It was a dark, cloudy evening, the sky swollen with the promise of rain, as Maya stood alone at the bus stop.

A cool breeze swept through, stirring her hair and sending a chill down her spine, but it did nothing to ease the weight of disappointment pressing down on her.

Three interviews today, and three rejections. Each one had chipped away at her, leaving her feeling a little smaller, a little more invisible.

The reason for her rejection? It was written on her face. Half of it bore the harsh, unyielding mark of an acid attack-a scar that seemed to tell its own story, overshadowing her degrees, her skills, her ambition.

Her other half, still untouched, held traces of the girl she once was-a girl full of hope, with dreams unmarred by the cruelty of others.

"Why?" she thought, her fists clenching by her sides. "Why does the world only see this scar? Why can't they see what I'm capable of, that I'm just as worthy as anyone else?"

This wasn't just for her. She was fighting for someone else, too-someone who depended on her, someone who gave her the strength to keep pushing forward, no matter how hard it got.

She needed this job. She needed it to pay school fees, to keep a roof over their heads, to protect the small, fragile family she had left.

As the wind picked up, Maya looked up at the brooding sky, as though hoping for some answer from above.

"Why have you been so harsh?" she whispered to the gathering storm clouds, her voice almost lost in the wind.

But even as the ache of rejection tightened around her, a fragile hope lingered, a whisper in her heart that maybe-just maybe-something good was waiting, just beyond her sight.

A distant rumble of thunder echoed, and the wind grew colder as Maya hugged herself tightly, feeling a mix of sadness and exhaustion.

She glanced down the empty street, hoping for the bus that never seemed to come.

The interviews had drained her, but the sting of rejection hurt more deeply than any physical weariness.

It wasn't just the rejection of a job; it was a reminder of everything she had lost, the way the world looked at her now-as if her scars had erased her identity, as if the woman she was before had disappeared.

Another bus roared past without stopping, its headlights sweeping over her like an indifferent gaze.

She winced, the sting of rejection settling into her bones, but forced herself to stay rooted, unwilling to splurge on a costly auto ride back. Every penny she saved mattered.

Suddenly, she felt a raindrop on her cheek, then another, cold and unexpected. The sky had finally broken, a light drizzle beginning to fall. She pulled her scarf up over her head, tucking her chin down to shield herself.

As she stood there, waiting, her thoughts drifted. She wondered if things would ever get easier, if people would ever look beyond her scars to see her for who she truly was.

And even though that faint hope still whispered in her heart, doubt lurked beside it, haunting her with reminders of a world that had been anything but kind.

Then, just as the rain began to pick up, her bus rounded the corner.

Maya boarded the bus, sliding onto a seat near the window. She kept her gaze outside, watching the world blur by in streaks of rain. Inside, she felt a hollow ache growing-an ache that went beyond the sting of rejection.

It was hard to ignore the curious glances she sometimes received, the way people's eyes would linger a moment too long, as if trying to piece together her story just by looking at her face.

Tonight, thankfully, she was left alone in her corner, lost in her thoughts as the rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows.

In her bag, her resume and certificates felt like heavy weights. She had worked so hard, put so much hope into each application, each interview, only to have her efforts brushed aside by shallow judgments.

Each rejection reminded her that the world often failed to look beyond the surface.

As the bus lurched through the narrow, crowded streets, her thoughts drifted to the small home she shared with someone she deeply cared for.

She relied on her, and that reliance was what kept her pushing through the setbacks, even when it felt like the world was pushing her down.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed when her stop approached. The bus came to a halt with a shudder, and she quickly gathered her things, stepping down onto the soaked pavement.

The rain had lessened but left the streets glistening in the dim light, a quiet reminder of the weight she carried.

As she walked toward home, Maya drew a deep breath, steeling herself for another day. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, maybe new rejections, but as long as she had something to fight for, she knew she wouldn't give up.

And in that resolve, there was a strength that even the darkest scars couldn't touch.

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The door creaked open, and there stood Prachi, her face lighting up with a warm, cheerful smile as soon as she saw Maya. That smile was like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy day, instantly softening the exhaustion etched on Maya's face.

"Di, you're back!" Prachi beamed, stepping aside to let her in. "How did it go?" she asked, but the weary slump of Maya's shoulders was all the answer she needed.

Maya smiled tiredly as she stepped in, feeling the weight of the day lifting just a little. She sat down on the floor to stretch her legs, resting back with a sigh as Prachi darted to the kitchen to bring her a glass of water.

