Feiru thought she had buried her past beneath designer furniture and billion-dollar views. But when a photo of her younger self on her wall blinked…. everything came rushing back. An unrealistic encounter between who she was and who she became, this psychological drama that explores the depth into the cost of survival, the illusion of success, and the voices we try hardest to ignore.
The Blinking Photo, A psychological short story by Nimra Shabbir (Nimrao).
The girl in the photo on her wall blinked.
Feiru stood completely still. Her grip on the tea mug tightened, then loosened as her fingers gave out. The mug fell. It hit the floor with a sharp crack and rolled before tipping over, spilling hot espresso across the tiles.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back. She just stared. Stared hard and shallow.
The girl in the photo was her. Little Feiru on her first day of university. Her eyes were wide, bright, full of light. A smile so big and open and full of excitement. A kind of feeling Feiru hadn’t felt in years. Something that belonged to a different life.
Feiru wiped her palms against her thighs. Sweat had formed at the base of her neck. Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear, because feiru never feared anything or anyone. Her mind tried to reason with her. Am I hallucinating? Too much caffeine? No sleep? Stress? None of that mattered for now.
Because the girl in the photo had just blinked. And now, she was talking.
“What happened?” the girl asked, her voice clear and soft. “You dropped a mug.”
Feiru swallowed hard. Her voice barely came out. Just a few minutes earlier, she had been sitting on her favorite designer sofa she bought from an auction, sipping hot espresso, when her eyes fell on the picture frame. She stood up as if the picture was calling her. And then, suddenly, the photo blinked.
The girl in the photo kept looking straight ahead, her smile still there.
“It’s funny,” she said. “You have never been afraid of anyone else.”
Feiru looked straight into those eyes. Eyes that used to be hers. That still were, but now seemed more shallow. She took a deep breath.
“I have never been afraid of anyone else,” she said quietly, “except me.”
She paused.
“Because I have always known the madness inside me. I know what I am capable of when I break.”
Silence followed. A thick, heavy silence that said everything words could not.
Little Feiru didn’t lose her smile. If anything, she smiled even wider. Then she laughed a little and said,
“So Feiru type. Always talking negatively and monstrously about herself.”
Feiru’s chest rose and fell, breaths shallow and sharp. Then something inside her snapped. Her eyes narrowed. Her jaw clenched. She took a step forward. Her gaze hardened as she looked straight at the picture.
“What are you doing here?” she said through clenched jaw. “You got what you wanted, right? You wanted to be happy. I made you happy.”
Little Feiru stopped laughing and blinked, but her expression didn’t change.
“This is not happiness,” she said. “You are not happy.”
Feiru scoffed. She turned away from the photo and took a few steps into the wide open space of her penthouse. She opened her arms and spun around once.
“Not happy?” she said, louder now. “You always thought money was going to buy you happiness, right? With a lot of food. With a lot of luxury. What else did you want?”
She turned to face the photo again.
“Look at it,” she said. “Just look.”
She motioned around her, walking slowly, her voice rising with every word.
“I am on top of a building that’s worth billions. A building that I own. I live in a penthouse where I can see the entire city from my bedroom window. I was just sitting on a designer sofa that cost twenty thousand dollars for one set.”
Her hand pointed to it, the sofa cushions still holding the shape of where she had been sitting moments ago.
“I am worth billions now. And you are saying I’m not happy?”
She let out a hollow laugh, arms falling to her sides.
“You always wanted to be a big shot. So you could be happy. So you could travel. Do bungee jumping. Run off to different countries whenever you felt like it. Buy anything, wear anything, eat whatever you want. Now what? I did all of that. I became all of that.”
Her voice broke slightly as she looked back toward the girl in the photo.
“And you’re telling me… that I’m not happy?”
The girl in the photo didn’t speak right away. She just looked at Feiru, her eyes pitiful and empathetic now. Like they’d aged without ever leaving the frame. That brightness from before was still there, but it dimmed a little, like it had been carrying too much. Seeing too much.
Then, quietly, Little Feiru said, “I know it’s too much for you…” Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper.
“I thought this is what I wanted. I really thought becoming a rebel and taking control of my life would make me happy.”
She looked down, as if even inside the photo she couldn’t hold her own gaze anymore.
“But now, seeing you… like this. Every day. Broken. Exhausted. Always pretending you’re fine. I just couldn’t hold it anymore and had to come here and say…”
She looked back up, and there were unseen tears in her voice.
“I can’t have it. I don’t want any of this. Not like this.”
She paused. Her lips pressed together for a second, like she was holding back more than just words.
“I just want you to be happy. Even if it means I have to eat bread and butter every day just to survive.”
She let out a shaky breath.
“I just want you to be happy.”
Feiru felt furious. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers curled into fists. She stared at the photo, breathing hard, her eyes burning but not with sadness this time, but rage.
“Now there is no need and time for guilt, pity, and sympathy. I hate those looks more than anything and you know that!” she muttered. “Time has flown by. And I am what I am. And I am happy.”
She walked over, grabbed the photo frame with one hand, and without another word, threw it straight out of the window.
She walked to the edge and looked down from the fiftieth floor, her arms crossed, her face cold. Her eyes scanned the pavement below, where the photo had disappeared.
“I hate people who stare at me like that, even if it’s my own younger self.” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “She isn’t sure about her own desire. How is she talking about my well-being? Huh. Pathetic little bud.”
She turned away from the window, walked back into the ever growing silence of her luxury apartment.
“Being a person in control of her own life has changed me a lot. I have to be on guard always,” she said under her breath.
“I even question my own self now. Tsk, what a bummer… that was my favorite photo. But not anymore. Because I’m not that person. And I don’t need reminders.”
Her voice was firm, but her steps slowed as she crossed the room. The silence thickened again, but this time, it wasn’t from shock. It was the kind of silence that comes after a long fight within. That photo hadn’t spoken by magic. She had made it.
Years ago, when the fire inside her was still burning for something more than just survival. When the pain of what happened to her still kept her up at night. When she was still chasing a kind of healing she didn’t know how to name.
She had poured herself into research. Studied how memories could be programmed. How a digital photo could be built to respond. Speak. Remember. She built the frame herself, her own creation. Her own invention. A desperate attempt to hold onto the part of her she felt slipping away.
Because after the silence. After the unforgettable incident that happened decades ago, Feiru was forced her into pretending that it never happened. After she pushed herself through university, then climbed higher and higher, past every limit, through every shortcut, into a life built on control and fear, she realized she didn’t recognize herself anymore.
So she created the photo.
She needed it to blink. To speak. To remind her. But now… now she knew. It was useless. It was pathetic.
Because even if the photo remembered who she was, she doesn’t want that girl back. She didn’t want that softness. That unmatchable spark. That intense light. Not anymore atleast. Because now her world is completely dark and there is no room for light. The frame did what she had made it to do… it remembered. It spoke. But it was too late.
Feiru walked away from the window and sat back down on the designer sofa. This time, without the espresso. Without the photo. Without the past.
She looked around at everything she had built. Everything she had fought for. And whispered,
“That version of me is gone. She doesn’t get to speak anymore.”
This story was supposed to be written to enter the July competition at Novelo. But I saw the ad a bit late and I didn’t had time to enter the competition. But, it didn’t stop me to explore the topic.
Interesting👀
The twist was unexpected and literally 🔥🔥🔥🔥
Wonderfullll storyyy just love it🩷🩷🩷
🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