Chapter 15: Servant and Master

Moving into the Sharma family bungalow was the beginning of my nightmare’s next chapter.

The house loomed before me, all polished marble and glass, its cold beauty hiding rot beneath the surface. Every room echoed with the ghosts of what had been lost.

Carrying a big blue VIP bag, I arrived at the lavish Sharma family house.

The guards at the gate barely glanced at me, waving me through as if I were invisible. The bag felt heavy, filled with the few possessions I had left—a tattered photo, a change of clothes, memories that wouldn’t fit into any suitcase.

Sneha and I were placed in the same school and class. That day, she specially gathered our classmates and said arrogantly to me, “Tu mera naukar hai ab. Jo bolungi, woh karega, samjha?”

The other children stared, some with pity, others with curiosity. I felt their eyes on me as Sneha tossed her braids and smirked, her voice ringing with the certainty of privilege. "Sun liya na sabne? Yeh mera naukar hai ab se."

My phone buzzed with a WhatsApp message, but I didn’t dare check it. All eyes were on Sneha and me.

She took out her homework notebook, wanting me to copy her handwriting and do her assignments from now on.

She shoved the notebook at me, her pen tapping impatiently against the desk. “Tu kar de, jaldi. Varna dekh, kya hoga.” Her threat was empty, but her intent was clear—my servitude would not end at home.

The classmates were surprised, asking how she could get away with not doing homework and what if her grades suffered.

“Arey, Sneha, tu nahi karegi toh teacher kya bolegi?” one boy whispered. The rest crowded around, hungry for drama, waiting for Sneha’s response.

Sneha started to say something, then hesitated, changed her words, and smiled, saying it didn’t matter—she was smart enough to get into a good college even without doing homework.

Her bravado faltered for a second, her eyes darting to mine, then she shrugged and said, "Accha, kya fark padta hai? Waise bhi, main toh sabse tez hoon class mein. College toh aa hi jaayega."

I knew she wanted to show off that she would eventually study in America.

It was her father’s favourite boast, the story he told at every dinner party. She wore the dream like a badge, always just out of reach, but always promised to her.

But she couldn’t say it, because she still had to keep up the act.

Until the time came, she was forced to play the role—Sharma family’s dutiful daughter, with a servant by her side, always one step above.