The Journal - By Zahra Bandukwala

Written By: Zahra Bandukwala

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In a captivating submission to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Zahra Bandukwala, writing under the name Madison, presents "The Journal." This short story delves into the intricacies of memory, identity, and the mysterious ties that bind us to the past. Set against a backdrop of unfolding drama, Bandukwala's narrative leads readers through a labyrinth of emotions and revelations, making it a compelling contribution to this year's competition.

About the Work

"The Journal" is a masterful exploration of suspense and personal discovery. Zahra Bandukwala crafts a narrative rich with vivid imagery and emotional depth, capturing the tension and uncertainty of a woman confronting her past. The story weaves a tapestry of mystery and anticipation, drawing readers into a world where every decision and memory carries weight. Through evocative prose, Bandukwala examines themes of identity, truth, and the haunting echoes of unresolved histories.

Madison

Original Submission by Zahra Bandukwala

Thick, black clouds rolled across the sky; a shower of rain soaking the middle-aged woman who was casually leaning against a sleek black Mercedes. Sighing, the woman threw her cigarette onto the gravel, crushing it aggressively with the sole of her black leather boot. The woman shivered as a harsh wind blew through the parking lot, plastering her chestnut-coloured hair to her forehead. Hastily, she opened the door of the Mercedes and pulled out a navy-blue umbrella. As she did, her eyes absentmindedly turned towards the dusty journal that lay conspicuously on her dashboard amidst a pile of papers.

The journal, she thought. The journal, with its endless pages, all adorned with that same untidy scrawl. The journal, that ticked away silently every second like a bomb that was about to explode. The journal that she knew didn’t belong with her anymore.

Cautiously, the woman picked up the journal and placed it into her purse as she turned to face the large white building in front of her. The rain had worsened, thick droplets of water falling heavily against the woman’s umbrella as she walked briskly towards the entrance. She could see a cluster of people standing near the sliding doors, all of their eyes locked onto a young man that lay unconscious on a stretcher. Somewhere to the right, the high-pitched alarm of an ambulance blared to life; the blue and red lights flashing dangerously through the heavy rain.

Hesitantly, the woman stepped forwards, and the automatic doors slid open. Cold air enveloped the woman as she lingered near the door, unsure of her decision and the events that would occur because of it.

After a minute, she shook her head furiously. No. She had to do it. She needed to.

Taking a deep breath, the woman continued forward. The first thing the woman noticed was the acrid smell of disinfectant that lingered heavily in the air. The metallic smell of blood accompanied it, and the woman was suddenly nauseous. She focused on the whitewashed walls to calm her thoughts, blocking out the loud wails that echoed throughout the hospital.

She needed to find out what room Mila was in. Mila, that’s who she was here to see. Mila, Mila, Mila. The name seemed so odd to her. So wrong and unfamiliar. So different.

Tentatively, the woman walked towards the receptionist at the end of the corridor. The receptionist smiled warmly as the woman approached the counter. “How may I help you?” she asked.

“I’m here to see an old friend of mine. She goes by the name Mila. Which room is she in?” the woman asked cautiously.

The receptionist nodded before glancing at the monitor in front of her. After a moment’s hesitation she replied, “She’s in room number 103. Go straight and it’ll be the first room on your right.”

The woman smiled wearily and headed in the direction the receptionist had pointed in. As she turned right, the blinding lights above her flickered. Room 103 loomed into view and the woman felt her throat constrict. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was beating furiously, pounding against her chest. The tiles below her feet seemed to be swaying and the woman stumbled sideways.

Hyperventilating, she leaned against the left wall. She edged forward, headed towards a black armchair that lay unoccupied ahead of her. Finally sitting down, the woman closed her eyes. She closed her eyes and listened to the idle chatter around her fade.

Fade into the never-ending darkness.

*

Taking a deep breath, the woman pushed the door of room 103 open. The room seemed to be shrouded in darkness; shadows lurking in every corner. Pale strips of sunlight streamed in through the large windows in front of the woman, faintly illuminating the gloomy room.

The woman turned her head sideways and peered at the frail woman who lay sleeping on the bed on the right. A faint smile was plastered onto her wrinkled face, and the steady sound of her breathing seemed to puncture the uncanny silence.

The young woman sat down on the red chair on the opposite side of the room. Discomfort was visible through her rigid posture and sharp face.

CRASH!

The woman screamed as the wall to her left collapsed. The door was thrown off its hinges as two armed men entered the room. What was happening?

Horrified, the woman stood up, hands held out in defence. Through the corner of her eye, she could see Mila on the bed, eyes closed in a peaceful bliss.

“What’s happening?” the woman choked, tears threatening to stream down her long face. She needed to run.

Escape.

Find some way out.

The guard on her left raised his rifle, pointing it directly at her chest.

The woman screamed, the anguish plain in her voice. “What are you doing?” she yelled. “Answer me!”

Click. She heard the safety catch release.

Any second now.

This was her ending; this was her death.

BOOM!

Time seemed to dilate. It was as if the moment was being recorded in slow motion. Each second ticking by slowly, rising to a crescendo of intense pain and suffering. The bullet raced towards her, and everything seemed to go numb for a second.

