Ashika pov

When I entered the house, my mind was clear-almost stubbornly so.

Ignore everything.

Go straight to my room. Sleep.

That was the plan.

It was six in the evening, which meant one thing: Dad wouldn't be home yet.

Safe territory. Or at least, safer.

The silence lasted exactly three seconds.

As soon as I stepped into the hall, a familiar voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Is this a time to come home?" my mother mocked, not even looking up.

"Aise kaunsi classes hoti hain teri jo khatam hi nahi hoti? Ash toh kab ki ghar aa gayi hai. Tu kahan ghoom rahi thi?"

I kept my face blank. Years of practice had taught me how to pretend I wasn't listening.

But then she went where she always did.

"Ladkon ke saath ghoomne ke alawa koi aur kaam hai tere paas?"

Her voice dripped with disgust.

"Agar thoda padh likh leti toh kam se kam teri shaadi toh ho jaati. Warna kaun karega aisi ladki se shaadi-jise ye bhi nahi pata kab ghar aana chahiye?"

Something inside me snapped.

My voice came out sharper than I intended.

"Kisi ke saath nahi thi. Akeli thi," I said.

Then, quieter-but trembling, "Aur aisi ladki se aapka kya matlab hai?"

I already knew the answer.

Still, some stupid part of me hoped she wouldn't say it.

She didn't hesitate.

"Mera matlab hai-gussa karne wali, ladne wali, zabaan chalane wali," she listed coldly.

"Useless."

Useless.

The word echoed louder than her voice.

Why does she say it like I'm a burden?

What have I done to deserve this much hatred?

Meri maa hoke jab mujh par bharosa nahi hai, I thought bitterly,

toh duniya se kya hi umeed rakhoon?

I didn't argue. I didn't cry in front of her.

I simply turned and walked toward my room.

That's when I saw her.

Leaning casually against the wall beside my door, arms crossed, lips curved into a familiar smirk-Ashwani. Or Ash, as everyone liked to call her.

The real Ash.

"Tu jaldi kyun nahi aa jaati?" she said lightly.

"Mujhe hamesha tere liye cover-up karna padta hai."

I laughed-an actual, loud laugh.

"Cover-up?" I repeated. "Seriously?"

Then I shook my head.

"Tu cover-up nahi karti," I said.

"Tu jalti hui aag mein petrol daalne ka kaam karti hai."

She rolled her eyes, unfazed, and brushed past me.

"Drama queen," she muttered, heading down stairs.

I pushed my door open, shut it behind me, and collapsed onto my bed.

I didn't care what they said anymore.

I didn't care what they thought.

All I wanted was sleep.

Because no one was coming to ask if I was okay.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun endlessly above me.

One single tear slid down the side of my face-silent, almost embarrassed to exist.

Why, God?

Why do I have to justify my existence every single day?

It's not like I roam around for fun.

It's not a hobby.

I just don't want to face this.

That's why I come home late.

That's why I drive aimlessly on empty roads.

Why I lose myself in loud clubs, random hangouts, borrowed laughter.

At least there, someone wants me to stay.

Someone notices if I leave.

Unlike my own family-who seem tired just looking at my face.

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with me.

My body relaxed, my thoughts slowed, and my eyes finally closed.

And for a few quiet hours, sleep gave me what home never did-

peace.