"You need to focus on your studies, Aanya," Raneya said softly, her voice carrying the weight of both exhaustion and hope. "There's more to life than games and gossip. You can make something of yourself, just like I have."
But the words were wasted.
Aanya, lounging on the bed like a queen in exile, rolled her eyes with theatrical disdain. "Ugh, there you go again with your preaching attitude." she snapped, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "God, Raneya, not everyone wants to live in the library."
Moments later, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable screech of her sister's voice.
"Ammi! She's at it again! Always talking down to me like I'm stupid—like she's some saint!"
The fuse had been lit.
Fazeela stormed into the living room like a brewing monsoon—an apron still tied at the waist, a wooden spoon in one hand and fury in the other. Her brows furrowed as her voice pierced the still air.
"You've become so selfish, Raneya!" she barked, eyes ablaze. "All you think about is yourself and your books! What about your responsibilities here, hmm? The kitchen doesn't clean itself. Do you think life is going to pamper you the way these books do?"
Raneya stood frozen, her back straight, but her heart buckling under every word.
"Your marriage," her mother continued, jabbing a finger toward her like a verdict, "is more important than this nonsense. What do you think your in-laws will say, haan? That we raised a girl who can't even make a proper daal? They'll question my upbringing!" she growled, in disbelief that her daughter was adamant to let her expectations go down the drain.
"Ma, please," Raneya said, her voice shaking but firm. "I'm not asking you to stop being who you are. I'm just asking you to let me become who I'm meant to be."
Fazeela's nostrils flared as she gripped the edge of the counter with trembling hands, the veins in her wrist taut with fury. "Become who you're meant to be?" she hissed. "And what is that, hmm? A woman who abandons her home? Her duty? A girl too arrogant to understand where she belongs?"
The words didn't just sting—they sank. The words stung like ice, each syllable biting deeper than she had imagined. She had heard them all before—the accusations of selfishness, the constant reminders of her supposed failure as a woman. It felt as though her mother was determined to suffocate her dreams beneath the weight of tradition, to chain her to a life she could never embrace.
But Raneya wouldn't let them define her.
"I want to do more than this, Ma," she whispered, a tear betraying her strength as it welled in her eyes. "I want to matter. I want a career, a purpose. I want to be someone who doesn't just exist in the shadows of other people's dreams."
"Matter?" Fazeela spat, cutting her off. "This scholarship is a fantasy. But your duty? That's real. That's what lasts. A girl who doesn't learn to run a home has no place in a man's world—or her own!You're being unfilial, Raneya!This isn't how a daughter behaves! You are turning your back on everything we've taught you. All you care about is running away to some far-off dream, and we are left to pick up the pieces of your neglect."
Raneya blinked hard, trying to dam the tears at the edge of her vision. But just then, Aanya pounced.
"You think you're better than us, don't you?" she snarled, arms crossed, voice dripping venom. "Just because you've got a trophy and a certificate, you think the world is going to bow at your feet? You'll see. When your in-laws start pointing fingers, don't come crying back here."
Fazeela turned to Aanya, pride glowing in her eyes. "At least you understand, beti. You'll make a good wife. A good daughter."
Then she looked back at Raneya—and her gaze, once maternal, had curdled into disappointment.
Raneya felt it like a slap.
That glance, so sharp and cold, said everything words couldn't: You are a burden. An embarrassment. A mistake.
But she stood her ground, lips trembling, eyes fierce.
Just as Fazeela opened her mouth to throw another dagger, a quiet but firm voice interrupted the storm.
"Ahem."
All heads turned.
Qureshi Sahab stood at the doorway, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the floor before they slowly met Raneya's.
"I... I've received some news, Fazeela," he said, clearing his throat. His voice—normally steady—wavered, as if even he was unsure of what he was about to deliver. "There's... there's a suitor. A potential alliance for Raneya. A well-settled family. Your friend Rukhsana? Her nephew. They've shown interest."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Raneya's world tilted. The ground beneath her felt like it cracked open, exposing the hollowness beneath.
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her fingers twitched, aching to clutch something solid, something real—but everything felt like smoke.
"You told them yes?" she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No," he said quickly, almost guiltily. "Not yet. But… Fazeela thought we should meet them. Just a meeting. Nothing decided."
Fazeela stepped forward, triumphant. "It's a golden opportunity. Respectable people. Traditional values. A match any girl would be lucky to have. We'll set the date to meet them this weekend."
And just like that, they had her future drafted on paper—no consultation, no permission, no care.
Raneya couldn't breathe. The walls felt closer. Her dreams, just inches away, began to blur.
She wasn't being asked—she was being traded.
"I'm not ready for this," she whispered. "Please. Not now."
"You don't get to decide, Raneya," her mother snapped. "You had fun with your books. Now it's time to grow up."
And in that moment, with her family's voices closing in around her, Raneya realized—
They didn't see her dreams as sacred.
They saw them as threats.
Thinking about it, her heart froze.