The Eclipse She Became

Funny, isn’t it? Everyone loves to talk about the glow, but nobody ever mentions the damn flames. Like, they’ll remember her laugh—oh, that laugh!—but none of them bring up the dead air after, when the room went heavy and weird. She’s always the life of the party in their memories, some shining star in a busy room. But nobody talks about her lying awake at 3 AM, eyes fixed on the ceiling, just trying to slow her own heartbeat down. Nobody spots the cracks, just the glossy finish she threw over them. They didn’t notice when her smile started lagging, showing up a second too late. Or when she started picking seats by the door instead of next to people. Maybe that’s just how it goes—people only really squint at you when you’re already gone. Even then, they’re not actually looking for you—they’re searching for that version of you they liked best. Her friends? Oh, they all Said she was different now. Parents? Classic—she grew distant. And him, Aayansh, he just kept weaving her into every damn story, like if he Said her name enough times she’d spring back to life. But Avyukta? She never really left. She was tucked behind every joke, curled up under all the noise, hiding out in the quiet. If you really paid attention—like, really listened—you could still catch her. In the hush. In all those little corners, no one else bothered to look.