The Voices that Stayed

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝

Up in quiet, peaceful Everdale, lived twins—Mishya and Ayisha.
Mishya, the eldest, was perfect in every way.
Her hair fell like a river of black silk to her waist,
her golden eyes shimmered like treasure gold.
She smiled at strangers, laughed with them, charmed them—
a princess straight out of a storybook.

Ayisha, her younger twin, was the opposite.
Short, unruly brown hair like mud,
And pale ghostly eyes,
her presence was a shadow in the light Mishya radiated.
People praised Mishya and loathed Ayisha.

Their parents did too.
"You should be more like your sister!"
"You're an embarrassment!"
Ayisha dropped her head,

Silent,
Small.

Mishya listened with that gentle face, sweet and innocent,
but in the corners of her smile hid something else—
a flicker of triumph,
a taste for cruelty.

When they were alone, she let it bloom:
"Awwhh, is my little sister okay?" Her voice soft, almost caring,
"Be more like me, then they'll love you."

She paused, brushing her hair behind her
ear.
"I guess... I'd be lying if I said I didn't like seeing you try, though. It's... kind of funny."
Then it snapped back: sharp, cold, unflinching.
"But we both know the truth. You'll never be me. So just sleep, little sis. Maybe there you'll be loved."

Ayisha was used to it.
Every day,
every moment.

Outside,
The whispers followed her.
"The black sheep."
"The unwanted."
"Ghosty eyes."
"Creep."

She walked carefully,
head down,
feet quiet,
as if the ground might reject her too.

At home, it was worse.
Critiques,
Scolding,
Reminders to be perfect like Mishya.
Her room was her only sanctuary.
Once inside, she sank onto her bed.
"Why is the world so cruel to me?"
Her prayers whispered to a god who didn't answer.

She knew she wasn't worthy.
The world had made sure she learned that early.
She was a mistake.
A shadow among roses.

One day, Mishya went about her perfect routine,
Radiant,
Laughing,
Admired.

Ayisha chopped vegetables,
hands trembling.
Why does no one see me? Not even Mishya... even she...
Maybe it's me. Maybe I really am nothing.
Mishya's laughter floated through the halls.
"Oh, little sister, you're trying so hard, but you'll never shine like me, will you?"

And then—the voices returned.

Not screaming. Not demanding.
Gentle,
loving in a way the world never was.

It's okay.
We see you.

They don't.
They never will.
You try so hard. You stay quiet. You stay small.
And still, they hate you.
But we don't.
We've always stayed.

Her fingers found the knife, instinctive, almost gentle.
They don't see me. No one does... but maybe... maybe these voices do.

Her parents appeared, one by one,
their scolding, their anger, their disgust—
all years of neglect, of cruelty, returned louder than ever.

The voices whispered in perfect harmony:
End it.
We are the only ones who stayed.

By the time the house was still,
Ayisha was alone.

Everdale hummed outside, streets empty, silent.

She walked past the bakery, the school, the empty houses.
Cobwebs draped the counters, bread long gone.
Desks empty. Blackboards wiped clean.

Had the town left? Had it ever been real?
The voices hummed softly, pleased.
See? You don't need them. They never belonged to you.

No parents. No Mishya. No neighbors.
Just Everdale, silent, still, erased.

For the first time in her life,
Ayisha was truly alone.
And for the first time,
the world could not touch her.

The voices whispered one final time:
We are yours. Always.