BROKEN HEART: 3. THE GIRL WHO DISAPPEARED
After the party, the world stop their work just to gossip about me.
Classes went on like normal on above. But the hostel chatter never returned to regular gossip and grades. I was the center attention of every single chat- 'Gold digger', 'Big dreamer', 'Dirt' and other names that I can't tell, they were the decent ones. Vijay moved on like a hero as always like he achieved an amazing achievement by humiliated a girl in his lavish party.
This went on for weeks then they stopped suddenly. They went on their lives like any other normal Tuesday.
But I... I stopped existing.
I didn’t cry. Didn’t eat. Didn’t talk.
I just sat — day after day — staring at the wall, replaying every laugh, every whisper, every lie, every gossip, every humiliation. Until even the memory felt fake. I felt like throwing up. I wondered how I wasn’t able to see all the red flags hanging on him.
I don't know how long I was awake. How time had passed.
Then, one night — quiet and cruel like most nights are after betrayal and public humiliation— I opened my laptop.
I didn’t know what I was looking for. Closure, maybe. Or proof that I wasn’t alone. Sounds selfish but desperate for comfort. Human nature— maybe.
I clicked through old forums linked to the school’s student portal — platform meant for “support” and “community.” Most were spam. Some abandoned.
Then I saw it. A hidden post with no existence. Just like mine so I clicked it.
Title: "FOR THE ONES WHO NEVER HAD A VOICE."
Inside it: A single post seemed like it was written in hurry.
> “He humiliated me and walked free. I tried to speak. I went to the Principal. I filed a complaint. They told me to stop dreaming above my level. That I was ‘lucky’ that he noticed me at all. They didn't deny it, they built it. It's a system built for people like them to enjoy.
I wasn’t the first, and I know I won't be the last.
> My name is Ragini. I won’t be here much longer. They are inch away from me. But maybe someone will remember. Someone like me.”
Posted: 2006.
I stared at the name. 'Ragini'.
A name I had heard before — barely. A top scholar. A scholarship girl like me but brilliant. Two years above me.
She was there, and then she wasn’t. That time we know her family stopped her education despite the school's best efforts and begging they dropped her out of the ELITE SCHOOL. We were naive to trust them blindly.
I did some digging about her real disappearance reasons.
One small article that was brushed under the media rag claim ELITE SCHOOL said she dropped out. Ran away with a boyfriend. Mental issues, behavioral problem, suicidal attempts. Everytime different excuses. That small article wrote by a person who committed suicide just two days after this article was published. It was... odd.
However, now I knew. They buried her truth under disgusting rumors.
She tried to scream. And they smothered her silence with protocol.
I took a screenshot. Every word. Every timestamp.
And I knew. This wasn’t about heartbreak anymore.
It was war.
And I got my sign.
I left the hostel the next morning. No announcement. No note.
Nobody asked. Not the warden. Not the teachers. Not even my parents — who thought I was just “going through a phase.”
I disappeared like Ragini. Only, I planned to return.
When I left, I had nothing with me— no money, no identity, and nowhere to go. I spent nights on benches, under bus stops, surviving off scraps and borrowed hope. I was seventeen. Alone. Invisible. An underage.
Then one day, I saw her — a girl from an orphanage, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Sick, dying. She collapsed right in front of me on the sidewalk.
People walked past. Nobody helped.
I sat by her until the ambulance came. But she didn’t make it.
Her ID card slipped from her pocket. Name: Kaira Sharma.
She was the same age as me. Same height. Similar build. No family. No one would come looking. Perfect for me.
That night, I scratched her face off the ID and slipped it into my pocket. I became Kaira Sharma.
I used her name at temporary shelters, clinics, even job interviews. Her name opened doors my real name never could.
Months later, a police officer caught me sleeping near a railway station after my part-time job as sweeper at barber shop. He could’ve arrested me. Instead, he helped.
He helped me get my ID corrected — officially. No questions asked. For the world, this Kaira Sharma was now real.
With that identity, I enrolled in a government college. Not because I was driven to learn, but because I needed the structure. A roof. Meals.
I couldn’t afford law school. All government college seats were filled with branded labels, and the remaining private colleges were like flowers made of diamonds — beautiful, but unreachable. So I did what I could — a basic Bachelor’s in Commerce, enough to get hired by a small firm.
There was no grand plan. No mentor. No guardian angel.
Only me. And the fire that betrayal left behind.
I didn’t chase monsters.
I waited for them.
The flirtatious professor. The recruiter who locked the door. The boss who whispered, “It’s just a compliment.”
I never screamed. I smiled.
Then I made sure they never did it again.
They called it coincidence. Misfortune.
I called it balance.
It started small. Anonymous complaints. Recorded conversations. Strategic rumors.
Then, bigger moves. A fake resume here. A planted USB there.
Suddenly, harassment policies were enforced. Hands that used to wander stayed in pockets. Predators took early retirement.
All while I played the perfect innocent employee.
I never chased men like Vijay. I simply watched. Waited. And when they showed their fangs—
I showed them mine.
Years passed. I built my web. Job to job. City to city.
Each place, a lesson. Each predator, a practice round.
I didn’t want revenge anymore. I wanted a world where girls like Ragini wouldn’t need them.
But some wounds don’t close. Some ghosts don’t fade.
And Vijay... He was still smiling. Still safe. Climbing success over success after destroying hundreds of life, both men and women.
Which I couldn't stand.
Until now.
His countdown starts now.
