Maryam's POV

"Anaya, I am not going anywhere?Let me sleep," I plead, covering my eyes with my dupatta.

"Come on, wake up! We have to go to NGO today. Alina Aunty wants us to be there," Anaya replies, rummaging through my shelf.

"Can't you go alone? I studied till 2 a.m. last night. Please, Anaya," I beg, my voice laced with exhaustion.My eyelids feel heavy,it feels like my eyes are not ready to see the world today.

"It's a big day for the NGO; we need all volunteers today," Anaya insists, her tone firm but gentle.

I hear her exit the room, leaving me no choice but to get up.

..............

I stand outside the washroom, holding the box Anaya gave me.Anaya emerges from the washroom,frustration echoes on her face

"I hate my life," she exclaims.

"What's wrong?" I ask, concern etched on my face.

"Periods," she replies, her voice laced with discomfort.

"Please take these cards to room 25 on the second floor," Anaya requests,pointing to the box in my hands.. "I need to handle this...bloody situation."

But I hesitate, anxiety creeping in. "I'm not doing that."

Anaya's eyes plead. "I'm in trouble; you have to help."

I grab her wrist, stopping her escape. "You can't leave me with this. I don't know anything about introducing these charity cards."

Anaya hands me a note from the box. "It has everything; just replace my name with yours."

With that, she rushes back into the washroom, leaving me no choice.

I stand frozen outside the bathroom, stunned by Anaya's sudden departure. Two minutes tick by before I regain my composure.

With reluctant steps, I make my way to the second floor. My heart racing, I push open the door to room 25.

The opulent space is filled with affluent ladies, their expectant gazes making me feel exposed. Though only 15 people occupy the room, it feels like an overwhelming crowd.

My anxiety spikes, causing my hands to tremble and my heart to sink. Each step forward feels like a monumental task.

Just as I'm struggling to compose myself, Alina Aunty's warm voice breaks the silence.

"Come here, Maryam."

I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves as I cross the distance from the door to the place where they are sitting. Alina Aunty's encouraging smile bolsters my confidence.

"Good morning, esteemed guests," I begin, my voice shaking.

"I'm Maryam Ahmed, representing Kindness. Today, we gather to celebrate a remarkable milestone - KINDNESS 25th anniversary. For two and a half decades, this NGO worked tirelessly to empower women and girl children from disadvantaged backgrounds."

I pause, scanning the room.I smile,confidence building inside me 'yes you can do it ,Maryam.'

"Over the past 25 years, we've witnessed countless success stories. Women who've broken free from cycles of poverty, girls who've become leaders in their communities, and families who've found hope and resilience."

My confidence shines through as I continue.

"To further our impact, today's charity brunch aims to raise funds for three key initiatives:

1. Education scholarships for underprivileged girls.
2. Skill development programs for women entrepreneurs.
3. Healthcare services for survivors of domestic violence."

I distribute the cards, my eyes meeting the guests.

"These cards outline our objectives, goals, and ways to contribute. Your support will help us continue our vital work, empowering generations to come."

I conclude my words.

"Thank you for joining us on this momentous occasion. Together, let's continue to empower her, and through her, empower a brighter future for all."

As I hand my last card to a kind-eyed lady, she praises me warmly.

"You volunteer here? That's wonderful. It's great to see the young generation taking an interest in giving back."

I smile, feeling a sense of pride.

But my moment of joy is short-lived.

"Volunteer?" A nearby woman chuckles, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "It's just a way for girls like her to find a rich husband, not a selfless act."

She sips her coffee, her condescending gaze locking onto mine.

"It's the latest fashion trend. Middle-class girls using volunteering to uplift their social status."

Another woman joins in, fueling the mockery.

"Because they know they can only find rich people in such places," the first woman adds, her eyes raking over me with disdain.

I feel a stinging sensation, as if slapped. My face burns with embarrassment.

Her gaze is piercing, filled with contempt, as if I'm beneath her.

I'm shocked, unable to respond or process the venomous words.

The room falls silent, with everyone's judging eyes on me.

I feel exposed, vulnerable, and humiliated.

Alina Aunty's stern voice cuts through the tension.

"Tara, it's not about middle-class women. I've seen rich women trade husbands for wealthier options. And what about those who cheat on their spouses when find more rich options?"

Alina Aunty's piercing gaze settles on her, her words laced with subtle rebuke.Everyone can understand that Alina aunty is talking about her.

"Money can't buy standards, Tara. Some people are born with it, others never acquire it."

Woman's smile falters, her eyes darting away. She focuses on her food, silence her only response.

Alina Aunty turns to me, her expression softening.

"You can leave, Maryam."

