Patient No. 88 - By Thivinya Nimnadi

Written By: Thivinya Nimnadi

Category: Short story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Thivinya Nimnadi's "Patient No. 88" is a poignant submission to the Short Story category of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This evocative tale explores the themes of personal freedom and acceptance through the eyes of a solitary protagonist confined within the walls of a room. In this narrative, Thivinya invites readers to journey alongside the main character as she navigates the complexities of her own mind and the circumstances that brought her to this moment.

About the Work

Through vivid imagery and a reflective tone, "Patient No. 88" delves into the protagonist's struggle with societal expectations and her quest for self-acceptance. The story is steeped in a quiet yet profound introspection, where the protagonist finds solace in a mysterious nightly visitor. Thivinya Nimnadi weaves a narrative that is both heart-wrenching and liberating, urging readers to contemplate the nature of freedom and the comfort found in being understood, even within the confines of a seemingly restrictive environment.

Patient No. 88

Original Submission by Thivinya Nimnadi

Patient No. 88

“Mad… They are always calling me mad behind my back.”

I sat on my bed, staring through the small window in my room. It was the only place where I could see something beyond the four walls that surrounded me. The room was dark and cold, but the little window gave me a sense of comfort.

For the past three months, I have spent most of my time in this room.

At night, however, I was not alone.

My friend was sitting beside me.

She has been coming to my room every night for the past three months. She was always dressed in a bright yellowish dress. Against the darkness of my room, she seemed to bring a little light with her.

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Dunno.” I shrugged. “They have always called me that.”

“Don't mind them.”

I turned towards her. “Do you think I am mad?”

“No way,” she replied immediately. “I think what you did was brave. I don't think I would ever have been able to do it.”

I looked at her quietly.

For three months, she had listened to me without judging me. She was the only person who seemed to understand how lonely I felt.

“You have never told me your story,” she said.

I smiled sadly.

“It is quite long.”

“That doesn't matter. I have time.”

I looked down at my hands.

“You know how it feels to be surrounded by people but still feel completely alone?”

She nodded.

“Yes. I know exactly how it feels.”

Her answer made me look at her more carefully.

“I was always controlled,” she continued. “People decided when I should wake up, when I should sleep, what I should do, and how I should behave. Even the way I looked was not completely my choice.”

“I know how that feels,” I said.

She looked at me.

“You were controlled too?”

I nodded. “I was expected to be perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“Yes. The perfect daughter. The perfect wife. The perfect woman.”

I gave a small, bitter laugh.

“I was like a doll. Everyone could decide how I should look and how I should behave.”

My friend remained silent.

“They never asked what I wanted. They only wanted me to be perfect.”

“What happened then?” she asked.

“I got married.”

“Did you love him?”

“I thought I did.”

I paused before continuing.

“He was wealthy. Everyone told me that I was lucky to have a husband like him. They thought I would have everything I needed.”

I looked towards the window.

“But money cannot replace love.”

My husband treated me like an ornament. He wanted me to look beautiful, behave properly, and make our home look perfect. I believed that if I did everything right, he would eventually love me.

But I was wrong.

Whenever he became angry, I thought it was my fault. Whenever he ignored me, I wondered what I had done wrong. Whenever he hurt me, I forgave him. I kept telling myself that I needed to become a better wife.

“I tried everything,” I whispered. “I thought the problem was me. I thought I was not good enough.”

My friend moved closer. “And then?”

“He cheated on me.”

She looked at me silently.

“Not once. Not twice. I forgave him again and again.”

My voice began to shake.

“But he continued.”

I closed my eyes.

“I remember the night I found him with another woman.”

The memory returned clearly.

That night, I had prepared everything for him. The house was clean. His favorite meal was ready. I had spent the entire day making everything perfect. I wanted to surprise him.

Instead, I was the one who received a surprise.

When I entered the room, I saw him holding another woman in his arms.

My husband.

In our home.

The same home I had spent years trying to make perfect for him.

I stood there without saying a word. For a few seconds, I could not even breathe.

He looked at me.

I looked at him. Something inside me broke.

It was not only because of that woman.

It was because of everything that had happened before that moment.

The years of silence. The years of pretending. The years of forgiving. The years of trying to be perfect.

I had spent my whole life trying to make everyone happy. That night, I could not do it anymore.

I remember seeing the knife.

