THE SILENCE I CHOSE
*Disclaimer: This story contains intense psychological themes, emotional trauma, and dark romantic elements. Reader discretion is advised.*
CHARACTERS FILE ༻
⋯⋯⋯━━━━༺🖤༻━━━━⋯⋯⋯
They are not just characters.
They are the storm and silence of this story.
༺ Character Files ༻
⋯⋯⋯━━━━༺❀༻━━━━⋯⋯⋯
✦Zaruph Zay✦
Age: 30’s
Appearance: Tall, sharp-jawed, silky hair Always in black.
Eyes: You don’t know if he’s watching you or reading you.
Voice: Low, deep — like he owns every second you breathe.
Vibe: Possessive. Obsessive. Danger disguised in silence.
✦ Ana jane ✦
Age: 12 years younger than him
Appearance: Curvy, black-haired, with soft skin and stormy eyes.
Personality: Quiet, reserved, strong when cornered.
Secret: There’s a part of her that wants to be loved
CHAPTER 1|THE SILENCE I CHOSE|
The Silence I Chose
They say I was born to be adored.
Flawless skin. A mind sharp enough to slice steel. Rich in my twenties. My name stitched on embroidered white coats. My face in private hospital brochures. I was the woman others whispered about — not in awe, but in distance. A monument. Too perfect. Untouchable.
But monuments are cold.
And I was never built to feel warm.
Everything about my life was... pristine. White walls. Clean glass. Polished silver. The silence in my house wasn’t peaceful — it was clinical. It had weight. Presence. It sat beside me at dinner and watched me undress from the corners of the room.
I was not *loved.*
I was *admired.*
There’s a difference.
I was never interested in marriages .I didn’t believe in love anymore. I hated being a wife or being called a wife material. And avoided men every time it felt that way.
But I had lost every part of myself.
And maybe that was easier.People don’t ask questions when you’re too perfect to bleed.The first time my mother mentioned marriage, I was halfway through dictating post-op notes.
“You’re not getting any younger,” she said, standing in the doorway like she owned the space.
“And you’re not getting any wiser,” I replied without even looking up.
She sighed. “This isn’t about wit, Ana. It’s about *Timing.*”
“No,” I said calmly, eyes on my tablet. “It’s about control. And you’re losing it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think I want to trap you?”
I smiled thinly. “You want to hand me over in lace and call it *love*.”
She didn’t speak after that. But I knew she’d be back.
She always came back when she thought she could fix what wasn’t broken.
He arrived two days later. The first one.
His name was irrelevant. Everything about him screamed *curated.* Hair perfectly combed, suit freshly pressed, a grin like he practiced it in the mirror for approval points. He looked at me like he was scanning for flaws on a luxury purchase.
“You must be tired from the hospital,” he said. “I heard you recently performed a liver transplant.”
“Do you ask about a man’s work on the first meeting?” I asked flatly.
He blinked. “I just admire your achievements.”
“You admire them the way someone admires a wall painting. Detached. Decorative.”
My mother coughed awkwardly. I stood up. “Excuse me. I have surgery more interesting than this conversation.”
She stormed into my room that night
“You embarrassed me,” she snapped, following me into my room.
I didn’t turn around. “No, I saved you the shame of calling that taxidermied mannequin your son-in-law.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No,” I said, spinning to face her. “I think it’s pathetic that you’d rather see me married off like property than let me breathe without someone watching.”
Her voice cracked. “You’ll regret this.”
I smiled, cold. “I’ve regretted less for worse”
The second one came with cologne so strong it lingered even after he left. He was a businessman’s son. Glossy smile. Empty compliments. His words were lined with entitlement like gold trim on a broken chandelier.
“You’re incredibly independent,” he said. “But men like to feel needed, you know.”
“Then date someone who needs you,” I said, sipping water. “I don’t.”
He chuckled nervously. “You must have a lot to handle.”
I leaned in. “Only for boys who weren’t raised to handle women.”
My mother didn’t say a word when he left. But I saw the fear growing in her eyes.
LATER THAT DAY
“You’re angry at the world,” she said quietly, standing behind me in the kitchen.
“No,” I said. “I’m angry that the world thinks I owe it my silence just because I’m a woman.”
