Arya P.O.V.

After a day of school that feels like riding high on a rollercoaster of excitement, I return home, my heart still dancing with the thrill of the day. But as I step inside, a peculiar stillness greets me, shrouding the house in an unusual silence. Something is off, and the warmth of anticipation that buoyed me throughout the day begins to give way to a gnawing sense of unease. My gaze sweeps across the living room, the hallway, but no sign of Meghna. That's when a slight tug of worry begins to gnaw at my insides.

I venture deeper into the house, the air feeling heavier with every step. The warm hues of the evening sun sneak through the half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the room. My steps grow slower, hesitating as I near Meghna's room. The door is slightly ajar, and a sense of foreboding settles over me like a heavy cloud.

Pushing the door open gently, I enter the room. There she is, Meghna, perched on her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. It's a sight that immediately makes my heart ache - my strong sister, visibly vulnerable and in distress, her usual aura of confidence dimmed.

"Hey," I murmur softly, my voice carrying a mix of concern and comfort, as if trying to bridge the gap of her pain. "Is everything okay?"

Meghna's shoulders tremble slightly, and when she looks up, I see the glisten of tears in her eyes. That sight is enough to shatter the remaining barriers of my heart, and an ache settles deep within me. I cross the room in long strides, sinking down to sit beside her on the bed. Without a word, I wrap my arm around her, offering the silent solace she needs.

As the sunrays play across the room, painting patterns of light and shadow, Meghna finally speaks, her voice shaky but laden with relief. She shares how terrified she was, facing the inquiry alone, the weight of judgment and consequences heavy on her shoulders. But then, Ahan had held her hand, a steadfast anchor amid the storm. He had faced the questions alongside her, their voices united in truth.

They asked many questions, prodding and poking into every corner of their lives, insinuating the worst. Yet, they stood strong, determined to let the truth shine through the darkness of false accusations. Meghna's voice wavered as she recalled how they had answered each question, faced each accusation with unwavering determination. It was a battle of words, a battle for their integrity.

A small, fragile smile tugs at Meghna's lips as she recounts their resilience, how they band together against the storm of doubt, fending off the looming threat of expulsion. She wipes away a tear with trembling fingers, her vulnerability laid bare before me.

"He's been handling everything, Arya," she whispers, her voice fragile but filled with gratitude. "We got through the inquiry, and they didn't expel me."

Relief surges within me, matching hers, and a genuine smile curves my lips, tinged with tears of my own. But then, she shares the final twist in this tale, the sting in the sweet victory. Ahan's father, the college Dean, looked at her with disdain before leaving. His words, a venomous question, "I wonder how your father will react to it when he gets to hear all about it," carried a bitter edge. The happiness seems to drain from the room, leaving behind a hollow ache that resonates within me.

Fear clenches my heart at the mere thought of our father knowing about it. The weight of his expectations has always driven Meghna, and now the possibility of him knowing about it, a burden I'm not sure Meghna can bear.

My arm tightens around Meghna, pulling her closer as if to shield her from the world's cruelty and the uncertainties that lie ahead. The evening sun, once a comforting presence, now casts long shadows that dance like specters on the walls.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, dii," I whisper, my voice fierce and unwavering, an oath made to protect and uplift. "We'll face this together, we'll face everything together, no matter what, and we'll get over every challenge that comes our way. And as for Dad-"

"Meghna," Suddenly, Dad's voice reverberates through the stillness of the living room, the words carrying an edge of accusation. The news has reached him, thanks to that dean. It's a feeling I've never experienced before - the intense desire to punch someone, and the dean's face fills my mind. Dad's entrance was like a storm entering through the main gate, his fury palpable in every step. The room's atmosphere shifted instantly, crackling with tension akin to the electricity in the air before a tempest. He stormed into the room, his visage a mask of wrath, his eyes fixated on Meghna. Her tear-stained face and trembling figure seemed to be stoking the fires of his anger.

