Sunday Short: GLUTTONY

The twins were identical only at birth.

As they grew older, the differences became impossible to miss.

Amara, the elder by seven minutes, lived to eat. She loved midnight desserts, street food crawls, tasting menus that lasted hours. Food was joy, comfort, celebration. She documented it all, turning her appetite into a successful food blog followed by thousands.

Yet her body never changed.

Not a single kilo gained. No bloating. No fatigue. No guilt.

“God really has favorites,” she’d laugh, licking sugar off her fingers.

Her younger sister, Alya, was the opposite.

Disciplined. Controlled. Obsessed with health.

Alya tracked every calorie, ran before sunrise, lifted weights until her muscles screamed. She panicked over a slice of cake, felt shame over a spoonful of rice. Still, her body betrayed her constantly.

She gained weight easily. Painfully. Unfairly.

“I don’t understand,” Alya would whisper, staring at the scale in disbelief after eating nothing more than an apple.

Amara would shrug. “Different metabolisms, I guess.”

Neither of them questioned it.

They separated in their twenties.

Alya married, had a child, and slipped into the exhausting rhythm of full-time motherhood. Gym visits became rare. Meal prep turned into leftovers eaten standing by the sink. Still, she tried — still punished herself when the numbers climbed.

The weight came fast.

Too fast.

Her joints ached. Her breath shortened. Doctors blamed hormones, stress, lifestyle. Alya blamed herself. She starved. She cried. She apologized to her husband for becoming “unrecognizable.”

Meanwhile, Amara thrived.

Her blog exploded. Sponsorships rolled in. She traveled city to city, eating endlessly, filming herself glowing with pleasure. Her body remained untouched — slim, effortless, admired.

She never noticed when Alya stopped calling.

By the time Alya reached 200 kilograms, her husband was gone.

He took their child.

“You’ve let yourself go,” he said gently, cruelly. “You’re not trying anymore.”

Alya believed him.

Weeks later, she collapsed in her kitchen.

The heart attack was massive. Sudden. Final.

Amara screamed when she heard the news.

At the funeral, she stood over her sister’s body, swollen and still, and felt something twist deep inside her — guilt, grief, something darker.

She stopped binge eating.

She canceled collaborations. Turned down food tours. She ate carefully. Mindfully. Respectfully.

But it didn’t matter.

Within months, the weight came for her.

Relentless. Merciless.

Her body ballooned faster than any doctor could explain. Diets failed. Surgery was suggested. Apologies were made. Pity replaced admiration.

In one year, Amara reached the same number.

200 kilograms.

Only then did she understand.

Whatever she had eaten… Alya had carried.

And now there was no one left to carry it for her.

Amara died alone in her apartment, surrounded by untouched food she no longer had the strength to enjoy.

Two sisters.

One appetite.

One punishment, delayed.

Gluttony never starves.

It just waits.