(Author's Note: The shifts between first-person and third-person POV are intentional. It's Kritika talking to the version of herself she sees in the mirror. A conversation between who she is in italics—and who she was written simply. Don't get confused; both are her. Just... not always on the same side.)

The girl in the mirror wasn't her. Not anymore.

This was Kritika Singhania—the girl who wore the hearts of the boys she broke on her sleeves, never her own. But the reflection staring back at her now felt like a ghost—a shadow of the girl she once was.

Her hands trembled, fingers curled around cold steel. The kind of trembling that came not from fear but from the weight of too many broken promises, too many shattered dreams. Her eyes, once fierce and unyielding, were rimmed red, swollen from the tears she never let anyone see.

Black trails of mascara and smudged eyeliner marked the path of those unshed emotions, streaking down her cheeks like the remnants of forgotten battles. She remembered herself a year ago—confident, untouchable, always ready to laugh in the face of heartbreak, swearing she'd only grow her hair out when someone's son managed to love her.

She'd said it with a cocky grin, the kind that dared the world to break her. And yet, here she was, hair cascading down her waist, heavy with memories, each strand a silent witness to her fall.

Her grip tightened on the scissors, the metal cold but not nearly as frigid as her thoughts. The first cut came hesitantly, the sharp snick slicing through the silence, a single strand falling like a teardrop to the tiled floor. Then another. And another. Each strand felt like a piece of herself, each cut a small, bitter rebellion against the girl she once promised never to become.

She kept going, each snip a silent scream, each falling lock a forgotten whisper of who she used to be. She cut until her reflection no longer looked familiar, until the girl in the mirror was a stranger once again.

Until she felt, just for a moment, a sliver of control in the chaos of her crumbling world.

When she finally looked up, eyes still wet, breath still shaky, she met her own gaze in the mirror, a faint, bitter smile playing at her lips.

Perhaps this was who she truly was now—a girl who had to break herself to feel whole again.

"No," I whispered, my fingers trembling as they traced the dark, swollen circles beneath my eyes. "This isn't me." But the reflection didn't flinch. She just stared back, mascara streaked like war paint, eyeliner smudged into the shadows of her hollow stare.

Tears had carved dark, jagged paths down her cheeks, black rivers of grief and betrayal, a twisted masterpiece of a girl who once swore she'd never break.

I let out a bitter, breathless laugh, the sound rasping through my chest like rusted metal, echoing in the hollow spaces where my pride used to live. It tasted like smoke, like the remnants of a fire that had burned too bright, too fast.

"I used to be someone," I whispered, my voice cracking, the words splintering like glass in my throat. "I was the girl who danced on shattered hearts, who never second-guessed, who only loved herself." I choked on a sob, the truth too sharp to swallow. "I was the one who left, not the one who got left."

The girl in the mirror tilted her head, a cruel, mocking smile twisting her lips, her eyes flashing with the same fire that used to fuel my pride.

"But look at you now," she taunted, her tone dripping with venom, each word a poisoned blade. "Look at you, dragging your feet through each day like a ghost. Ignoring calls. Dreading mornings. Drowning in your own silence."

I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cold glass, the chill biting into my skin, sharp and unforgiving. It felt like pressing my pulse against a blade, every heartbeat a fresh wound.

"I promised myself I'd only grow my hair when someone loved me right," I whispered, my fingers threading through the tangled, dark strands that fell down my back like shadows. "But I broke that promise, didn't I? Just like I broke myself."

The reflection scoffed, eyes dark and unrelenting. "Promises?" she spat, a bitter, twisted smile stretching across her lips. "You're a fool if you think anyone keeps those. You, of all people, should know. You once collected broken promises like trophies. Now, you're just another one. You once thrived on others' tears. Now, you're choking on your own."

I ran my hand through the uneven strands, the jagged edges brushing against my fingers, rough and unfamiliar. The weight was gone, but the ache remained.

"I cut my hair," I whispered, my voice hollow, the words clinging to the stale bathroom air. "I cut my hair, but nothing's changed."

She—Kritika in the mirror, let out a bitter, breathless laugh, the sound cracking through the silence, sharp and jagged like glass against concrete.

"I thought this would be it," I said, my nails digging into the cold porcelain of the sink, knuckles white, breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts. "I thought if I cut it all off, I'd feel... lighter. Freer. But I still feel the same. Empty. Broken."

The girl in the mirror tilted her head, lips curling into a mocking, twisted smile, her eyes glinting with the same cruel amusement I used to wear like a shield.

"You really thought a pair of scissors could fix this?" she taunted, her voice dripping with disdain, each word a lash against my bruised soul. "You cut your hair, but the weight you carry isn't in those strands. It's in here." She tapped her temple, the echo of her gesture reverberating through my bones.

I clenched my jaw, my chest tightening, every breath a struggle. I wanted to scream, to shatter the mirror, to silence the voice that had become my constant tormentor. The reflection's smile twisted further, eyes darkening, shadows pooling beneath her lashes.

The reflection in the mirror had already told me everything I didn't want to hear. It mocked me. I couldn't stand it anymore. The sight of myself, fractured and ruined, was too much to bear.

With a sharp, sudden motion, I slammed my fist into the glass.

The crack was deafening.

A jagged line split the mirror down the center, the reflection of my face splintering like glass beneath a boot. For a second, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears, the glass echoing its last breath before it shattered completely.

The shards rained down, glittering like pieces of my soul scattered across the floor, sharp and cold. I didn't care. I couldn't care anymore. My breath came in ragged gasps, and my chest felt tight with the weight of everything I couldn't carry alone anymore.

"No, no, no," I whispered, my voice cracking as the panic clawed at my chest, cold and relentless. "Stop. Someone, please... please, I beg you, make it stop."