"Meghna, what in the world is this?" His voice thundered, bouncing off the walls with its force. "Do you think I don't have enough on my plate already?" His words are laced with frustration. The intensity of his anger is something I've never witnessed before.

Meghna's response is muted, her form shrinking against the bed as his voice booms, a mixture of fear and defiance in her eyes.

Her sobs only seem to fan the flames of his anger, and a fierce resolve awakens within me. Though my heart is racing, I move closer to her, interposing myself between her and dad. My instinct to protect takes control. "It wasn't her fault," I retort, my voice surprisingly steady despite the turmoil inside me. "She's not responsible for this."

His gaze narrows, redirecting his fury towards me. "Stay out of this, Arya," his words drip with venom. "This isn't your concern."

But I refuse to yield. Not this time. No one can berate my sister when she's already grappling with so much, when she's finally embracing her own path. I step closer to Dad, sheltering Meghna behind me, my gaze unwavering. "It is my concern when my sister is being unjustly accused of something she didn't do. You have to listen to her first."

In the doorway, my mother hovers, her eyes betraying a mix of fear and helplessness. She remains silent, a reminder that speaking out in this house is akin to courting disaster.

"You still have anything to say, Arya?" Dad's voice is tinged with bitter sarcasm, his eyes ablaze with anger. He steps aside, fixing his gaze on Meghna, his voice a chilling whisper. "Look at what your great sister has unleashed. Those pictures, those posts - they're all over the place. How could you have done this? Did you even think once about your family? About us?"

Meghna's sobs intensify, her frame quaking beneath the weight of his condemnation.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, a fragile admission. My heart clenches, a mixture of pain and anger surfacing in my eyes.

"No, dii, don't apologize. It's not your mistake. You didn't do anything wrong." I envelop her in a protective embrace, my expression fierce as I lock eyes with Dad. "It's not her fault, Dad. Someone is framing her."

His hand trembles with rage, his words oozing disdain. "Framed? You want me to believe that? That she didn't just hug that muslim guy? And my daughter didn't just tarnish our family's name?"

His hand rises, aiming for Meghna's face, and I instinctively step between them. The sting of the slap is a shock to my system; he's never raised a hand against us before. The pain radiates from my cheek, my eyes welling up, but I refuse to falter.

Dad doesn't even flinch before speaking again, as if he didn't just slap me, "What will people say when they see these images, huh?" His words hiss forth, tinted with a twisted sense of superiority. "Do you understand the disgrace you've brought upon us?"

Meeting his gaze head-on, my eyes burn with defiance. "And do you understand the disgrace you've brought upon yourself by valuing people's opinion over your own daughters' happiness?" I step closer meeting his eyes Inches away, "If you had tried to know your daughter even a bit, you wouldn't get to know about it from people."

Dad's hand, a raised storm ready to unleash its fury again, but suddenly a voice echoes stopping it in the mid-air.

"Enough," A fragile yet potent declaration that reverberated through the room, shattering the maelstrom. Mom steps forward, saying, "don't talk to your father like that."

Her eyes meets mine for a second before turning to dad and I notice tears glistening like fragile stars. In that moment, she stands as a sentinel between my father's anger and the safety of her daughter.

A silent exchange passes between them, a dialogue woven with unspoken emotions. Her teary gaze met his, her voice, laced with vulnerability, held a depth that only a mother's love could muster. "You're angry right now, let's talk later. Please, calm down."

But dad glare bores into me before he turns, storming out of the room. His departing words drip with venom, a poisonous promise. "Meghna won't be going to college anymore. And it's final, enough with your studies, I've already seen what your capable of. Get ready for marriage."

As the door slams shut, a tumultuous storm of emotions rages within me. My cheek throbs from the impact of his slap, yet the pain pales in comparison to the anguish I feel for Meghna. She sits there, tear stains tracing her cheeks, her innocence overshadowed by these false accusations.

I clutch Meghna tighter, hoping my embrace can shield her from the cruelty of this world. My thoughts race, anger burning fiercely, but beneath it all lies a weighty layer of sadness. How has our family reached such a point? When did my father's reputation outweigh our well-being?

