Arya's P.O.V.

I pull out my phone, fingers trembling with urgency, and dial Ahan's number. Each ring feels like an eternity until finally, he answers with a mixture of surprise and sadness in his voice.

"Arya, what's wrong?" Ahan's voice crackles through the phone, and I can almost picture the concern in his eyes, even though we're miles apart.

Taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart, I quickly fill him in. "Ahan, today the Rathor family came to meet Meghna. It's all happening, and it's worse than we thought."

There's a heavy silence on the other end, and I can almost hear the gears turning in Ahan's mind as he processes the news. "I can't believe it's happening so soon," he finally replies, his voice laced with frustration and helplessness.

"Yeah, it's like a nightmare," I respond, my own frustration bubbling to the surface. "We need to figure out how to stop this, Ahan. Meghna's future is at stake."

As I hang up the phone, I can't help but feel a pang of worry for Ahan. He's carrying his own burden of emotions, and now he has to navigate this storm with us.

Returning to the dimly lit living room, I find Dad and Mom engaged in conversation. Dad is talking about the Rathor family, their business, and God knows what else. His tone is formal, and he seems almost animated in discussing their background, as if this is the most important decision he'll ever make.

I can't help but feel a wave of frustration wash over me. How can he talk about business and family background when he's making a decision that will shape Meghna's entire life? The irony of it all is suffocating.

I clear my throat, unable to contain my anger any longer. "Dad, do you even know what Meghna wants?" I demand, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation.

He pauses mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing at me. "Arya, this is not the time for your questions," he replies curtly, dismissing my concerns as if they're irrelevant.

But I refuse to back down. "This is her life, Dad! Her happiness! Shouldn't she have a say in it?"

Mom, caught in the crossfire of our argument, looks torn and conflicted, but she remains silent, unable to challenge my father's authority.

I clench my fists, I won't let this decision be made without considering Meghna's feelings and aspirations. She deserves a voice in her own future, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets it.

Returning to my room, I find it empty. Meghna is not here. She's probably on the terrace, where she often seeks solace when the weight of our family's expectations becomes too much to bear. As I make my way to the terrace, frustration gnaws at my insides like a relentless beast, and I can't help but replay the evening in my mind.

I remember how they made Meghna sit before the Rathor family as if she were nothing more than a showpiece in a mall, an object on display for their inspection. The image of her sitting there, her eyes downcast, her hands trembling, it haunts me.

The Rathor family fired questions at her, one after another, as if in a few hours, they could truly understand who she was. They asked about her studies, her hobbies, if she knew how to cook, and whether she had any aspirations to work. It was like they were trying to fit her entire life into a neat little box, and it was suffocating to watch.

Meghna, always timid and shy, struggled to answer their barrage of inquiries. She mumbled her responses, her voice barely audible, and I could see the fear in her eyes. It was as if they were dissecting her, analyzing every facet of her existence, and she had no say in the matter.

I can't shake off the memory of her vulnerability, her helplessness in that moment. It's infuriating how they reduced her to a list of checkboxes, as if her dreams and desires didn't matter. It's moments like these that remind me why I have to fight for her, why I can't let her be forced into a life she doesn't want.

As I step onto the terrace, I find Meghna sitting there, gazing at the stars with a distant look in her eyes. She doesn't notice my presence, lost in her own thoughts. I approach her quietly, my frustration and determination simmering beneath the surface.

"Hey," I say softly, trying to break through the barrier of her thoughts. She startles slightly, turning her gaze toward me, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and exhaustion.

"Hey," she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I sit down beside her, our shoulders touching, and I can feel the weight of our family's expectations pressing down on us. I take a deep breath, ready to be the voice she needs in this turbulent time.

"Meghna," I begin, my voice steady but filled with empathy, "I know this is tough, but we can't let them make decisions for you. Your dreams matter, your happiness matters. We'll figure something out, I promise."

She looks at me, tears welling up in her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, I see she has given up.