Maya accepted the glass gratefully, taking a few slow sips.

Prachi, meanwhile, had already spotted Maya's tiffin box peeking out of her bag. She pulled it out, shaking her head as she saw the half-eaten lunch.

"You didn't eat again! What am I going to do with you, Di?"

Maya rolled her eyes.

"It's not my fault! Interview nerves make my appetite disappear."

Prachi crossed her arms, giving her a playful but stern look.

"That's no excuse. You're the one always telling me to eat well and stay healthy, and here you are skipping meals!"

Maya chuckled, watching her little sister's feigned indignation.

"Okay, Mom," she teased, giving Prachi's cheek a gentle pinch.

Maya sighed, her expression softening as she looked at Prachi.

This girl was more than just her sister-she was a reminder of everything Maya had been fighting for. Her thoughts drifted back to the day they met, a memory so vivid she could still feel it.

Looking at Prachi who is 16 now, Maya couldn't help but think back to the day they met. It felt like another lifetime. Prachi had been a newborn, abandoned and alone.

Maya, just 8 years old at the time, had been exploring outside when she heard faint cries from a garbage heap.

Without thinking, she'd climbed over to investigate-and found a tiny, helpless baby bundled in tattered cloth.

It was sheer instinct that made her scoop Prachi up and bring her to the orphanage where Maya herself lived. From that day on, Prachi became her responsibility, her sister in every way that mattered.

They'd grown up together, looking out for each other through thick and thin. And when the orphanage was demolished to make way for a shopping mall, Maya hadn't hesitated to take Prachi with her.

She'd promised herself she'd be the family Prachi never had.

"Di!" Prachi's voice snapped her back to the present.

"You're spacing out again," she teased, putting a hand on her hip.

"Didn't you hear me scolding you?"

Maya smirked.

"Sorry, Ms. Headmistress. Maybe I was too busy thinking of ways to skip your lectures next time."

"Oh, you'd better not!" Prachi shot back with a laugh.

"Otherwise, I'll have to double the scolding and make you write an apology letter."

Maya snorted, shaking her head.

"Alright, alright. I'll eat better, I promise. Can I go take a shower now, or should I wait for detention?"

Prachi giggled, stepping aside with a dramatic sigh.

"Fine, go. But don't be too long, or you'll miss my gourmet dinner plans."

Maya laughed, heading toward the bathroom. The hot water washed away her exhaustion as she scrubbed off the dust and stress of the day.

The simple act of bathing made her feel lighter, more hopeful, like she could face tomorrow again.

By the time she finished, the bathroom was filled with steam, and her spirits felt as renewed as her skin.

As she stepped back into the main room, towel drying her damp hair, she found Prachi busy in their tiny kitchen, setting out lentils, rice, and potatoes on the counter.

"Alright, Chef Prachi," Maya said, joining her.

"What's on the menu tonight?"

With a playful twinkle in her eye, Prachi adopted a dramatic tone.

"Tonight, we dine like queens-with rice, lentils, and the world-famous fried potatoes!"

"Wow, a feast fit for royalty!" Maya grinned.

"Should I dress up for this?"

"Oh, absolutely," Prachi quipped, grabbing a spoon. "Nothing less than your finest clothes."

Maya laughed, and together they began preparing the meal. The kitchen was tiny, and they had to move carefully to avoid bumping into each other.

Maya stirred the lentils simmering on the stove, while Prachi stood next to her, frying the potatoes until they turned golden and crispy.

"Careful with the oil, Prachi," Maya said, watching as a few hot drops sizzled dangerously close to her sister's hand.

Prachi scoffed.

"Di, I've been frying potatoes since I was 13. You taught me, remember?"

Maya smiled, turning her attention back to the rice.

"I know, I know. It's just... I still worry."

Prachi flashed her a reassuring smile.

"And I still worry about you skipping lunch."

They both laughed, the sound filling the small room. Despite the simplicity of their meal and the modesty of their surroundings, moments like these made everything feel rich, fulfilling, like they had all they truly needed.

Once they finished cooking, Prachi scooped the rice and lentils onto plates, adding a generous helping of fried potatoes on the side. They sat down cross-legged on the floor, their meal spread out in front of them.

As they ate, Prachi continued to chatter about her day, sharing little stories and observations that kept Maya entertained and, for a little while, distracted from the hardships of the world outside.

With every bite and every shared laugh, Maya's resolve grew stronger. They didn't have much, but they had each other-and that, for now, was enough.

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𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿...

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