LOVE KILLS (Short story)

I used to believe that homes were meant to be safe.

Warm. Soft. A place where people loved you even when the world didn’t.

But my home felt like a cage with cracked walls—every crack filled with the echoes of my parents’ shouting.

Tonight was no different.

The plates crashed against the floor again. I didn’t even bother to flinch this time. I kept staring at the textbook open on my bed, even though I hadn’t read a single word for the last hour.

Their fight grew louder. More violent. More pointless.

It was always about money. Or my mother’s insecurities. Or my father’s affairs. Or my brother’s indifference. The topics changed, but the volume never did.

“You ruined my life!” my mother screamed.

“At least I don’t waste it crying in corners!” my father shot back.

I pulled my knees to my chest.

It was strange—how the same words could hurt me even when none of them were directed at me.

Sometimes I wonder whether they ever look at me and see anything more than a responsibility they never asked for. A burden they can’t throw away.

I used to cry a lot. But tears dry up after a point. Pain gets bored of you eventually.

Maybe that’s why I stopped reacting.

Maybe that’s when I learned how to disappear inside my own silence.

I picked up my phone automatically, like a reflex.

Whenever I felt trapped, I posted something on my social media account—the place where no one knew me personally.

I typed slowly:

“It’s so easy to feel alone in a house full of people.”

I stared at the sentence for a long second before hitting post.

It wasn’t poetry.

It wasn’t a cry for attention.

It was just… the truest thing I knew.

Within minutes, a notification blinked.

1 new message.

The username was the same one who had been replying to my sad posts these last few weeks.

R.

He never used his full name.

Never posted anything himself.

Only replied to me—quietly, precisely, at the perfect time.

His reply popped up:

R:

“You’re not alone. You just live with people who don’t know how to see you.”

I swallowed.

It felt like he could hear the fights happening around me.

I typed back hesitantly.

Me:

“You don’t even know me.”

His response came instantly.

Almost like he was waiting for me.

R:

“I know you enough.”

My heart did something strange—tightened and softened at the same time.

Enough for what?

Enough to understand?

Enough to care?

No one in my real life ever said they knew me.

They never tried.

He continued:

R:

“Aanya… you deserve peace. Don’t let this house break you.”

I frowned.

He used my name.

I never told him my name.

Maybe I had posted a selfie long ago on my private story? Maybe he saw my username and connected dots?

It didn’t feel creepy at that moment.

More like… someone finally noticed me in a world where I felt invisible.

I didn’t reply.

Not because I was scared.

But because the noise outside my door suddenly grew sharper.

A slap.

A scream.

A thud.

“CALL THE POLICE!” my mother shrieked.

Someone pushed someone.

Someone fell.

Someone cursed.

And I sat frozen on my bed, staring at my trembling hands.

This wasn’t a family.

This was a battlefield I was forced to live in.

I grabbed my earphones and shoved them in my ears.

Not to listen to music—but to block out my home.

I didn’t want to hear them anymore.

I went to the balcony, closing the sliding door behind me. It didn’t mute their voices, but at least it created a little distance.

The air was cold.

Cold enough to numb the emotions I didn’t want to feel.

I sat on the floor, hugging myself, scrolling mindlessly.

R’s message stayed at the top of my screen.

My mind kept going back to his words:

You deserve peace.

Maybe that’s all I ever wanted.

Not love.

Not praise.

Not attention.

Just… a day without shouting.

A night without fear.

A morning without tears.

I wondered if such a life existed for me.

I posted again, without thinking:

“I wish I could disappear.”

The reply came so quickly; it almost felt like he was watching my screen.

R:

“You don’t need to disappear. You need to escape.”

Escape.

The word wrapped around my mind like smoke.

Escape.

Escape what?

This house?

This life?

My parents?

My past?

Where would I even go?

My fingers trembled as I typed:

Me:

“There’s nowhere for me to go.”

His next message was almost gentle.

R:

“There is, Aanya. You just don’t trust it yet.”

Trust… what?

Before I could type anything, he sent another message:

R:

“Tell me something honestly. Are you safe in that house?”

I froze.

Safe?

No.

Had I ever been safe?

Not physically—my parents didn’t hit me.

But emotionally? Mentally? Spiritually?

Never.

I typed slowly.

Me:

“I don’t know.”

It was the truth.

His typing bubble appeared immediately.

R:

“Then you need to leave before this place destroys you.”

A knot formed in my chest.

Leave?

Just like that?

Move out?

Walk out?

Go where?

I couldn’t afford to live alone.

My savings weren’t enough.

I had no relatives who cared.

No friends close enough.

My life had always been small.

I grew up inside these four walls—lonely, invisible, unheard.

Leaving felt impossible.

I typed:

Me:

“I can’t.”

R:

“Yes, you can. You’re stronger than you think.”

At that exact moment, I heard my mother scream again.

This time my father shouted back with something so cruel I felt my stomach twist.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE ABORTED HER!”

Her?

Was that… about me?

My breath hitched.

My hands shook.

My chest tightened like something was tearing.

I heard footsteps approaching my room.

My father.

Still shouting.

Still furious.

I shrank backward instinctively.

Why was I still here?

Why was I still surviving this house?

Why was I letting them crush me?

My phone buzzed again.

R:

“Aanya? Are you okay?”

No.

I wasn’t.

I typed with trembling fingers:

Me:

“I don’t want to be here anymore.”

His reply was instant.

R:

“Then don’t be.”

I stared at the words.

They burned into me.

He continued:

R:

“Pack a small bag. Leave quietly. Right now.”

What?

Right now?

Suddenly my pulse raced.

I felt dizzy.

I typed:

Me:

“Where would I go?”

His reply came after a short pause.

Almost like he was considering something carefully.

R:

“I can help you. You won’t be alone.”

My heartbeat faltered.

Was he offering… shelter?

A place to stay?

Before I could think deeply, another shout from inside made my body flinch painfully.

I didn’t care anymore.

I couldn’t stay here.

If I stayed, I would break.

Or disappear completely.

I typed:

Me:

“Why are you helping me?”

Another pause.

Then:

R:

“Because you’re not like the others.”

Others?

Who?

I didn’t understand.

He added:

R:

“Because you deserve someone who sees you.”

My eyes stung.

Not from sadness.

But from the shock of finally being seen.

Someone saw me.

Someone cared.

Someone wanted me to escape.

And I desperately needed someone. Anyone.

The door to balcony my room banged suddenly.

My father’s voice thundered:

“AANYA! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”

I jumped in fear.

For the first time in nineteen years, I felt something stronger than fear.

I felt the instinct to run.

Before I could respond, another message arrived.

R:

“Aanya… don’t open the door.”

My breath stopped.

I never told him someone was outside.

How did he know?