“You think rejecting everyone makes you strong?”
“I think not settling makes me sane.”
“There will come a day when you’ll need someone. And no one will come.”
“Good,” I said without flinching. “At least the silence will be mine.”
SOME DAYS PASSED
The third suitor was the preacher’s favorite. Religious. Gentle voice. Preachy tone.
He spoke like he was reciting scripture.
“You’re blessed, Ana,” he said. “But you must know — a woman’s role is to nurture, to settle. After marriage, perhaps you could reduce your hours. Focus more on family.”
I didn’t even blink.
“If God made me a surgeon,” I said, “He didn’t do it so I could abandon His work to become your shadow.”
He stammered. I left the room mid-sentence. Again.
My mother didn’t yell this time. She pleaded.
“You’re pushing away everyone who wants to love you.”
I snapped. “They don’t want to love me. They want to *own* me.”
She gritted her teeth. “You can’t be alone forever, Ana.”
“Why not? I’ve already made peace with myself. That’s more than I can say for anyone trying to marry me.”
Her silence stung. But I didn’t let her see it.
That week, the dress arrived.
It was laid out across my bed like a corpse. White. Elegant. A whisper of lace across a bodice that looked like it could choke.
My name was stitched inside the neckline.
I stood staring at it for a full minute. Then another. Then I moved.
With rage I didn’t even recognize, I grabbed the vanity mirror and slammed it against the wall. Shards of glass cascaded like snowfall — sharp and silent.
My mother burst in. “What have you done?!”
“What have *you* done?” I shrieked. “Do you hear yourself? You’re not arranging a wedding — you’re packaging me for display!”
“I’m trying to save you!”
“From what?! Myself? My independence? The life I bled for?”
“You think this loneliness is strength—”
“I |KNOW| it is!” I screamed. “It’s the only thing that doesn’t lie to me!”
She froze. Eyes wide. Breath hitched.
Then quietly, like a wound, she said,
“You don’t want to be loved. You just don’t want to be left again.”
Silence.
I left the glass on the floor and walked out.
The next week was too quiet.
No visitors. No arguments. No pressure.
But something about it felt… off.
Like the calm before an explosion.
Then came the dream.
I was in my house — but not really.
Everything was darker. Longer. Wrong.
My name echoed. Soft at first. Then louder.
*Ana… Ana…*
It wasn’t being spoken.
It was being *claimed.*
And when I turned, I saw no one.
Just a shadow. Watching. Waiting.
I woke up sweating, the scream trapped in my throat.
I told myself it was nothing.
But then I saw the window. Open.
And on the floor — a single, dark red rose petal.
I was petrified
I locked everything. Changed passwords. Questioned the staff.
No one saw anything.
No one knew anything.
No one believed me.
But the next night —
I found the note.
Not written in ink. Just engraved into thick cream paper.
**“You locked the door. I came through the walls.”**
I didn’t sleep after that.
Out of fear.
I started seeing shapes in mirrors. Hearing footsteps behind mine.
The hospital, once my sanctuary, now pulsed with paranoia.
Every hallway. Every elevator. Every gloved hand that brushed mine.
What was it? ?
But I didn’t even know was it all real
And yet...
IDK WHAT WAS IT BUT IT felt closer every day.
My mother noticed.
“You’ve stopped sleeping,” she said.
“I’ve started hallucinating,” I replied.
She looked at me like I was a stranger. Maybe I was.
Because the woman she raised had vanished.
And in her place stood someone darker, sharper, lonelier — but completely in control.
Or so I thought.
Late one night, as I brushed my hair in the dim silence of my room, I noticed something chilling.
The window was locked.
The alarm was armed.
The lights were off.
But the mirror...
The mirror was fogged.
Like someone had been breathing behind me.
I ignored everything and went back to normal life,thinking maybe it’s all my own hallucinations, or maybe Im mentally disturbed because of my MOM!
I THOUGHT IT WAS ALL MY HALLUCINATIONS JUST BECAUSE I WORKED DAY AND NIGHT BURNED MIDNIGHT OILS BUT SOMETHING FELT BITTER ..AND THINGS GOTTEN WEIRDLY WORSE… (to be continued)
