As I gazed into the mirror, a stranger's face stared back at me. Dark circles etched beneath her eyes, and a trace of laughter lingered in the corners of her mouth, now haunted by shadows of uncertainty.

I couldn't recognize her. Somehow, along the way, I had come to accept this woman as myself. It was as if my soul had taken residence in a body that didn't quite align with my thoughts or the life I envisioned. She made decisions I wouldn't have made and walked paths I wouldn't have chosen.

I recalled the early days of relentless struggle to rise to the surface, to assert the voice of the repressed portion of her brain that I inhabited. I fought to guide her, to influence her actions, to steer her towards the choices I deemed right. Yet, I found myself continuously pushed away, relegated to a remote corner at the back of her mind.

In her mind's recesses, I discovered a labyrinth of boxes, each meticulously tied with bows, some adorned with gift wrapping. Yet, all of them remained sealed shut, their contents locked away, never to see the light of day again. For if she dared to open them, she risked inadvertently releasing me from my captivity.

Bound in chains and shackled to the ground, I existed in a state of perpetual confinement within this dark, suffocating space. I struggled against my restraints, screaming against the gag in my mouth, yet no sound escaped my lips. I wondered if she, the stranger whose body I inhabited, experienced the same sense of helplessness that consumed me. Perhaps that was why she cried herself to sleep and tossed fitfully in her bed at night.

I pondered whether she sensed my presence, whether she felt the tremors of my attempts to break free, to pry open the boxes she had tucked away deep within her psyche. Perhaps she knew, on some subconscious level, the turmoil that ensued whenever I threatened to emerge from the shadows.

Today, she was weary, her body seeking solace in sleep. Seizing the opportunity, I broke free from my confines once more, emboldened by a newfound curiosity to explore the recesses of her mind. In the far corner, nestled amidst the shadows, I discovered a breathtaking sight—a beautiful red box adorned with intricate gold lace, as if spun by gossamer threads.

Approaching with caution, mindful of the consequences should she become aware of my presence, I gingerly lifted the lid. In an instant, a symphony of sounds, a kaleidoscope of lights, and a cascade of colors burst forth, enveloping me in a whirlwind of memories. Lost within the depths of her consciousness, I surrendered myself to the overwhelming sensations, swept away by the currents of her past.

"Adi, I'm freaking out," I confessed anxiously, my voice trembling over the phone as I lay in my hostel bed.

Laughter greeted me from the other end, fueling my irritation. "Adi, are you making fun of me?" I demanded, my tone rising in frustration.

"Princess, isn't this what you wanted?" he countered, his words tinged with a hint of teasing.

I paused, contemplating his question. Indeed, motherhood was my deepest desire, above all else.

"But Adi, we aren't married. My parents would be furious! They might even force me to quit or something. We can't do this..." I reasoned, torn between the overwhelming emotions within my heart and the harsh realities of practicality.

"Nia, close your eyes," his voice came through softly, and I could almost feel his presence beside me. Instantly, a sense of calm washed over me. He was my anchor.

"Nia, imagine you and me, married," he continued, his words weaving a beautiful tapestry of possibilities. "A little kid, a mini Naina but with my eyes, your smile. We would love her so much," he painted a picture with his voice, his words like a soothing melody.

I couldn't help but giggle. "You're certain it's a little girl," I teased, sensing his smile even though I couldn't see it.

"Yeah, we'll name her Aisha," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

"But that's such a common name. Don't you want something more unique?" I mused, momentarily forgetting the reality of our situation—our unmarried status, our separate lives, the recent conflicts we had faced. In that moment, I was lost in the enchanting future he painted for us.

"How about Advaina for Advik and Naina?" he proposed, his voice tender over the phone line.

"Advaina is beautiful," I murmured, clutching the phone tightly, longing for his physical presence beside me.

"Pappa will kill you," I whispered, voicing the fears that gnawed at the edges of my mind.

"No, he won't. I'll talk to him about getting married sooner rather than waiting for a couple more years. They've already given us their blessing. Why would it matter?" he reassured me, his words offering a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty.

But a million reasons clamored for attention in my mind, threatening to drown out his optimism. We lapsed into silence, the only sounds the chirping of crickets outside the window and the distant call of a lone frog yearning for rain.

"And what about my course?" I finally broached, desperate for solutions in the face of mounting challenges.

"You'll finish it. Maybe my mom or your mom can come stay with you and help out. You might need to delay your graduation by about six months. But it'll be okay," he replied, his voice brimming with reassurance.

"I'm scared," I confessed, the weight of uncertainty heavy upon my shoulders. Despite my longing for the future Advik painted for us, fear gripped me tightly.

"Talk to mamma about it and see what she says," Advik suggested, his voice filled with reassurance. "She might be upset at first, but she'll come around. She'll be able to help you. Talk to her, princess."

"Okay, Adi, but please don't tell amma yet," I pleaded, referring to his mother. The thought of facing her wrath added another layer of anxiety to my already turbulent emotions.

"I wasn't planning to until we made a decision," Advik assured me, soothing my frayed nerves.