Then a light. A harsh yellow light and the world disintegrating around her.

*

The woman gasped. The lights flickered back into view along with the whitewashed walls. Breathing deeply, the woman stood up.

The door: it was right in front of her. An unwelcoming piece of wood, glaring at her, barring her entry and forcing her to walk away. But she needed to go in. She had to see Mila. Carefully, she pushed the door open.

The room was nothing like the one in the woman’s dream. It was large and spacious. The rain had now stopped, and beams of sunlight danced elegantly across the polished tiles. A small fan whirred above from the cream ceiling, cooling the room.

A middle-aged woman lay on a narrow bed; tired lines etched into her skin. Her hazel eyes surveyed the woman that had just entered. A faint trace of recognition passed over the face, but it was quickly replaced with intrigue and confusion.

“Hello?” the woman on the bed asked.

“The woman who had just entered smiled slightly before replying, “Hello. Mila, right? My name is Natalia.”

Mila blinked. Natalia, she knew that name. Of course she did.

No? No, did she?

Natalia took a deep breath. She didn’t know what to say. How could she stand there and tell Mila who she truly was? Tell her, in a matter of minutes, a story that spanned decades? Tell her the truth instead of the bottomless lies and thinly veiled deceptions?

“Natalia?” Mila asked curiously. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here…I’m here to take you home,” she replied cautiously.

“Home?” The word sparked something within Mila. The word tasted funny on her tongue, but it was familiar. Familiar - like the taste of a lollipop that you used to eat as a kid so many years ago.

“Yes,” Natalia murmured as she unzipped her purse and took out the journal. “I would like to tell you a story, Mila.” She held up the journal against the light, watching plumes of dust ripple through the air. They swirled around the book dizzyingly, disappearing, then reappearing in the sunlight.

“A story about what?” Mila questioned.

A girl, Natalia thought. A story about a little girl.

Natalia smiled faintly.

“I need to find a doctor to get you discharged,” Natalia whispered as she turned towards the door. Absentmindedly, she wound her fingers through the tattered edge of her shirt, fidgeting nervously as she walked away.

The action didn’t go unnoticed by Mila. It was an action she had seen many times before. A memory that hovered at the edge of her consciousness, just out of reach. Frantically, she tried to grab at it but to no avail.

“Alright,” she replied nervously.

Natalia walked out the door, headed to the main reception. As she wound through the identical corridors, a memory flashed through her mind of a little girl wearing blue jeans and a black shirt, the words ‘I don’t care’ printed across it in a faded pink. Her jet-black hair hung messily around her, grime coated face, and her eyes were swollen and red.

“Help me,” the girl had choked out, her throat raw and scratchy. It was a sound that Natalia remembered so clearly so many years later. A sound that had haunted her for so long.

Shaking her head, Natalia forced herself back to the present. She had reached the main lobby. Pulling out her identification card, she walked up to the receptionist and mumbled “I’m here for Mila. I’d like her to be discharged.”

Back in the room, Mila tapped her fingers rhythmically against her knuckles. She needed to see that journal. What was the journal about? She knew that journal, of course she did. She had seen it before. Multiple times. But where?

She couldn't remember. She discarded the thought quickly, now focusing on a blue winged butterfly that fluttered delicately outside the window.

Rune would have liked this, Mila remembered, picturing the young, freckled, red headed girl. She pictured her with a large grey sketchbook on her lap and a beautifully sketched butterfly adorned on the page in front of her.

“It’s so pretty,” Mila had whispered.

Rune had smiled back. “I want to be an artist,” she had mumbled.

Where was she now? Mila wondered. Somewhere far away on the other side of the world in a room filled with books and paintings. The sound of a river would play like music in the background and green hills would dot the horizon. That’s what Mila hoped as she watched the blue butterfly hover over a vibrant yellow flower. Find her for me, won’t you? Mila asked desperately. Tell her I’m still alive. But the butterfly had already turned, just another blue speck lost to the world.

The room descended, once more, into a peaceful silence.

Suddenly, the door of the room was thrown open and Natalia entered with a middle-aged man - Dr. Glern. He was tall with broad shoulders, and a pair of glasses lay nestled between his curly brown hair. “Mila,” he greeted. “This lovely young lady over here is going to take you home! I have everything ready here so you can leave as soon as you want. I’ll ask a nurse to get your things for you.”

Mila didn’t reply.

Dr. Glern smiled uncomfortably and turned to Natalia. He whispered furiously with her before saying, “You’ll be dearly missed Mila. I wish you the best of luck.”

He waved goodbye to Natalia and left the room. Mila would never see him again.

“Alright, are you ready?” Natalia asked cautiously.

Mila nodded her head. A nurse entered, handed over her belongings and the two quickly left the hospital. No one saw the small scrap of paper that lay on the side table; a messily drawn butterfly and the words ‘Thank you’ written in an unstable hand.

