"You need to focus on your studies, Aanya," Raneya said, her voice low, a mix of tired frustration and a faint, fading hope. "There's more to life than gossip and scrolling. You could actually build something meaningful."
Aanya, sprawled across the bed, flicked a dismissive glance at her. "Oh, here we go again. Can you stop pretending you're everyone's life coach?"
The words stung, but Raneya didn't flinch. Instead, she turned to walk away—before the thundering footsteps of Aanya rang down the hall.
"Ammi! She's doing it again—acting all superior, like she's better than us!"
The storm broke instantly.
Fazeela appeared in the doorway, her face flushed with indignation, apron still tied, wooden spoon gripped tightly like a weapon. Her voice cracked the air.
"You think the world runs on certificates and books? Who's going to run this house while you chase your silly dreams? Life won't serve you tea just because you topped your class!"
Raneya stood her ground, but the blow was hard. Every word was a cut—sharp and cutting.
"What about your marriage?" Fazeela hissed. "Think your in-laws will clap for your grades when you can't even cook a simple daal? What will they say about me—about this family?"
The words made Raneya's pulse spike, but she swallowed the rising anger. She looked her mother straight in the eye, voice trembling with quiet defiance.
"I'm not trying to dishonor you, Ma. I just want the chance to live my own life."
Fazeela's lips curled into a cold sneer. "Your life?" she scoffed. "A woman doesn't get to choose her path. She walks the one carved out for her—by family, by duty."
Each word felt like a blow, and Raneya's chest tightened with emotion, but she pressed on.
"I want more than that," she whispered, her voice thick with feeling. "I want a life where I matter—not as someone's wife, but as someone... who is someone."
Fazeela's hands shot up in exasperation. "Matter? This scholarship is a daydream, Raneya. But your duty—that's real. You're chasing illusions, turning your back on everything we taught you."
Aanya's voice slid in, venomous and sharp, like a silent dagger.
"You think you're above us, don't you?" Aanya sneered. "Because of a piece of paper? A trophy? Let's see how far that gets you when reality knocks."
Fazeela's tone shifted—suddenly warm, almost affectionate as she turned to Aanya. "At least you understand your place. You'll make a fine wife, beti."
And then she turned back to Raneya, eyes cold as stone, her disappointment carved into her features.
That look—Raneya felt it deep in her chest. It said everything. You're not one of us anymore.
Before she could find the words, a soft clearing of the throat from the doorway froze the room.
"Ahem."
They all turned.
Qureshi Sahab stood there, hands folded, his voice measured but laced with tension.
"There's... a proposal. From Rukhsana's nephew. A good family. Educated, stable. They're interested in Raneya."
The air went still.
Raneya's breath caught in her throat, her whole body going cold.
"You said yes?" she asked, her voice barely audible, full of disbelief.
"No," her father responded, quickly, his eyes not meeting hers. "But Fazeela thought it was time to meet them. Just a meeting."
Fazeela's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she stepped forward. "We've set it for this weekend. It's time to think about your future, seriously."
Raneya shook her head, panic beginning to pulse through her veins.
"I'm not ready for this," she whispered, almost pleading. "Please—just let me finish my studies."
But Fazeela's voice dropped, hard as steel.
"You've played enough with your books, Raneya. Now grow up. The real world doesn't care about your dreams."
And in that moment, surrounded by voices that never listened, Raneya understood.
They didn't fear her failure. They feared her freedom.
The words dropped like bombs, shattering the last flicker of hope she had been clinging to.
Her dreams—once burning so brightly—now flickered out, suffocated by the wind of betrayal. The fire she had nurtured through endless nights of hard work, through sleepless sacrifices, was being extinguished by the very people who were meant to protect her. Her longing for an independent future slipped, piece by piece, into the hands of a family she no longer recognized.
Her father stood there, silent for a moment, before giving a slow, resigned nod. "It's time to think about what's best for you," he said, his voice flat, final. "And this... this is a good opportunity."
Raneya's chest tightened, her breath catching in her throat. The weight of his words was suffocating. Every syllable felt like a nail in the coffin of her dreams.
"I can't," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "I can't do this. Please, I want to live my dream. I want to be more than just someone's wife."
Her father's expression hardened, impatience flashing in his eyes. "Enough, Raneya," he snapped. "This isn't a debate. You will do as you're told."
In the corner, Aanya's smirk returned—a cold, venomous curve of her lips. "See, Ma? She's still talking back. Still trying to run from us. She thinks she's better than us."
The tension exploded.
"You're rebelling against us!" Fazeela roared, her voice echoing like thunder. "How dare you turn your back on everything we've given you? All we've done for you, and this is how you repay us? You're bringing shame on this family, Raneya. You ungrateful girl!"
Shame.
That word. It hung in the air like smoke, suffocating every dream, every hope.
But Raneya stood tall, trembling, her eyes filled with tears that burned with defiance.
"I will not live your life," she said, her voice raw, breaking with emotion but unyielding. "I will not let your fears, your narrow thinking, define me. I will not be a prisoner just because you never dared to dream."
A beat of silence passed. Then it came.
The sharp, thunderous crack of skin on skin.
Raneya's world tilted as her father's hand collided with her cheek, the impact sending her reeling. The sting spread, but it wasn't just the physical pain that shook her. It was the betrayal. The realization that even her soft-spoken father had chosen silence over support. Control over compassion.
Fazeela gasped. Even Aanya flinched.
But Qureshi Sahab didn't waver. His voice dropped to a deadly, cold whisper. "You will marry this man," he said, his eyes as hard as stone. "And you will never speak of this again."
The room spun. Raneya staggered back, clutching her face. Her heart shattered, splintering into a million pieces. Her breath came in jagged, burning gasps. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of invisible chains.
Then—cold hands gripped her arm with a strength that left no room for resistance. Her father dragged her down the hallway, past Aanya's satisfied smirk and Fazeela's teary, accusing gaze. Down to her room.
She struggled, but he was stronger—driven by duty, ego, and the fear of what the world would say.
The door slammed behind her with a finality that made her knees buckle. Click. The lock turned. She was alone.
Locked away. Like a secret. Like shame.
The rest of the night passed in agonizing silence. Raneya slid to the floor, trembling. Her cheek throbbed, but the ache in her chest was far worse. She crawled to her bed, curled up like a wounded animal, and let the sobs tear through her.
No one came.
No one asked if she was okay.
Outside, the house buzzed with whispers and plans—calls to the groom's family, discussions of tea sets, outfits, fake laughter drifting through the cracks.
They were building her cage while she wept inside it.