The Stain
It did not start as something big.
It was quiet.
She had her own life, her own problems. She felt tired, misunderstood, and unable to explain what she really felt. Many times, she felt others did not understand her.
But she never said it.
She kept everything inside.
She smiled, adjusted, and moved on, telling herself it was nothing.
But it was not nothing.
It stayed.
It slowly filled her.
She believed she was the one adjusting. But others had their own lives too. They were carrying their own struggles, and still, they were adjusting to her – her tone, her silence, her sudden reactions.
She never really saw that.
She only saw her own weight.
She started reacting to things without fully understanding them.
Feeling more than asking.
Assuming more than listening.
Sometimes even speaking for things that were not hers to speak about.
And everything inside her kept building.
All the unsaid words.
All the swallowed feelings.
All the quiet frustration.
Until one day, something small happened. Something that should have passed like any other day.
But it did not.
It poked everything she had been holding inside.
And she broke.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
But all at once.
Her words came out sharp. Heavy with everything she never said before.
Not just about that moment…
But about everything.
They fell on someone who did not push back.
Someone who did not turn it into a fight.
Just silence.
A silence that did not argue… but absorbed.
And in that silence, her words went deeper than she ever meant them to.
In that moment, she did not see it. She was too full of what she was feeling.
Too controlled by it.
When everything became still… It came back to her.
Not as anger.
As weight.
She saw it then.
The way she spoke.
Get Arundhathi Chandh’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
The way she let everything spill out.
The way she chose that moment… that person.
Not because they deserved it.
But because it was easier.
Because she needed somewhere to put her pain.
And that is where it hurt the most. She did not just hurt someone. She made herself someone she never wanted to be.
Someone who speaks without thinking.
Someone who lets emotions control everything.
Someone who creates pain instead of understanding.
Slowly, things changed.
Conversations became distant.
Eyes avoided hers.
Silence stayed longer than before.
And without anyone saying it out loud…
She felt it. She had become different in their eyes.
Separate. A black sheep.
Like she no longer belonged the same way.
Not because they hated her.
But because something had broken.
She was too late when she understood.
Others have their own lives too.
They were adjusting, just like she was.
She misunderstood people.
And sometimes, she herself felt misunderstood.
She could not express what she felt, so it came out as rage – at the wrong time, at the wrong place, at the wrong person.
And in a moment when she could have been softer…
She chose to release everything instead.
Now what remains is not noise.
It is quiet.
A quiet guilt.
The kind that does not leave easily.
She let her emotions control her.
She made a moment bigger than it was.
She made herself a stranger in her own circle. And somewhere in all of this…
She made a fool of herself.
Some words cannot be taken back.
Some moments cannot be changed.
Some damage cannot be undone.
And she sits with that truth.
Feeling it.
Knowing it.
Carrying it.
A scar to be carried till death.