Meghna trembling body clings to mine, seeking refuge, demanding answers. Yet, deep down, I am as shattered as she is, if not more so.

Casting a sidelong glance at my mother, I see her standing there like a silent witness to our turmoil. Her fear is palpable, her inability to intervene is the living proof that no-one can go against dad's decision... Meghna's studies...her future is going to suffocate under my dad's ego. The weight of it all presses down on me, a suffocating force that threatens to overwhelm.

"Are you okay?" Meghna's voice struggles through her hiccups and sobs. She cups my face gently, and a lump forms in my throat.

The memory of his slap stings, the pain not confined to the physical sensation alone, but also deeply emotional. The imprint of his hand on my cheek lingers, a visible mark of the chasm that has widened between us. My eyes sting, and tears threaten to escape, but I suppress them. If I allow myself to cry, who will be there to comfort her?

I nod and pull her into a tight embrace, swallowing hard to steady my voice. "Do you really think a mere slap can faze me, the Arya Purohit?" I attempt to joke, but the heaviness in the air stifles any laughter.

Dad has never laid a hand on me before. The irony is cruel; my defense of Meghna has earned me a slap - a physical blow that leaves behind an emotional wound, heavy and hard to bear. I have always been the one who stands up, who protects fiercely, but this time, my armor has been pierced.

Gradually, Meghna's sobs subside, and I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Her pain runs deep, reflecting the tempestuous storm raging inside me. With a gentle, final squeeze, I draw back slightly, our eyes meeting, mirroring the turmoil within. "Dii, I won't let anything harm you. Everything will be alright. Get some rest."

I step onto the terrace, the night enveloping me like a comforting blanket. The wind carries a sense of mystery, as if it holds secrets whispered among the stars. Tonight, the sky lacks the moon's luminance, leaving the stars shivering in their celestial dance. In the distance, the city's bustling life is a faint hum, reminiscent of a distant memory echoing through the night.

I find my way to a chair near the balcony and settle into its embrace. The road lights twinkle in the distance, resembling distant stars that have descended from the heavens.

Gazing up at the stars, my thoughts become a swirling storm of questions. I find myself questioning everything, I know so far... Why must we adhere to a path laid out by others? Why can't everyone just make their own paths? Why should everyone fit into the frame that society has made... why anything that doesn't fit in that limited frame is wrong? These regulations were formulated by humans, intended for humanity; so then why are they hurting humanity?

The wind gently tousles my hair, as if whispering its own secrets in response to my inquiries. The night seems to hold an alternate truth - one concealed from the harsh light of day, resonating with the dreams of hearts that dare to transcend the ordinary.

As I sit there, cradled by the night's embrace, memories surge through my mind. Laughter, mischief, and the innocence of childhood. I remember the times when Meghna would tease me relentlessly, weaving stories of my supposed adoption, playfully threatening to discard me into the trash if I didn't behave. We would dissolve into fits of laughter, the sound echoing through our shared world.

And then there was that time when we decided to bake cookies together. We managed to turn the kitchen into a flour war zone, with cookie dough in our hair and faces. The cookies ended up resembling strange, abstract shapes rather than anything edible. Mom walked in, her eyes widening at the chaos, and she started laughing so hard she had to sit down. We joined in, and soon the three of us were laughing so hard we were practically in tears.

Those moments, so pure and simple, now feel like treasures. Meghna's mischievous smile, the twinkle in her eyes - they have always offered solace, but now it has been lost somewhere behind the dark clouds hovering over her eyes. That smile that never used to leave her lips is long gone...and this Arya Purohit who used to say that she can do anything, couldn't do a thing.

Can I reclaim that innocence, that unburdened joy we once knew? Can I challenge the rules that seek to define us? Can I rise above the judgments and expectations that loom, threatening to stifle her life? No, I can't do anything... anything!

Questions swirl like a tempest, threatening to break the dam holding back my tears.

I brush away the moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes, emotions teetering on the edge.