As the two exited the hospital, Mila glanced back at the white building with a feeling of uncertainty and a twinge of sorrow. Would she be sent back here? Natalia turned slightly, watching Mila carefully. “Don’t worry, you won’t be back,” she promised reassuringly as she opened the door to the black Mercedes.

Mila didn’t reply as she walked to the passenger door and got in. Natalia had placed the journal on the dashboard, and it glared back at Mila. She reached out her hand, tempted to flip through the pages.

“You can see that once we’re home,” Natalia stated, quickly shoving the journal into her purse.

“Why?” Mila asked. Why was she being shown this journal?

But that wasn’t really Mila’s question. Natalia heard the deeper questions embedded in this one word; she could almost see the tangle of webs and vines knotted furiously within Mila’s mind. Question after question; dead end after dead end.

She heard the questions clearly: why was she being taken home now? And why was it Natalia who had come to take her?

“We've met before,” Natalia stated as she drove out of the hospital parking lot. Merging onto the expressway she mumbled, “We were close friends.” You were my best friend, she thought.

“But why the journal?” Mila asked once more, confusion apparent on her face.

“I can’t answer that question now, but I will tell you one thing. That book contains three stories. After each story you can ask me one question, and I will answer.”

A deep silence followed; the only sound being the steady rumble of the car. Mila constantly shifted, her eyes darting sideways as she took in this new sense of freedom. Lowering the window, she closed her eyes as a soft breeze cooled the car. She could smell mint and the freshness of wood; lush green bushes and ferns interspersed with the occasional orange leafed tree, signalling the beginning of autumn. She could hear the hum of cars as they zoomed by, lights flashing on and off. The drive felt like hours. As if time had stretched and elongated; as if they had been frozen in time with no chance of moving forwards.

The silence continued.

After a while, a large house loomed into view. Natalia turned right, driving up the driveway. Slowly, Mila opened the door and followed Natalia up the stairs and into the house through the front door. The smell of vanilla hit Mila, warm and familiar. There was a large staircase in front of her, winding upwards to the first floor. A small, cream coloured room lay to their right; sofas placed conveniently around a black marble fireplace.

Natalia smiled at Mila before saying, “Here, why don’t I take you to your room first.”

Mila merely nodded and followed Natalia upstairs. A grand bedroom stood in front of them. There were a set of doors to the right as well as two sets of doors leading off to the left down a wooden corridor. Natalia turned left, walking towards the wooden double doors right at the end. She carefully pushed the doors open and Mila entered.

The room was pastel coloured and extremely spacious. Potted plants hung elegantly from the ceiling around the room. Mahogany cupboards had been pushed to the right side of a room alongside a glass desk. The faint lines of posters were visible on the almond blossom coloured walls but had now been replaced with sophisticated paintings. Whose room was this? Mila wondered.

“Get some rest please. I would like for us to talk after,” Natalia said before leaving the room; the door silently swinging shut behind her.

Natalia walked back down the corridor, heading towards the room on the far right. Rummaging in her pocket, she pulled out a pair of painted red keys and placed them into the lock, twisting them to the right. A soft click sounded, and the doors swung open.

The smell of fresh paper wafted into the corridor intermingled with the faint smell of cherry blossom. Breathing contentedly, Natalia stepped into the room. The room was enormous; shelves lined the walls on both sides, filled with copies of a thousand books. A small desk was paced elegantly in the centre of the room with multiple stacks of paper. Natalia walked over and removed the journal from her purse, placing it down on the table. Flipping it open, she picked up the black ink pen and on the first page she added ‘To Madison, thank you for letting me share your story.’

*

“Are you ready?” Natalia asked Mila who was now seated in front of her on one of the sofas.

Mila nodded.

“Alright,” Natalia whispered as she dangled the brown journal out in front of her. Mila lunged for it. She needed to see that book.

Natalia reacted instantly, cradling the book as she stepped back. “This journal has all the answers.”

“Tell me who you are! Just tell me the truth!” Mila interrupted. Frustration clouded her face as she looked up at Natalia.

“After each part you may ask me one question, and I will answer as truthfully as possible. This is the only way that I can help you.”

The anger dissipated off Mila’s face as she nodded heavily. She would listen. She had no other choice. With a sigh of relief, Natalia sat down. Her fingers shook uncontrollably as she flipped open the book. She could hear the beating of her heart, loud and clear.

Slowly, she read, “‘To Madison, thank you for letting me share your story.’”

The sun seemed to be setting outside, and the room darkened slightly as the sky started to turn a deep blue.

“Part 1: Madison.”

The sound of crinkling paper filled the room as another page was turned.

“Chapter 1.”

Natalia smiled as a heavy weight slowly lifted off her chest. She was finally ready.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating the art of storytelling and poetic expression. Participants from around the globe are invited to share their literary talents, contributing to a rich tapestry of creative works that explore diverse themes and narratives. The competition serves as a beacon for writers to showcase their craft and connect with a broader audience.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Zahra Bandukwala for her submission, "The Journal," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her engaging short story invites readers into a world of mystery and reflection, highlighting her unique voice and storytelling prowess. We appreciate her contribution and look forward to witnessing the impact of her work on the literary community.

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.