The Masked Morning

The aroma of toasted bread and filter coffee drifted through the house like a carefully rehearsed performance. From the outside, everything looked picture-perfect—the Sharma household was tidy, warm, and buzzing with the quiet hum of a seemingly normal morning.

Rhea moved around the kitchen with graceful precision. Her silk robe matched the golden clips in her hair, and her smile stretched wide as she placed a plate in front of Rajeev.

“Fresh masala omelette, just the way you like it,” she cooed, brushing a crumb off his collar with what seemed like genuine affection.

Rajeev looked up from his phone, offering a grateful smile. “You’re the best, Rhea.”

Aanya stood at the edge of the hallway, invisible in plain sight. She clutched the strap of her school bag, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her stomach growled, but she knew better than to ask if there was anything left for her.

The stepmother turned and caught her eye. That smile, so warm just seconds ago, flickered into something colder—calculated.

“Oh, you’re up,” Rhea said, voice suddenly flat. “Didn’t think you’d need breakfast. You never finish it anyway.”

Aanya’s lips parted to speak, but her words clung to her throat.

Rajeev glanced at her distractedly. “Morning, beta. Rhea told me you were out late with friends again last evening. Everything okay at school?”

Aanya blinked. “I—I wasn’t. I was in my room all evening—studying.”

Rhea gave a theatrical little gasp. “Oh! Maybe I misunderstood. I just thought I heard the front door…”

The lie slid off her tongue like silk. Rajeev looked confused, caught between two voices. Then his phone buzzed again, and just like that, he was gone—mentally, if not physically.

Aanya’s heart thudded in her chest, not from the accusation but from the realization that this was becoming routine. Her father didn’t question Rhea. He didn’t ask for proof. He never had.

She turned silently and walked to the door, grabbing her worn-out shoes. She opened her wallet—two ten-rupee notes. No lunch today either.

Behind her, Rhea’s voice followed like a knife wrapped in lace.

“Don’t be late again, sweetheart. People are starting to talk.”