A soft rustle of leaves draws my attention, and like a whispered secret carried on the wind, Asim's voice finds its way to me. His words wrap around me, a gentle reminder of my own vulnerability, hidden beneath layers of strength. "I know you're not always the tough cookie. For those moments when you're soft-baked, write it down. It'll be our secret, Arya."

My fingers tremble as I reach for my phone, a mix of uncertainty and hope mingling within me. Dialing his number, I take a step towards unveiling the emotions I've shielded for so long.

The phone's ring merges with the quickening beat of my heart. It's a leap into the unknown, a step away from keeping everything locked inside. And then, his voice-hesitant yet curious-reaches my ears. "Hello?"

With a steadying breath, I gather my courage, my voice carrying a touch of vulnerability. "Hey, it's me, Arya."

A pause, followed by a surprised chuckle that tugs at my lips. "Arya? You never call, like ever."

Despite myself, a smile forms. His voice has always had that effect on me. "Yeah, I know. It's just... I needed to talk."

His tone softens, an understanding warmth seeping through. "What's up? You sound... different."

I close my eyes, embracing his patience, his willingness to listen. "I... I can't. I guess I'm not as tough as I thought."

Empathy colors his response, bridging the gap between us. "You know, I always thought you had a gooey center beneath that hard exterior."

A small laugh escapes me, releasing some of the tension I've been carrying. "Yeah, well, don't go spreading that around."

"Oh, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me and Mr buddy" a dog barks in the background,"Mr buddy is saying hi.

"Tell him, I think he sounds cooler than his owner," I force a chuckle.

Agam laughter erupts, "You know, Me buddy also thinks you're pretty cool for a human. You've got some serious treat-tossing skills."

Genuine laughter bubbles up. "He has good taste, then."

Our conversation flows, Asim weaving humor into his words, painting a lighthearted canvas of stories and anecdotes. It's as though he's intentionally creating a safe space for me to find solace.

In this moment, I realize how deeply I needed this connection. The laughter, the stories-they're more than just distractions. His voice, his stupid jokes, amidst shadows, feels like a glimmer of light. His presence, his words, suddenly, they don't feel that terrible.

Among the stories, his voice takes on a different tone-a resonance that touches my heart. "You know, Mayank once told me about the ninja phase you had in fifth grade. That headband you wore to prove you were a ninja... classic."

Laughter erupts from within me. "Oh, come on! I was just trying to make geography class exciting."

A playful note returns to his voice. "Yeah, well, your attempt at throwing a paper shuriken didn't exactly strike fear into our hearts."

We trade stories, sharing escapades that now feel like treasured memories. His bike mishap, my embarrassing salutation-they're threads woven into a tapestry of shared experiences.

His voice turns nostalgic. "I remember, one summer bhai and I tried building a treehouse...well let's say, it ended up with more nails on the ground than in the wood. And the neighbor's cat declared it the feline kingdom."

Giggles escape me, the weight on my shoulders lifting even more. "Ah, the architects of the 'Most Dangerous Treehouse.'"

Our conversation flows like a tide of laughter, carrying us away. It's liberating to let go, even if just for a while.

As our laughter fades, leaving a comfortable silence between us. Finally his voice echoes, mere a whisper, "Thanks for calling, Arya. Remember, you can always reach out-even if it's just for some truly terrible jokes."

Chuckling, I respond, "Trust me, you're not that annoying today."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he chuckles back, leaving a warmth lingering in the air.

My thoughts drift, like scattered stars in the vast expanse of the sky, settles on a certain someone - Asim. This conversation tugs at the corners of my lips, forming a smile that I can't quite suppress.

I replay our words in my head, the way his words carried a sense of understanding, of camaraderie that I hadn't anticipated. It's the way he challenged me to see beyond my own walls, to consider that maybe there's more to life than the rules I've been challenging.

I lean against the balcony, staring out into the night, my smile a secret shared only with the stars above. It's strange, isn't it? The way someone can enter your life and leave an impression you didn't see coming.