Saira woke up to the sound of her alarm. It was 4am. She rolled over to the other side of the bed, but Samir wasn't there. She used her hands to thrust herself upwards but winced in pain, her hand automatically going to the left side of her stomach where Samir had kicked her last night. She lifted her kurta only to see a purple bruise spreading across her skin, dark at the centre and fading into blue and yellow around the edges. But it was her fault. She knew Samir didn't like it when she talked back to him. Had she stayed quiet at dinner, none of this would have happened. At least that's what she told herself each time.
She got up, determined not to make any more mistakes today. After all, it was Samir's birthday.
She got ready and walked towards the wardrobe. She looked at all the half-sleeved kurtis and dresses pushed towards the side of the closet. Her hand drifted automatically towards a bright yellow dress — the one she wore when Samir took her out for their first anniversary. She remembered how happy she felt when he told her how beautiful she looked as he brushed a strand of her hair past her face. She often wondered what went wrong. She snapped back to reality and picked a dark hoodie with long sleeves. It was the only thing that could cover the bruises scattered all over her arms.
She went to the living room, quietly arranging the dishevelled room and picking up the empty alcohol bottles scattered across the floor. Samir hated mess. She had learned this loud and clear when she had accidentally spilled his coffee. The three stitch marks just above her eyebrow served as a permanent reminder.
Just then her phone buzzed. Thirteen missed calls from her brother, asking where she was. She didn't reply and slipped the phone into her hoodie. Samir didn't like her speaking to her family.
"You twist every argument to make me seem like the villain," she remembered him saying as he snatched her phone mid-conversation and threw it across the room.
But he was right. She was the one who made him angry. Had she learned to shut up and not question him, none of this would have happened. Samir wasn't always like this. There was a time he would bring her flowers on his way home from work and hold her hand while crossing the road. She firmly believed that man was still there — the man who truly loved her. And she could bring him back, if she tried hard enough.
Saira spent the rest of the day tirelessly scrubbing the entire house clean, hanging streamers and making flower arrangements. She had even managed to bake a cake — chocolate with vanilla frosting, Samir's favourite. She went back to her room to get ready. She meticulously covered the array of bruises on her face and neck with concealer.
She carefully decorated the cake with flowers and topped it with candles. That's when she heard the door handle turn.
She walked towards the living room, holding the cake in her hands with a smile plastered on her face in an attempt to mask her lingering uncertainty.
As she walked to surprise Samir, she suddenly froze. A trail of blood led from the hallway towards the backdoor of the house. A chill ran down her spine and she slowly followed the trail, her hands trembling as she desperately attempted not to drop the cake.
The back door stood ajar.
Through the narrow gap she saw Samir, dragging something covered in a large black plastic sheet across the floor. His clothes were stained with something dark and a look of absolute terror was plastered on his face as he loaded the black bag into the trunk of his car.
Suddenly a hand slipped out.
Saira's stomach churned violently as the cake dropped out of her hands. Her hand covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress a sob as tears rolled down her face. She staggered further towards the door but her legs gave out and she fell onto the floor.
The hand was covered with bruises.
Bruises she recognised.
That's when the memories came rushing back.
Samir yelling.
Her voice trembling as she apologised again and again.
The smell of alcohol on his breath.
A violent shove.
Her head hitting the side of the dining table.
Warm blood running down her face.
Samir kicking her violently even after she stopped responding.
Saira stumbled backwards, her body cold as ice as the realisation hit her.
The pain. The bruises. The exhaustion.
None of it had happened this morning.
Because this morning had never happened.
Outside, Samir shoved her hand back into the plastic bag and slammed the trunk shut.
The cake she had so meticulously baked was now squished beyond recognition.
The phrase repeated slowly in her head as Samir drove away, disappearing into darkness.
You don't need to wait to be ready. You just need to begin.
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