cruel beauty

Beep… Beep… Beep… That was the first thing Ayat heard. A machine was counting her breaths, one by one, entirely devoid of emotion. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt as heavy as stone. A blinding white ceiling, harsh fluorescent lights, and the sterile sting of medicine filled her senses. And there, somewhere in the distance, just beyond a glass partition, stood a blurred silhouette. A blue uniform. A worn-out badge pinned to the shoulder. Papa. He had rushed straight from duty. His boots were still caked in dust. He held his cap in one hand, wringing it repeatedly as if holding onto his daughter's very breath. Ayat forced herself to speak, but her throat remained tightly locked. Not a single sound escaped. Suddenly, a voice echoed through the room. It was low, steady, and hauntingly familiar. "So, you’re awake? Good. We have a long account to settle." Panicking, Ayat glanced around. The room was empty. There was nothing but the green line on the monitor, spiking up and down, up and down. "Don’t be afraid. I am the very presence you used to look away from whenever you caught my eye in the mirror." A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracing a path down to her ear. "You have spent your whole life counting others, Ayat. Who was how fat, how poor, how utterly useless. Today, let me do the counting for you." Beep… Beep… "One. When was the last time your father bought a new pair of shoes for himself?" She had no answer. "Two. For whose sake did your brother set his own dreams on fire?" The heart monitor’s rhythm began to quicken. "Three. In that video where the whole world laughed at you, who was hurt the most? Was it you, or the man you refused to recognize in front of everyone?" Ayat’s breath caught in her throat. Beyond the glass, her father lifted his head. For a fleeting second, their eyes locked. There was no anger in his eyes. No resentment. There was only a silent, desperate prayer: "Just stay alive, my child." And right then, for the first time in all of her nineteen years, Ayat Chauhan realized that she hadn't paid the heaviest price yet. The voice spoke again, its tone softening into a gentle whisper: "I can give you one final chance. But there is a condition. If you survive today, will you wake up as the same old Ayat, or will you choose to be a human being this time?" The green line on the monitor trembled… and for a terrifying second, it began to flatten. They say that beauty can often become a living hell. But what happens when life becomes worse than hell simply because you aren't beautiful? Ayat—a selfish, plain, and overweight girl who had been trapped in this very web—was now counting her final breaths on an ICU bed. The monitors and bandages surrounding her bore witness to a painful truth: she had pushed herself to the absolute brink. Pretenses and superficiality often ruin us, driving us away from the very people who live only for our sake. But do we ever truly listen?