Meghna's voice trembles with despair as she finally speaks, her eyes welling up with tears. "Arya, it's too late. There's nothing left," she says, her words heavy with the weight of her emotions.

I open my mouth to respond, to reassure her, to tell her that we can still fight for her happiness, but before I can utter a word, she cuts me off, her voice quivering.

"I want to be alone right now, please," she pleads, her eyes pleading for solitude and respite from the overwhelming emotions that have engulfed her.

I pause, torn between the urge to stay and comfort her and the understanding that sometimes solitude is the only refuge from the chaos of our lives. With a heavy heart, I nod and stand up, giving her the space she needs.

...

About half an hour later, the main doorbell rings with a sharp chime that cuts through the stifling tension that has settled in our home like a heavy shroud. As Mom slowly opens the door, her eyes betray the unease coursing through her veins. She hesitates, her hand resting on the doorknob, uncertainty etched across her face. With a deep breath, she finally yields to the inevitable, allowing the unexpected guest entry.

It is Ahan. As he steps into our living room, the very air seems to shift in response to his presence. His tall figure exudes a quiet determination, clad in a simple yet impeccably neat attire that stands in stark contrast to the weight of the situation.

I follow closely behind Ahan, my heart heavy with anticipation and anxiety. Dad occupies the couch, his brows knitting together as he witnesses the unfolding scene before him. His eyes widen, reflecting a blend of surprise and apprehension as he comprehends the identity of our unexpected guest-a collision of worlds he had never fathomed.

Ahan moves with an almost reverent humility, silently taking a seat on the floor near Dad's feet. It is a deliberate choice, an unspoken acknowledgment of the hierarchy that defines our home, a gesture meant to bridge the gaping chasm between his world and ours. He joins his hands in a symbol of profound respect, an unspoken plea for understanding.

"I know you don't like me," Ahan's voice, though steady, bears the weight of an unspoken truth. His unwavering gaze is fixed on my father as he ventures into the treacherous territory of their differences. "You probably have every right to feel that way. Maybe you even hate me, and there might be valid reasons for it," he pauses, a hint of sorrow tainting his words.

The room hangs heavy with silence, broken only by the soft weeping of my tears as I bear witness to Ahan's courageous confrontation of the formidable figure that is my father. My mother, standing near the door, is a silent spectator to this emotionally charged encounter, her own tears shimmering in the dimly lit room.

Ahan's voice softens further, carrying an empathetic weight as he continues, "But I want you to know that I'm not here to impress you or convince you to let Meghna marry me. I understand the differences that stand between us."

Dad's expression remains stern, but within the depths of his eyes, a subtle shift occurs-a glimmer of curiosity sparked by Ahan's audacity to challenge him.

Ahan's plea grows more heartfelt with each word, his voice trembling slightly as he voices his deepest concern. "Please, don't let my presence ruin her life. Let her study, let her complete her education," he implores, his vulnerability exposed.

I brush away my tears with the back of my hand, unable to contain the overwhelming emotions within me. Ahan's words resonate in the room, stirring ripples of understanding, and I can sense the genuine depth of his care for Meghna's future.

Ahan presses on, his words an earnest plea for a brighter future. "I promise you that if you allow her to continue her studies, I'll never meet her again. If that's not enough, I'm willing to apply to colleges in another city." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the final appeal. "But please, don't force her into a marriage because of me. She deserves a future she chooses for herself."

The silence that follows is profound, each word hanging in the air like a fragile thread, the room itself holding its breath. Dad's face remains stoic, a mask concealing the inner turmoil of his thoughts. Mom, emotions laid bare, stands firmly by the door, her handkerchief clutched in trembling fingers, a silent testament to the gravity of this pivotal moment in our lives.

"You," he begins, his voice dripping with condescension, "have no place here, son. You dare to enter my house uninvited and lecture me about what's best for my daughter?"

Ahan's jaw clenches, and I can see the struggle within him. He has prepared for this confrontation, but the reality of it is even more challenging than he anticipated. His hands, still joined in respect, tremble ever so slightly, betraying the depth of his emotions.

