* Bhairavi was running as fast as she could, her feet pounding on the marble floor as she ran across the rows of locked doors and finally found the staircase.

At the bottom of the staircase was the door to freedom. She starts rushing down the stairs but the more she runs towards the bottom the farther she gets away from it. Tears of exhaustion and exasperation prick her eyes as she pushes herself to the limit, she has to escape before it catches up, but she can already taste her defeat when she feels her nape prickle with awareness.

What she is running from is right behind her, effortlessly dangerous, not even attempting to stop her physically. She could smell the blood on it, her parents' blood, and she tries not to be distracted by it but then she feels the cold, cold hand caress her shoulder. "No matter how hard you try to run away, you will always find me, for I am your destiny." She slowly turns around, frozen by her fear, her throat choked with anguish, to face the monster...*

Bhairavi jumped up with a start and shut the alarm, cursing. She had been having the same nightmare for a month now. She was almost scared to go to sleep, for each time she closed her eyes, she could smell the blood and feel the cold clasp of the monster, but she never saw it's face. She always woke up before she faced it. But her mind was beyond exhausted from the lack of proper sleep. And Namma knew it.

Namma was what she called her maternal grandmother, the one she came to stay with after her parents....died. Sighing, Bhairavi got up from bed for a shower, for she knew she would have to tell Namma about it before going to college. Imagining the disappointment on Namma's face was painful, for she took her for her speech sessions thrice a week and got her all the meds prescribed for her no matter how expensive, but nothing seemed to work.

The hot shower seemed to unknot some of her muscles as she felt better while dressing up. However, thinking about facing Namma and telling her the truth made her gloomy again. Staring at herself in the mirror, Bhairavi wondered how much she had changed in the last month. While her parents were alive, she was the pretty social butterfly who had friends, a boyfriend, a bright future. After they died on that night, she did not recognize herself anymore. She did not dress in bright colors, nor did she hang out with her friends. She broke off her relationship and her grades worsened.

The only thing that remained constant was her appearance. Her pristine daily makeup, her high heels, her headphones were unaltered, for they were parts of her armor. But her hair....she had chopped off her beautiful, long hair. Lightly touching her head, where her unevenly cut hair stood up in unruly clusters, Bhairavi choked down the lump in her throat and headed for the kitchen. There was no time for emotions and self pity. She had to survive, and maintain her sanity.

Namma smiled widely at her, taking her by surprise. Usually she smiled softly and wished her good morning, with careful eyes, looking for signs of breakdown or trauma or anger. Dazed, Bhairavi sat on a chair, not knowing how to react to such a happy emotion when she felt barren on the inside. Namma's smile waned a little, before asking, "How did you sleep?". The doctors had told her to ask everything in a neutral manner to not trigger Bhairavi’s anger.

Looking at her anxious, slightly eager face, Bhairavi felt a little guilty before signing, 'Slept fine'.

Her guilt increased when Namma's eyes showed relief and she hugged her, "I am glad, baccha. It seems Dr. Bagchi's meds are working. How do you feel?"

Bhairavi signed, 'feel fine', then added, 'getting late'.

"Yes of course, wait, I have something for you."

Confused at her actions, Bhairavi pondered while pouring herself a huge mug of coffee. Black, with no sugar or milk. She loved the taste of bitter coffee as it numbed her tongue and filled her veins with energy. God knows she needed it to get through a long day with barely any sleep. "Happy birthday, my baccha. I know doctor said to not excite you but since you turned twenty one today, I would like to give you a small gift. I hope you like it."

Bhairavi stared, flabbergasted, as Namma pressed a small, wrapped box into her hand.

The glee and hope in her eyes made Bhairavi regret her lack of interest, and she slowly unwrapped the box. After all, Namma had stood by her through everything like a rock, never flinching or shirking away. She had lost her daughter too, but unlike others, she did not desert Bhairavi and loved her with all her heart.

Opening the box, Bhairavi gazed at the locket which lay in it, enraptured. The chain was of thick, old gold but the design of the locket was alluring, and a huge red stone sat regally in the midst of the delicate artistry, winking at her. Pleased at her reaction, Namma picked the necklace and put it on her, clasping it at the back. "It belongs to the women in our family and has been passed through generations when a girl comes of age by her mother," Namma stated, her eyes glistening.

Bhairavi tried her best to not let her pain show but Namma must have seen it for she caressed her cheeks once and got busy with packing her lunch. 'Did Maa wear it too?' Bhairavi signed while taking her lunchbox.

