DRENCHED IN SHADOWS?

Hey  Storybound stars ! , welcome back!

Ever feel like life's a movie... but the director just forgot to hand over the script? 😅
Well, now that you're here, you and I—we're about to dive into this story together. There's a bit of drama, a splash of fun, and maybe even a few moments that hit you right in the feels.💗
Some characters might feel just like you—flawed, confused, sometimes happy, sometimes ready to give up.✨ And some? Let's just say... they'll blow your mind in ways you didn't see coming.
So, ready? The curtain's rising on this chapter — and drama is definitely guaranteed!

You know, behind every story, there's something unsaid.
And this time, I want you to feel that silence.
In this chapter, there's no superhero, no picture-perfect love story—just a few people carrying way too many emotions... and absolutely no idea how to express them.... Just like us , Right ?
But hey , I'm right here with you. Through every twist, every awkward pause, every little moment when you'll think, "Wait... this has happened to me too!"
So get comfy. Let's turn this page together—your style and mine.
The story begins now.

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The sun filtered softly through the lace curtains, but Sukriti squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let the light win. Her head pounded like someone had set up a band rehearsal in her skull. Her mouth felt like it had been vacuumed dry.

"Why... why do I become this person," she muttered, half into her pillow. Her own voice hurt. The kind of hurt that wasn't just from the hangover. It was guilt-tinted, shame-glazed, and dipped in regret.

Images came in blinks. The taste of something bitter. Music too loud. Lights that didn't stop spinning. Her laugh—louder than it should've been. A heel twisting the wrong way. A voice—deep, annoyed—"careful miss , watch it !"

Sukriti groaned and turned over, grabbing her phone. 8:03 a.m.

One unread message from Saanvi: "Are you coming to college or should I just come home to see your hungover face?"

She stared at it for a second longer than she should've. Then typed: "I'm coming. Chill."

She kept the phone aside and stared at the ceiling.

"You can't lose control, Sukriti. You can't afford to. Not you. Not in this house. Not in this life."

And then, as if summoned by the thought, her mother's voice floated through the door. "Beta, aren't you going to college today?"

"Going, Mimmo! I'm getting ready."

Dragging herself out of bed, she slipped into the bathroom. The cold water slapped her awake more effectively than caffeine ever could. She almost wanted to cry , but something inside her held back—tight and rigid.

By the time she sat down for breakfast, her face was the mask her family knew well—quiet, polite, emotionally flatlined.

"Paratha," her mom offered.

She took it, nodded, and chewed mechanically.

No one talked much.

Ten minutes later, she was on her scooty, the engine's buzz louder than her thoughts. The wind felt sharp against her cheeks, but she liked it that way. She needed something real.

Outside the college gate

Saanvi spotted her before she parked. Arms folded, one eyebrow raised like she was auditioning for a drama serial.