactly. Ancient.”

“Seriously, hand over the remote, you little devil!” Tara exclaimed, her frustration observable. “Hehe, not a chance,” Maya giggled mischievously, her voice lively and carefree. With her shining black eyes sparkling with mischief and long, straight black hair cascading like a waterfall down her back, she radiated an infectious positivity that could brighten any room.

Their parents, outside in the cozy warmth of their living room, couldn’t help but smile at the chaos within while also feeling a pinch of irritation. “Oh my God! When will they ever stop bickering?” their mother grumbled, shaking her head with an affectionate exasperation. “Sunamya, you really should have thought twice before challenging our child about who’ll get the best student award.” She shot a mock scowl in her husband’s direction. “Whose team are you on, anyway?”

He smirked, his eyes twinkling, “Obviously yours, my queen.” They shared a loving gaze, full of warmth amidst the ruckus their daughters created in the background, their laughter intermingling like a beautiful symphony.

In this happy little family, nothing was a secret, or so it was believed. They had a good reputation in society; everyone admired them. Tara, the incarnation of athleticism, lived on the thrill of competition and excelled not only in academics but also in basketball. Her dedication, however, seemed to come with a price. Each tournament was often accompanied by fresh bruises, a fact that seemed to affect Tara but worried their mother.

Maya, the quieter of the two, had her own strengths. While she excelled in her studies, she avoided the rougher edges of athletics. Instead, she found solace and joy through her love for dance and singing. As a semi-classical dancer, she moved with a grace that captivated audiences, leaving them utterly fascinated by her effortless rhythm.

Although they fought fiercely like cats and dogs, deep down, both girls shared an unbreakable bond. A teasing friend on the sidelines would see them clash, but if anyone dared to bully either, they would unite like a problematic force, never letting go until the person regretted their actions (somethings which didn’t come under their parents’ radar)

Tara and Maya were the shining stars of their street and the school, walking models of excellence in their studies and pursuits. Yet, today, a shadow lingered over their parents as they considered something troubling that neither of the girls could see.