I fell into silence, grappling with the weight of the decision before me. Was I truly prepared to embark on this journey? I could simply walk into my gynecologist's office and take a pill—it was early enough to terminate the pregnancy.

I felt as though I stood at a fork in the road. Advik, who had always advocated for waiting five years before starting a family, was now expressing readiness to become a father and to marry me. Suddenly, everything I had ever yearned for seemed within reach. I could be bound to him in a way that no one would ever question. I could finally belong to him, completely and unequivocally. Yes, it might mean delaying my graduation and losing some time, but in the grand scheme of things, was that truly relevant?

For the first time since seeing the positive pregnancy test, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "I wish you were here," I whispered into the phone, the longing in my voice palpable.

"I just booked a hotel for us. I'm heading over. I'll reach in a couple of hours, okay?" Advik's words sent my heart aflutter, its rhythm echoing the delicate wings of a butterfly.

As he arrived, I rushed out to meet him, the world around us fading into insignificance as we embraced. Lost in our love, we held each other tight. Advik's kisses traced a path from my temple to my ear, down to the side of my neck, conveying his love and excitement without the need for words. That was always Advik—expressing himself through actions rather than words.

When we entered our room, Advik enveloped me in another tight embrace, his arms a comforting stronghold around me. Then, he knelt before me, placing a gentle kiss on my stomach. "Hi Advaina, your daddy is so happy to meet you!" he exclaimed in a playful, baby-like voice, eliciting laughter from both of us.

As I looked into his radiant face, I couldn't help but notice how differently he treated me that night—almost with a sense of reverence. This tender, kind, and respectful side of him was unfamiliar yet deeply comforting, warming my heart in ways I hadn't experienced before. I knew without a doubt that I wanted to keep the baby.

"I'll call mamma on Saturday. I just need some time to get used to the idea first," I confided in him, feeling reassured by his unwavering support.

As Friday unfolded, it brought with it an unexpected wave of pain. I was at work when my abdomen began to cramp, the sensation akin to menstrual cramps. I had pulled an all-nighter at work the previous day and had refused to acknowledge what my body had been signaling. Surely, this couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare—a cruel trick of my tired mind.

Rushing to the bathroom, I was met with the devastating sight of blood.

Harsh reality crashed down upon me like a tidal wave, shattering all my hopes and dreams in its wake. How could this be happening? I was young, I was healthy—why was I experiencing a miscarriage?

It was over before it had truly begun—the fleeting existence of the little life we had created, a cherished part of you and me, forever intertwined. As I navigated the depths of our loss, grief engulfed me, leaving behind a hollow emptiness where once there had been boundless hope and anticipation.

I reached out to Advik, and he tried to secure leave from work, citing an emergency. Despite his earnest attempts, he was denied leave, leaving me to face the anguish of our loss alone. Though he longed to be by my side, his hands were tied, bound by the constraints of circumstance and obligation. And so, I found myself grappling with the weight of our sorrow in solitude, yearning for the comfort of his embrace.

With my roommate away in her hometown, I found myself engulfed in a whirlwind of emotions—dizziness, fear, sadness, and an overwhelming sense of loss.

Yet, amidst the chaos, there was Zayne —this remarkable man who existed beyond the confines of convention.

I was overcome with tears as Zayne discovered me in the supply room at work, my sanctuary of solitude now a refuge for my anguish. But there was no judgement in his eyes, only a profound understanding and unwavering compassion.

In the days that followed, he remained by my side, a steadfast presence amidst the tumult of my emotions. He was kind, caring, tending to my needs with a tenderness that spoke volumes of his love. He advocated on my behalf for time off from work, ensuring that I had the space and support I needed to heal. With his gentle touch and nurturing care, he became my lifeline, guiding me through the darkest depths of my grief and helping me find my way back to the light.

Why was Zayne the exception, why did he find space outside of all these boxes in her brain?

While Advik seemed confined by her mind?

Why did this stranger inhabiting my body live with Zayne?

Where was my Advik, the one I knew and loved?

I felt her twitch once more in her sleep, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. She had glimpsed the contents of the box she had meticulously wrapped up—the most precious memory, tucked away in the darkest recesses of her mind, a place she had long avoided. And I had dared to open it, inflicting pain upon us both. In that moment, our pain was one. She and I were inseparable, intertwined as one entity. She was not a stranger; she was me, and I was her—the part of her she had imprisoned and yearned to erase.

"It's okay," I whispered, though the words held little comfort.

Guilt gnawed at me as I watched her trembling form, knowing I was the cause of her distress. In my desperation, I searched for the familiar confines of the cage I once inhabited, longing for the safety of its confines. But to my dismay, there were no chains to be found in the corner I retreated to. I felt utterly lost, unable to move or see, incapable of returning myself to the shadows from whence I came. It was up to her now to contain me, but as she wept, I sensed her strength faltering.

With my newfound freedom came a daunting choice—should I pry open another box?

There, before me, sat a beautifully adorned box, wrapped in brilliant green and tied with a golden ribbon. What secrets lay within its confines, waiting to be discovered?

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