I knelt on the floor, the girl who never begged, who never bent, was breaking. I sank to the cold, tiled floor, my breaths coming in short, shallow gasps, my fingers clutching my uneven, freshly cut hair, the strands slipping through my trembling grip like the remnants of a life I no longer recognized.

"Please, God," I choked, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the left over mascara still clinging to my lashes. "Please make it stop. I can't... I can't keep doing this."

My vision blurred, the world around me shrinking to the small, suffocating space of my bathroom. That's when my eyes fell on the piece of mirror, its sharp, glinting edge catching the harsh fluorescent light.

I staggered to my feet, my pulse pounding in my ears, every thought a violent, chaotic scream. "Will this help?" I whispered, my fingers trembling as I reached for one of the larger shards, its edge glinting dangerously under the dim light. It felt heavier than it should have—heavier than the weight of the pain inside me.

Slowly, I picked it up, the cool, broken glass digging into my palm as I held it up, staring at my fractured reflection. I turned it over in my palm, the edge pressing into my skin, a silent promise of relief. "A few cuts on my wrist... will that stop it? Will that silence the thoughts?"

I raised my arm, the glass poised just above my skin, the air in the room growing heavier, my pulse a frantic, desperate drumbeat against my temples.

Before I could move, the bathroom door burst open, and Lakshi's frantic footsteps echoed against the tiles. She snatched the blade from my hand, her eyes wide, breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts.

"Kritika!" she yelled, her voice trembling, eyes glassy with terror and something else—something like guilt. She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me hard enough to snap me back into the moment, her fingers digging into my skin. "Yeh ho kya gaya hai tujhe? Kya haal bana liya hai khud ka?"

"What's happened to you? What have you done to yourself?"

I crumpled into her, my knees giving out, and she caught me, pulling me into her arms, her own breaths shaking as if my despair had stolen the air from her lungs too.

"Mujhe yeh sab kuch nahi chahiye, Lakshi," I sobbed, clutching her shirt, my words coming out in broken, shattered gasps. "Mujhe kuch nahi chahiye... Nahi ban na mujhe bada—bas dil nahi tutna chahiye, Lakshi. Bas dil nahi tutna chahiye. Please, kuch karo... please."

("I don't want any of this, Lakshi. I don't want anything... I don't want to be great—I just don't want a broken heart, Lakshi. That's all. Just don't let my heart break. Please... do something. Please.")

She held me tighter, her fingers threading through my chopped, uneven hair, her own tears falling onto my shoulder, warm and silent.

"Kabhi na kabhi toh yaad aati hogi na usko bhi meri?" I whispered, my voice small, fragile, as if the words might shatter if I spoke them too loudly. "Kabhi toh?"

("There must be moments when he remembers me too... right?"

"Even if it's just once?")

She didn't answer, and the silence felt like a confirmation, a heavy, suffocating blanket settling over my already fragile heart.

"Chalo, maan liya jhoot tha," I whispered, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, my own swimming with fresh tears. "Lekin sab kuch toh nahi ho sakta na, Lakshi? 50%? 25%? 10%?"

("Fine, let's say it was all a lie."

"couldn't have been a lie, right, Lakshi? 50%? 25%? 10%?")

My voice cracked, my grip on her shirt tightening, desperate, clawing at the edges of a hope I didn't even believe in anymore. "Yeh bhi chodo... 1% toh sach hoga na, Lakshi?"

("Okay, leave that too... at least 1% must've been true, right, Lakshi?")

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words seemed to catch in her throat, her eyes glassy, her jaw clenched.

I let out a shuddering breath, my chest heaving, the room spinning around me, my mind spiraling into the darkness I had tried so hard to outrun. "Jab aansoo halaq tak sookha dega, Khuda falak ko zameen tak jhuka dega, Barsega paani, par kya woh bhi, paani se zyada mohabbat ko paane ko tarsega?"

("When tears dry at the edge of your throat, even God will bend the skies to the earth. Rain will pour, but will even it crave love more than water?")

I looked at her, my eyes wide, my voice breaking into a whisper, the words a desperate, unanswered prayer. "Kya woh bhi tarsega, Lakshi?"

(he crave it too, Lakshi?")

She pulled me into her arms again, her own tears falling freely now, her hands trembling as she held me tight, as if she could piece me back together with just her touch.

But I felt it, the emptiness, the vast, gaping hole in my chest, the silence in my heart that no amount of comfort could fill. And for the first time, I realized that maybe... maybe this was the kind of broken that even love couldn't fix.

"Don't do this, Kritika," Lakshi's voice cracked as she clutched my shoulders, her tears mixing with mine. "Don't destroy yourself over a boy."

I let out a bitter, broken laugh, my head falling back against the cold wall, the tiles digging into my skull. "Over a boy?" I whispered, my breath coming out in sharp, ragged bursts. "Lakshi, this isn't just about a boy. It's about someone who became my entire world. I cut myself off from everyone, locked myself in his shadow, made him my universe. He isn't God, but I worshipped him like one."

Lakshi's grip tightened, her eyes desperate, pleading. "But you can't— "Mat kar khud ko barbaad, Kritika," Lakshi choked out, her own tears streaming down her face as she held me tighter. "Ek ladke ke liye mat khatam kar apne aap ko."

("Don't destroy yourself, Kritika."

"Don't end yourself over a boy.")

"Barbaad na hou?" I cut her off, my voice trembling, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "Barbaad toh ho chuki hoon, Lakshi. I've already lost myself. I'm not breaking—I'm shattered."

("Not destroy myself?"

"I'm already destroyed, Lakshi. I've already lost myself. I'm not breaking—I'm shattered.")

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I poured a lot of heart into this one... tell me, did it reach yours? Spill the tea—did the chapter leave you screaming, sobbing, or throwing your phone?"