I remember taking it.

I remember his screams.

And then there was silence…

When I finally looked at my hands, they were covered in blood.

His blood.

I stared at them for a long time. Strangely, I did not cry. I did not feel afraid.

Instead, I felt something I had never felt before.

Relief.

For the first time in my life, I felt free from the person I had spent years trying to please.

I laughed.

It was not a happy laugh.

It was the laugh of someone who had finally reached the end of years of pain.

“You good?”

My friend's voice brought me back to the room.

I looked at her. “I killed him.”

She did not move away.

“Do you think what you did was right?”

I looked at the floor.

“I don't know.”

I took a deep breath.

“But I know I was tired.”

“Tired of what?”

“Of being perfect.”

She remained silent for a moment.

“What happened after that?”

“I remember being dressed in an orange jumpsuit. My hands were handcuffed. There were people all around me, but I could not hear what they were saying.”

I could still remember the looks on their faces.

They looked at me as if I were a monster.

Nobody asked why I had done it. Nobody asked what had happened inside that house. Nobody asked how many years I had spent suffering.

They only saw a woman who had killed her husband. They called me crazy. They called me heartless. They said that I had killed an innocent man for no reason.

I could have explained. I could have told them everything.

But I was tired of explaining myself.

“Would they have believed you?” my friend asked.

I shook my head.

“No. They had already decided who I was.”

She looked at me sadly.

“That is why they brought me here three months ago.”

I touched the dark blue shirt I was wearing.

“The people in white coats have been taking care of me ever since.”

“And how do you feel about being here?”

I thought about the question.

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I can be myself.”

I looked down at the small tag attached to my shirt.

PATIENT – No. 88

“That is what they call me now.”

My friend smiled.

“Doesn't that bother you?”

“No.”

I looked around the room. “This place may be dark. The doors may be locked. But nobody here asks me to be perfect.”

I paused.

“They take care of me. They give me food. They give me medicine. They ask whether I am okay.”

A small smile appeared on my face.

“For the first time, I feel that someone is taking care of me simply because I am a human being.”

“Do you feel relieved?”

“Yes.”

I looked at her.

“I am happy here.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

We sat quietly for a while.

Outside, an owl flew past the window. Somewhere in the distance, wolves howled. The sound did not frighten me. It made the night feel alive. After a while, my friend stood up.

“I should go now.”

“Already?”

“I will come tomorrow night.” She walked towards the door.

“Go to sleep.”

I smiled. “I will be waiting.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

She disappeared through the doorway.

A few moments later, a doctor and a nurse entered my room.

“She is talking to herself again,” the nurse whispered.

I heard them, but I did not respond. The doctor checked me and gave me my daily medicine. I swallowed it without hesitation. The medicine made my mind quiet. For a little while, it helped me forget the world and allowed my tired soul to rest.

The doctor and nurse left. The door was locked behind them as usual.

I returned to my bed and looked through the window.

She was still there.

My friend.

She was wearing the same bright yellowish dress, shining against the dark sky. Thousands of stars surrounded her.

I smiled.

“They call you a lifeless object,” I whispered.

“The moon.” I remembered what people had said about her.

Just a piece of rock floating in the darkness.

But they were wrong.

She was the only one who had listened to me. She was the only one who had never judged me. She was the only one who accepted me without asking me to change.

She never called me mad.

She never called me a monster.

She never asked me to explain myself.

She simply stayed. Every night. With me.

I looked at her through the small window.

For a moment, she seemed to smile.

“Good night,” I whispered.

My eyelids became heavy.

The room slowly disappeared into darkness. As I fell asleep, one thought remained in my mind.

Perhaps freedom was not always found outside a locked door.

Perhaps sometimes, freedom was simply being accepted for who you are.

The moon remained outside my window, quietly watching over me.

And Patient No. 88 finally fell asleep.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices and innovative storytelling. It welcomes participants from around the world to express their creativity and share their unique perspectives through poetry, short stories, essays, and creative writing. This competition aims to foster a global community of writers, offering them an opportunity to showcase their talents and engage with a broader audience.

We express our heartfelt appreciation to Thivinya Nimnadi for sharing "Patient No. 88" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her story beautifully captures the essence of self-discovery and the quest for acceptance. We look forward to seeing more of her insightful narratives and thank her for enriching this year's competition with her powerful voice.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.