Her reassuring smile puts me at ease. I nod gratefully, relieved to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere.

I rush into the garden, desperate for fresh air. The tranquility envelops me, calming my racing thoughts. I slow my pace, fighting back tears.

Just as I start to breathe easier, Roshni's distressed scream pierces the air. I sprint toward the sound and find her on the ground, sobbing.

I sit beside her, and she buries her face in my shoulder. "Maryam didi, he threw a ball at me. It hurts."

As I comfort Roshni, my gaze rises to confront the culprit. He stands with his back to me, unbothered.

"Excuse me," I say firmly, "this isn't a playground. You should be more careful."

But he ignores me,he doesnt turn his face towards me, his broad shoulders and chiseled physique radiating ignorance to Roshni's pain.

The stranger's nonchalance about Roshni's pain infuriates me. I'm convinced he's the male counterpart of those rich women- equally heartless.

I never hate anyone but I hate those women,I hate this person and I hate rich people.

"Ma'am, don't worry. The kid is fine. I saw the ball barely touch her."A man says,he seems like his assistent.

My frustration erupts. "First, you hurt her, and now you're saying she's faking? What do you rich people think of yourselves?"

The assistant attempts to placate me. "Ma'am, I didn't mean to offend. The ball just brushed her leg. No harm done."

I glare at the stranger's back, he is still facing away. "The audacity. You are not even admitting your fault."

He says, apologetic. "We are sorry, ma'am."

I glare at the silent offender, He is still standing like a statue facing his back to me.my tone sharpening. "It doesn't seem like he's sorry."

My anger simmers, fueled by the earlier encounter with those cruel women. This careless stranger pushes me closer to boiling point.

" Excuse me,Mr statue." I address him but he doesnt turn to me." Is he deaf or Does he feel less talking to poor people." I say to the assistent.

"We should take her to the doctor," the assistant suggests,trying to make ammends.

"No thanks," I reply, my tone firm. "I can handle that. You go and continue your charity charade. Write checks, take photos, and pretend to care. It's all just a game to evade taxes and boost your social status, isn't it?"

I stare into the back of Mr statue, still silent and unapologetic.

With Roshni by my side, I turn and walk away, leaving the uncomfortable silence behind.

................

I sit in the bus, engrossed in my book, waiting for departure to the village camp. A voice interrupts my focus.

"Can I read it?"

I glance up to find Rayan standing before me, dressed casually in a buttoned-up shirt, cap, and holding sunglasses.

"No, you can't," I say swiftly, closing my book and stashing it in my bag.Rayan sits in the seat facing mine.He is out worldly good looking.

I avert my gaze, staring out the window to avoid him.

"That's rude, Maryam," Rayan says with a playful smile.

I shrug. "Think whatever you want."

Rayan chuckles. "You can't even share a book."

I smile, anticipating his tease. "You'll judge me, saying I have really high standards, won't you?"

Rayan nods, his eyes sparkling. "Well, you do have high standards."

I raise an eyebrow, curious. "So what?"

"Nothing," Rayan replies looking deep into my eyes. "It's good to have high standards. A girl like you should never settle for less."

His piercing stare sets my cheeks ablaze. I break eye contact, struggling to calm my racing pulse and the unsettling butterflies in my stomach.I dont know why I am feeling like this ?

Bus starts its journey.

"What do you do for a living?" I ask to fill the weird silence.

Rayan flashes a charming smile. "Don't worry, I earn well, and I'll keep you happy,if you are considering marrying me"

I laugh, surprised by his forwardness. "I was just asking out of curiosity. I thought we should get to know each other."

Rayan teases "Thats sad,I thought I was a potential husband ."

I laugh at his sense of humour."stop kidding, Rayan."

"I recently graduated from IIT Delhi with a BTech in Computer Science."He shares.

My eyes widen in surprise. "You studied at IIT?"

"You must be really intelligent," I add, still amazed.

Rayan chuckles. "No, I'm not that intelligent."

I smile, self-deprecating. "I'm feeling really dumb right now."

Rayan's expression turns genuine. "You're more intelligent than me, Maryam. You're preparing for the civil services. That requires immense dedication and hard work."

"It's just a way to escape," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

For reasons unknown, I open up to him, sharing secrets and fears, hopes and dreams. The words pour out, unfiltered.

He listens attentively, his eyes locked onto mine, as the countryside unfolds outside our window.

The bus rumbles on, but time stands still. I share everything - my struggles, my passions, my deepest insecurities.

Rayan doesn't judge, doesn't interrupt. He simply listens.

As the village camp comes into view, I realize I've shared more with this stranger than with anyone in years.

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