“The Microaggressions We Don’t Notice in Our Own Sisterhoods”
Sometimes, it’s not the loud rivalries that break us—but the quiet, subtle jabs passed off as love. Sisters Anaira and Alvira were never openly at war. But in their unspoken gestures, side-eyes, and passive digs, there was a tension so thick it could smother a room.
And all it took was one guy with hazel eyes to bring it out in full force.
Anaira’s POV
Alvira always had this… pure desi girl image. Flowing kurtas, jhumkas, making chai with cardamom like it was a ritual. She knew every ghazal, read poetry like it was scripture.
I, on the other hand, believed in cropped tops and the right amount of red lipstick. I wore low-cut shirts and short skirts because I could. I wasn’t going to sit in a corner pretending modesty when I had curves worth flaunting.
And I knew he noticed.
He looked at me differently.
One time, I wore this skin-tight black skirt with a fitted shirt, pencil heels clicking like confidence on tile. Alvira glared at me like I stole something.
I didn’t.
I just knew how to get his attention.
That night, I woke him up playfully while he napped on the couch. One nudge became a laugh. One laugh became a moment. And next thing I knew, I was pinned beneath him, both of us breathing heavy. It escalated—too fast, too reckless.
He felt guilty.
I didn’t.
Because I had him first.
But Alvira heard it.
From the squeaks of the bed to the too-loud squeals.
The house felt like a thunderstorm of silence.
Thank God our parents were at work.
In the kitchen the next morning, Alvira slammed his breakfast plate down like it was a warning shot. I walked in, wearing his shirt like a crown. He followed behind in nothing but tracks.
Alvira didn’t say anything at first. Just served the food. Tense. Controlled.
But then she called me later and asked one thing:
“What are you proving?”
And I said:
“That I’m the better sister. In everything. Sorry for the noise. No one wants to hear your ghazals.”
Alvira’s POV
He used to smile at me when I wore my favorite green salwar.
I thought that meant something.
Until I saw Anaira parade into the kitchen like she owned him, wearing his shirt.
And he… didn’t stop her.
I heard everything the night before.
From my room.
From the walls that couldn’t protect me.
From the bed squeaking like it had no shame.
I covered my ears, whispered istighfar under my breath, but nothing drowned it out.
I looked at her that morning. She wasn’t even walking straight. He had marks on his neck. And all I could think was:
“Why her?”
I wasn’t going to cry. So I slammed the plate. Said “Thank you.” Walked away.
Called her later.
She answered with pride in her voice.
That she was better than me.
I hung up.
I had lost a boy I never even had.
And a sister I thought I understood.
Zayan’s POV
Yes, I noticed Anaira.
I noticed her curves, her laughter, the way she smelled like trouble and vanilla.
But I never planned to… sleep with her.
It just happened.
In a blur.
In a haze of play fights and heavy breathing.
And the worst part?
I had a girlfriend.
Back where I studied.
Her name popped up on my phone—Aneeka 💍—while Anaira was still in the bathroom.
That’s when she saw it.
“Who is she?”
I paused. “Aneeka. My girlfriend. We’ve been together two years. Our families… it’s serious.”
She looked like I slapped her.
“Then why didn’t you control yourself when I came in?”
I didn’t have an answer.
She walked off, gagging in the bathroom—regret or disgust, I don’t know.
I ruined everything.
Zayaan’s POV – Final Confrontation
I didn’t run away from it.
From her.
From the truth.
I booked the earliest ticket back and waited until we were alone in her family’s living room, surrounded by silence and photos of the future we were supposed to have.
“Aneeka,” I said, voice rough.
She looked up with those big, knowing eyes.
She already knew something was wrong.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
I told her everything.
No sugarcoating. No twisting it.
Just the truth, in all its ugliness.
The silence afterward was louder than the confession.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me.
“Do you still love me?” she finally asked.
I swallowed hard.
“Yes. I love you. I never stopped. I just… failed. Once. Miserably. But I love you.”
She leaned back, arms crossed, pain etched into every part of her.
“Then here’s your truth, Zayaan. You get one chance to love someone with loyalty. You used it.”
I looked at her, unsure if that was her answer.
Then she said:
“I’ll decide if I still want to be loved by you. But this time, I hold the power. Not your guilt. Not your regret. Me.”
She walked out of the room.
And for the first time in a long time, I realized:
Loving someone isn’t enough.
Sometimes, you break something that can’t be fixed with apologies.
And I might have just lost the one person who ever loved me fully—with no microaggressions, no games… just pure, patient love.
Aneeka’s POV – Full Circle
They’ll all call me stupid. Naive. Hypocritical. Maybe I am.
But I wasn’t innocent either.
Before any of this — before Alvira, before Anaira — it was just me and Zayaan… and a mess that began when I knew he was seeing someone else, but I still let him into my world.
And my body.
I told myself it was love.
It felt like fate — chaotic, flawed, magnetic. We kept coming back to each other, even when we shouldn’t have.
Back then, he had a girl named Kiran.
A sweet, ambitious soul who didn’t know her boyfriend was falling in love with another woman.
Me.
So yeah, I cheated too.
I told myself it was okay because “he’d leave her for me.”
And eventually, he did.
But at what cost?
We began with betrayal and ended up begging for forgiveness.
When he cheated on me with Anaira, it felt like a punishment.
Like God was showing me what Kiran must have felt.
And that broke me more than anything.
But here’s the truth no one talks about:
We don’t always get to rewrite our story.
But we do get to choose how it ends.
When Zayaan stood in front of me, apologizing, broken, begging…
I looked into his eyes and saw every version of us—messy, passionate, foolish, unfinished.
“I cheated with you,” I said quietly.
“And now I have to live with being cheated on by you. Maybe that’s the universe showing us we were never built on the right foundation.”
He was silent.
“But I still love you,” I whispered.
“And maybe… we start again. But this time with honesty. With God. With clean hands.”
He nodded, eyes glassy.
And for the first time, we didn’t kiss.
We didn’t fall into each other.
We just stood there, still — deciding if we were brave enough to rebuild from ashes.
And in the end…
Anaira burned her old crop tops and miniskirts in their backyard fire pit.
Not because anyone told her to — but because for once, she wanted to be seen for her heart, not her body.
She started wearing long, flowy clothes. Still stylish. Still stunning. But intentional.
She apologized to Alvira — not with words, but with space, respect, and finally, silence.
Alvira found peace in herself.
She stopped waking up to prove she was better than her sister.
Started journaling. Volunteering.
And one day, she looked in the mirror and said,
“He was never worth the noise between us.”
Zayaan started praying again.
He deleted Kiran’s old texts, unfollowed Anaira, and began therapy.
He learned that love without control is chaos.
And passion without boundaries is just destruction dressed up as desire.
Aneeka?
She smiled more now.
She forgave herself.
She still loved Zayaan — but she loved herself more.
They didn’t rush into marriage.
They chose to heal first.
And that made all the difference.
Final Moment – Alvira’s POV
I came home late, and the house was quiet.
Anaira was curled up on the couch alone. Her eyes swollen. A hoodie hiding her pride.
We didn’t say much. Just sat there, two sisters torn by a guy who wasn’t even ours to begin with.
After a while, I whispered:
“He’s not worth it.”
She nodded.
And in that silence, we realized:
We weren’t enemies.
We were mirrors.
Flawed. Broken. But still connected.