She was afraid of the answer she would receive. "I…. had gifted it to her when she had turned twenty one. But she was too rebellious and refused to wear it, saying it was too gaudy. It is a good luck charm...of sort. She would have given it to you today. It is tradition."

Bhairavi was silent at the answer, before hugging Namma. 'Thank you for the gift, Namma,' she signed as they broke apart.

"Would you...would you like a special dinner today? A cake, maybe? Or call your friends over?"

Smiling tightly, Bhairavi signed, 'No Namma, something good for dinner will do. I will be back soon. Bye,' and left the house with her bag slung on her back, wondering why she was alive on her birthday and her parents were not.

A pounding headache was beginning to form in the back of her mind. The necklace felt cool against her throat, it felt safe.

College had been the same. Mind-numbingly monotonous. The subjects she used to love and adore did nothing to tickle her curiosity anymore. The teachers overlooked her lack of concentration as usual, she had been an excellent student erstwhile. Even now she scored decent grades, and as the professors were considerate of her condition, they excused her most of the time. Her classmates, once her close acquaintances, had learnt to keep their distance, courtesy her infamous temper.

Even though they remembered her birthday, and a few even dared to wish her, all they got were paper chits of polite gratitude and a tight smile. Her boyfriend had tried his best to be there for her, but she had pushed him far far away and asked him to not knock till she herself opened that door again. He had conceded with great agony, for he loved her, but her heart was all ashes now. Her parents had been her everything, and they were gone. No one mattered anymore, except maybe Namma.

During lunch time, Bhairavi chewed on her food listlessly. Namma had packed her favorite, aloo paratha and spicy chutney, but though her stomach begged for food, her heart was not in it. After having a paratha, she could not eat anymore. Not wanting to waste the food, she saw an old beggar and gave her entire lunch to him.

Once college was over, she went to a liquor shop and bought a bottle of vodka. It was the first time she would be drinking, legally. Her parents had let her indulge in alcohol once in a while since she was eighteen. Even a couple of months ago she remembered them joking about how they were going to take her to a restaurant on her birthday and let her order their drinks at the bar, after showing her ID.

Her heart ached at the memory and she breathed deeply to let the anger and pain dissipate, like the doctor had said. The headache had not dissipated the entire day and was growing worse by the moment. Popping two painkillers after purchasing them from a medicine store, she trudged back home through the busy, congested roads, being a part of a crowd yet set apart by the heaviness of her heart. Her eyes caught sight of a bookstore, the new one which had opened in the neighborhood.

Curious, she entered the store, reveling in the air-conditioned breeze which blew around her, causing the light sweat she had on her face to evaporate. Browsing the racks of books, she was suddenly face to face with an overenthusiastic employee who was bent upon helping. Finally she took out her notebook and wrote, 'I don't need help in finding anything. And I don't speak. So, no thanks.' On reading that, the employee seemed to deflate and left her alone, mumbling about how weird and rude she was. Huh, Bhairavi thought, Fudge you too mister.

Irked by the man's behavior, she decided to visit another day, armed with more time as it was growing darker outside. The sun seemed to set faster than usual and the sky was overcast since afternoon. Not wanting to get caught in the rain, Bhairavi began her way back home. The wind seemed to pick up and people rushed to enter nearby shops or their houses but Bhairavi did not want to wait or tarry. She hurried back and was turning into the lane of her house when she tripped over something.

The rain had begun, and not wanting to get wet, she bent angrily to check for injuries. Her knee had cut and was bleeding slightly, while her palms were lightly scraped. Cursing in her mind, she looked down to see a muddy kitten huddling in a corner of the carton it was in. Somebody had deserted the poor creature.

Her headache had reworked itself up to a tremendous intensity and as she stared at the kitten, getting drenched, she imagined for a second that she could see its thoughts, or more accurately what it was feeling, since animals don't think as uniformly as humans do. She sensed its hunger and exhaustion and loneliness. Bhairavi shook her head at her own folly, mind reader indeed, it seems she badly needed sleep, for she was becoming delusional. Sighing and wondering about Namma's stance on homeless kittens, she picked the little creature up and walked into her house before she regretted her decision.