"I understand sir," Ahan replies, his voice unwavering despite the mounting drama, "that this is your house and your family. I don't seek to lecture you or impose my will. I'm only here because I love Meghna deeply, and I can't stand by while her dreams are crushed."

My father's face remains an inscrutable mask, his eyes locked onto Ahan's with unwavering intensity. The room itself seems to hold its breath, the atmosphere heavy with tension, and I feel a knot of anxiety tighten in my chest.

Dad's lips curl into a contemptuous smile, one that's meant to belittle and demean. "Love?" he scoffs, the word dripping with sarcasm. "You talk about love as if it's some grand gesture that can defy centuries of tradition and values. You don't understand our way of life, and you never will."

Ahan's eyes, which had shown a glimmer of hope moments ago, now reflect a deep sadness. His voice remains composed, but there's a vulnerability beneath it that makes my heart ache for him. "Sir, I'm not here to change your beliefs or question your values. I'm here to ask for one thing the chance to let Meghna pursue her education and dreams. That's all I want."

My father's tone grows even more cutting, his words a calculated attempt to undermine Ahan. "You think you can just waltz in here and make demands? This is not how things work in our family. We have responsibilities and traditions to uphold, and we won't be swayed by outsiders."

The room feels as though it's closing in on us, the weight of centuries-old traditions pressing down like an unbreakable chain. Ahan's respectful demeanor remains intact, but his eyes betray the turmoil within him.

Ahan's voice takes on a pleading tone, his desperation palpable. "Please, sir, don't make Meghna's life a sacrifice to tradition. Let her have a chance to decide her own path. I'm willing to step aside if that's what it takes."

I can see the strain in Ahan's face, the effort it takes to maintain his composure in the face of my father's hostility. I can't bear to see him treated this way, not when he's fighting for Meghna's future.

I can't stay silent any longer. My voice, filled with a mix of anger and determination, breaks through the tension in the room. "Dad, this is Meghna's life we're talking about. She deserves the chance to make her own choices. Why can't you see that?"

Dad's gaze shifts to me, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment, I see a flicker of surprise in his expression. It's as if he hadn't expected me to challenge him.

"You," he says, his tone now directed at me, "stay out of this, Arya. This is not your concern."

But I refuse to back down. I stand my ground, my voice unwavering. "It is my concern, Dad. Meghna is my sister, and I won't let her be forced into a life she doesn't want. She deserves a voice in her own future."

The room seems to hold its breath once more, the confrontation reaching its peak. My mother, standing near the door, watches with a mixture of worry and hope in her eyes. Ahan remains on the floor, his eyes locked onto my father's, a silent plea for understanding and compassion.

In this tense moment, the fate of Meghna's future hangs in the balance, and I am determined to fight for her, no matter the cost.

The tension in the room reaches a boiling point as I refuse to back down. My father's face contorted with anger, his voice rising to a thunderous crescendo.

"Arya!" he bellows, his face flushed with rage. "You will not defy me in my own house! I am the head of this family, and I make the decisions here."

I meet his fury with unwavering resolve, my own anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Dad, this isn't about defying you; it's about doing what's right for Meghna. You can't force her into a marriage she doesn't want!"

His eyes blaze with indignation, and he takes a step closer, towering over me. "You will respect my decisions, Arya. You are still a child, and you don't understand the complexities of our culture and traditions."

I feel my own fury rise within me, a fiery determination to protect my sister at all costs. "I may not understand everything, but I'm not blind, Dad. I can clearly see the pain in Meghna's eyes, and anything that causes her pain can't be the right thing to do. I won't stand by while you crush her dreams."

He clenches his fists, his face inches from mine. "You are out of line, Arya. I won't tolerate this disobedience."

I don't flinch, my voice sharp and defiant. "If standing up for what's right is disobedience, then so be it. Meghna deserves a chance to decide her own future. It's her life, and she-only she-will decide what she deserves and what she will do with her life.'"

