MUKTI

“Hey pretty girl," a man came up to me and said.

I was happy-very happy-to see him, but why was my heart refusing to let me go near him? Why?

I wanted to go, but my heart kept stopping me.

But he had brought so many teddies for me. I should go.

I realized I wasn't in my house, but neither was I outside. It was a black space, like a closed room. I felt like I was locked in.

Suddenly, he came closer. I was wearing a skirt. He came and patted my cheek, handing me the teddy. While giving it, he said, "You look so ethereal when you're with me."

I didn't understand his words. But his next action made me shiver.

He came behind me, touching my back with his hands. He said, "Be my good girl and obey what I say, okay?"

I nodded. He asked me to raise my hands, and I did. But then he touched me under my arms, moving down to my waist. I felt so uncomfortable, so uneasy.

This isn't right-at all. I started to cry, begging him to stop. "Please, stop this. I don't like it," I pleaded. But he didn't listen.

"I said, be my good girl," he told me.

"Please don't do this to me. Don't touch me. Please take me to my parents, don't do this," I cried, tears streaming down my face.

But who was I to this huge man?

Somehow, I gathered the courage to grab the rod beside me and tried to run. But he caught me by my hair and slapped me hard across my cheek.

I felt dizzy. My head was spinning, my throat was dry, and there was no ounce of energy left in my body. I felt numb from his filthy hands that had touched me.

He forced me to sit on the chair and slapped me again. I was so scared; it felt like it would be the last day of my life.

My heart had been right-I should never have greeted him.

"You're being too brave, aren't you? Let me break you. Just wait and watch, little kidoo," he sneered, coming closer, tying my hands, and starting to touch me.

I cried and cried.

Then he started touching my thighs.

I yelled, "No, no, no! Don't do this to me, please." Black dots began to appear before my eyes.

With all my remaining strength, I screamed, "Don't do this, pleaseeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Nooooooo. I woke up with a jerk.

Again, the same nightmare. Why does my past keep haunting me like this? I wept.

The sudden jolt left me with a pounding headache. I knew I faced this nightmare every night. Accepting my fate, I opened my phone and saw the time-it was eight o'clock.

What the hell? I was late. I had pending cake orders to finish before the pickup time.

I quickly climbed out of bed, rushed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and took a hot shower to calm my nerves after that horrific nightmare.

I grabbed my car keys, reached the parking area, got into my car, and drove to my bakery.

Being a baker, I spread sweetness into people's lives, but my own life is surrounded by bitterness. My past had forced me to leave my mother country, India.

Now it has been more than a decade since I left India, far from everyone's eyes and reach.

In all these years, whenever someone tried to find me, I changed my number or location. Fortunately, no one has discovered where I am, and I intend to keep it that way.

I live alone in this hectic city in Germany.

Having my own bakery, my own house, and a car here in this foreign land still feels unreal-and it makes me proud.

I have a good family, but I can't share everything with them. No matter how mature their mindset might be, in the end, their judgment would always turn against a girl.

After my school incident in India, when my rival made a video that looked like I was kissing someone, my own relatives , sl*t-shamed me. My father took a stand for me, but deep down, I knew he only did it to maintain his image, not for me.

I love my parents, but I can't tell them everything.

That's why my parents took me to Japan after that incident, to get me away from everyone. But after living in Japan for three years, I moved to Germany to start a new life.

I reached my bakery.

A beautiful, cozy, fun, and loving space of my own. Yes-mine. My bakery.

BITE OF BARFI. Barfi is a sweet from India, and I chose this name because it gives people a warm hug of sweetness. I love bringing sweetness into everyone's life.

By now, you probably know I love spreading happiness and joy. Why not? Not everyone has the skill I do.

I quickly went inside the bakery, performed a small pooja, and thanked God for keeping me alive to live another day.

Then I checked my to-do list. There were so many orders. I quickly started baking the cakes while preparing the cream.

By then, some customers had arrived. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I've also built a small café inside my bakery.

Most customers come to order our café's specialties: blueberry muffins, Biscoff cheesecake, and our showstopper coffee.

I served them while working on my cakes. There's only one person who works here-and that's me. Yes, I don't hire anyone because I don't feel comfortable letting people in.

I'm enough to handle it all myself. Having a small workspace is fine with me.

After working and cleaning up, it was time to close for the day. By then, it was seven o'clock in the evening. I headed back home.

I quickly wrapped up, cleaned everything, turned off the lights, and locked the door.

I got in my car and drove to my home-or rather, the place where I face my nightmares.

I never know which nightmare will come tonight. The one from years ago, the one from three years ago, or maybe something new.

By now, you must be wondering why I seem so indifferent to my nightmares. It's because I'm no longer afraid of them.

That's only possible when you have a heart-and my heart stopped beating years ago. The tears have long dried up.

I reached my house, went inside, and once again had no appetite. But I had to eat something so I could take my medicine.

I quickly ate a couple of biscuits-yes, just that-and took my medicine for insomnia.

Yes, I'm an insomniac too. God knows how many illnesses I carry beneath the surface.

I climbed into bed and prayed to God not to let me see another nightmare, though I knew, like every other night, they'd come. Nightmares have become my routine; I fall into them, not into dreams.

With that, I drifted into the world of nightmares, where I am forever caged. ........................

I hope you liked the first chapter of the book ...

see you in the next one.......