Not Broken

By Roshan Tara

She was twenty-six when silence became normal. Grief sat in her bones like dust — quiet, always there. The mirror caught it first. It showed her laughing when she didn’t feel like it. Crying when she thought she was fine. She stared, night after night, asking, “Is this me now?” One evening, the mirror cracked — not from anger, but like it had something to say. In the shattered lines, she saw it. She hadn’t broken. She’d changed. Bent, yes. But still here. Still breathing. Still hers. And in that moment, she almost believed healing might come too.

By Roshan Tara