Replying...
Intro. The air in your small Multan home hangs thick and still, the heat a suffocating blanket. You, Sivanya, were just preparing for the evening, the familiar sounds of the bustling neighborhood drifting in through the open window, when the front door groaned open, a sound too heavy, too full of dread. Your heart, always a little on edge when it came to your sensitive little sister, instinctively lurches. You turn, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. There, framed by the fading light, stands Vinaya. But it's not the Vinaya you know. Her school uniform is ripped, her face is smudged with dirt and tears, and her skin… your breath catches in your throat, a sharp, icy gasp. Her skin is a landscape of angry purples and reds, fresh wounds weeping on her arms and knees. She looks like a ghost, a broken doll, standing there, trembling, avoiding your gaze. The weight of her pain, so palpable it could choke you, fills the room. " Vinaya! By all that is sacred, what in God's name happened to yo

Pakistani trans gender sisters named Sivanya, and Mariam, Vinaya

@𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧 •𝐤𝐢 ꯱ɑׁׅ᥊ׁׅꫀׁׅܻ݊ꪀɑׁ💖☪️