Namma was, as usual, most considerate of her decision and offered to wash the kitten while Bhairavi took a shower herself. In the shower, she remembered her cuts and bent to check how bad her knee was, when she was shocked by the unbroken skin. She clearly remembered the blood on her knee and the scrapes on her palms. Turning her hands around, she saw nothing but smooth skin tinged with red from the heat of the shower.

Frowning, she wondered if she had imagined it all. Surely she would not have healed so fast if she had really been hurt. She dared not repeat any of this to Namma, she really did not want to worry her unnecessarily about her sanity. Which reminded her of her speech therapy session tomorrow. Ugh, how she loathed them. Since she had stopped speaking for a month, she felt less troubled, less disturbed. Namma did not understand that. No one did. She did not feel different about the fact that she did not speak, it helped her deal with her trauma instead, but who would explain it to Namma.

Thankfully the psychotherapy sessions had stopped, if they had continued, she would truly have gone insane. The psychiatrist had tried hard to help her come to terms with what happened that night, had even tried clinical hypnotism, but could get nothing out of her. It was as if the night had been erased from her mind.

The police had been really skeptical but they had later been convinced by the psychiatrist, Namma, and the evidence found at the site of accident. Finally the doctor had prescribed her meds, they would help her sleep as well as keep her mind intact, and had said in a distracted and unsure way that the memory might come back in bits and pieces with time, if at all. Namma had been unconvinced and had enrolled her for speech therapy.

Thankfully tomorrow was the last day of those sessions, because they would give her some mental and physical exercises to practice at home. They had admitted defeat as well. Namma was losing hope, the only thing she clung to was that Bhairavi seemed to be living somewhat normally compared to the previous weeks. Maybe she would return to normalcy on her own.

Bhairavi chuckled soundlessly at the thought while wiping the steam off the mirror in the bathroom. The haunted, dark eyes which stared back at her defiantly, openly ridiculed the silly notion. No matter what, Bhairavi would never be normal again. Her beautiful face, scrubbed free of her daily makeup, appeared tired and dull. Suddenly distracted by the red stone gleaming at her throat, she held it lightly and wondered why her mother had never worn it. It did not appear too gaudy, instead it had an otherworldly charm to it.

Out of nowhere, her mind seemed to swirl round and round and she faintly registered the stone glowing, when her mind cleared and filled with whispers which she could barely comprehend. It seemed hundreds of people were speaking or feeling all at once, and if she concentrated she could hear bits and pieces of them.

She experienced the worry of Namma, the satisfaction of the kitten, the glee of some children in the rain, the guilt of the infidel husband next door who was fornicating with the daily help who was nearing ecstasy....and tore her mind from the thoughts with almost inhuman strength.

She was breathing heavily, her cheeks were hot and flushed, her head ached badly and she felt feverish. Splashing her face with water, a part of her mind dimly registered Namma calling her for dinner. Her appetite lost, her mind confused, Bhairavi dressed in a distracted manner and went to the living room.

Seeing the cat brought her out of her reverie as it rubbed itself against her and jumped onto her lap as soon as she sat on the sofa, purring and snuggling up to her before falling asleep. At a loss of words, Bhairavi stared at Namma only to see her hide a smile but it soon turned into a laughter, and Bhairavi joined in with a smile. The upward stretch of her lips felt unnatural and not wanting to hurt Namma's feelings, she ate a bit of her dinner before excusing herself.

Namma saw her exhaustion and told her to go to bed with the kitten. She was about to go back to her room but was stopped and her meds were given to her. The meds made her drowsy but did not help her sleep any way, all it did was make her feel fuzzy and sleepy throughout the day. Swallowing them, Bhairavi signed good night to Namma and went to her room before locking it.

Putting the sleeping kitten on the bed, she took out the vodka from her bag and unscrewed it before taking a sip. She almost coughed up the burning liquid, but managed to swallow it. She had never drunk alcohol neat, always in a cocktail or with juice. Scrunching her eyes at the burning sensation, she took another sip, then another, slowly getting accustomed to the burn. Heat bloomed in her stomach as she sat on her bed and sipped. Her eyes watered, and she let the tears slip. In her room she had nothing and no one to hide from.

The kitten must have heard her crying softly, for it stretched itself before walking up to her and plopping onto her lap, falling asleep faster than one would have thought. In spite of her tears, Bhairavi softly laughed, the warmth of the kitten felt better than the drink. Stashing the half filled bottle under the bed, she hugged the kitten and got into bed. As her consciousness slowly left her and sleep seemed to creep in, her last thought was that she would name the kitten Summer.