My mother, caught in the crossfire, finally finds her voice, her eyes filled with a mix of anguish and desperation. "Please, both of you, let's not fight like this. There must be a way to find a compromise."

But my father's fury remains unabated, his face contorted with rage. "No compromises! This is how it has always been, and this is how it will stay."

I can't contain my anger any longer. "And that's the problem, Dad. Blindly following traditions without considering what's best for your own daughter," I retort, my voice rising with each word. "Meghna's happiness should matter more to you than outdated customs. You're her father, not her jailer!"

Dad slams his hand onto the table, his voice thunderous. "You dare to lecture me in my own house? You're testing my patience, Arya!" His hand shoots out, pointing towards my room's door. "Enough, Arya. Go to your room now!"

I stand my ground, my voice unwavering. "I won't leave until you promise to reconsider this marriage."

The room crackles with tension, the clash of wills between father and daughter echoing through the walls of our home. My father's face contorts with frustration, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

But he quickly composes himself, his voice low and menacing. "You are pushing your luck, Arya. Leave before I do something we both regret."

"I can't believe this," I scream, my voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. I stomp my feet and begin to leave the living room, my footsteps echoing in the heavy silence.

Before I step through my room's door, I turn back for one last glance. Ahan, too, has risen from his seat, standing a few steps away near the exit. Our eyes meet, and in that silent exchange, a multitude of unspoken emotions pass between us.

Then, with a heavy heart, I leave the room, leaving Ahan behind, the weight of our family's decisions hanging in the air like an unresolved melody.

...

I lie on my bed, my frustration echoing in the silence of my room. The weight of the evening's confrontation still lingers, like an oppressive cloud that refuses to dissipate. I can't help but replay the heated exchange with my father in my mind, each word a dagger of defiance and determination.

As I lie there, I hear the distant sound of the gate closing and the car grumbling to life outside. Ahan is gone, and with him, the hope that things might change. It's as if the world outside my window mocks my futile efforts to stand up for Meghna's happiness.

I glance at the clock, but the numbers blur together, a hazy reminder of how late it must be. Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, and I realize that I don't even know when I fell asleep. The room is shrouded in darkness, and the weight of the evening's emotions finally gives way to the embrace of sleep, carrying me away from the turmoil of reality into a realm of dreams where answers are elusive, and hope remains a flickering candle in the night

I wake up abruptly in the stillness of the night, my room enveloped in darkness. For a moment, confusion clouds my mind, but then I remember the events of the evening, the heated argument, and Ahan's departure. My heart aches with the weight of it all.

As I sit up in bed, I notice that Meghna isn't in her usual spot, her bed untouched and empty. The house is eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier turmoil. Something doesn't feel right.I reach for my phone on the bedside table, squinting at the screen to check the time. It's 2 o'clock, and the darkness outside is absolute. My worry deepens. Where could Meghna be at this hour?

With trembling fingers, I unlock my phone, and there it is - a message from Meghna. My heart leaps and sinks at the same time, anxiety coursing through me as I tap to open the message, hoping for an explanation, a sign of where she might be and if she's okay.

Arya,

I know I have never said this to you, but you know it, don't you? You know how much I love you. You are the sole reason I ever felt that place was a home. You are the reason, even after an exhausting day at college, I always wished to go back to that suffocating place. Thanks for always making me feel loved, thanks for always being there for me, thanks for being an elder sister even if you are younger. Thanks for listening to my nonsense, my never-ending sad stories, my hopeless cries, and my baseless insecurities.

I know, Arya, I might seem like a coward, and I may feel like I'm good for nothing. No matter how much you try, I won't be able to fight everyone. I don't have the guts to stand up to our parents, his parents, and everyone else out there. I don't want Dad to feel ashamed of having me anymore. I understand I might be seen as selfish, leaving you there alone with them, but, Arya, I am sorry; I can't take it anymore.

Live your life the way you want, Arya. You have that strength, don't let anyone else decide what you want and what you deserve. Live the life I never could, live the life you always wished. Be happy for both of us.

Goodbye,Meghna