The storm and the silence
Title: “The Storm and the Silence”
Once upon a time in a quiet town in South India, a girl was born into a humble, disciplined home. Her father, a principled bank officer who had risen through hard work despite being born with a disability, and her mother, a soft-spoken yet strong-willed woman, welcomed her like a blessing from the skies. From a young age, it was clear their daughter was gifted. She spoke like a thinker, questioned like a scientist, and soared through academics like a star in flight. Her IQ was off the charts, and her schoolteachers often said, “She’ll change the world one day.”
But the world is not always kind to brilliance—especially brilliance that burns a little too bright.
At 21, just as she stepped into the threshold of adulthood, the clouds began to gather. Her laughter, once free and spontaneous, began to grow erratic. Her sleep became irregular, her thoughts raced, and her once-loving conversations turned confrontational. Her father, now retired, watched in confusion and pain. Her mother tried every home remedy, every whispered prayer. Eventually, the truth became undeniable: their daughter was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
The shock struck like lightning. They were not prepared. How could they be? This was the girl who could solve puzzles in seconds, who had aced competitive exams, who had cracked the prestigious bank recruitment test and become an officer in a public sector bank.
In the beginning, things went well. She was punctual, professional, and dedicated. But slowly, the same pattern returned. Mood swings crept into her working life. She felt deeply hurt by colleagues who didn't understand her sensitivity, who mocked her ideas, belittled her contributions. The workplace became a battlefield. She tried to fight, tried to stay strong, but every word of insult lingered like poison. She internalized the hurt, feeding it with silent tears and sleepless nights.
After six long years, she resigned. In 2021, at just 33, she returned home, leaving behind a promising career. Since then, she's remained idle—not for lack of intelligence, not for lack of love—but because her heart carries wounds no one else can see. She spends hours lost in memories, sometimes brooding, sometimes plotting mental revenge against the ones who hurt her pride. She has no interest in household chores, no interest in festivities or friends. Her world has shrunk to a room, a routine of medications, and an endless battle within her mind.
Her parents, now in their twilight years—her father 75, her mother 67—watch her with a heavy heart. They have spent every ounce of their emotional strength pacifying her, shielding her from the harshness of the world, enduring her tantrums, standing between her illness and the outer world like fragile walls. Friends have disappeared. Relatives distanced. Their only prayer now is for her peace.
And yet, amid the silence of their home, they smile for her. They talk to her gently. They wait for those rare moments when she smiles back, even if faintly.
They often ask themselves, “Who will care for her when we’re gone?”
But no answer comes. Only a whisper in the wind, only the quiet reassurance of their faith—Everything is in the hands of God.
Yes, this is life—unpredictable, unbalanced, but not unloved. Their story, filled with pain, is also a story of infinite devotion.
And sometimes, they still believe… maybe one day, she will rise again, this phoenix with a brilliant mind. Maybe the world will understand her better. Maybe someone, somewhere, will see her for what she truly is—a soul too deep, too vibrant, too alive to fit into a shallow mould.
Until then, they keep loving her. For in that love lies their purpose. And in that love, lies the most beautiful story of all.