Niya's pov:

The afternoon passed in a blur.

Every time someone introduced themselves, I smiled.

Every time someone explained a task, I nodded.

Every time someone made a joke, I forced a tiny laugh.

But none of it reached my heart.

My mind was split in two

half in the office,

half in the fear curling around my sister’s message.

Even during training, my fingers kept brushing the edge of my phone, as if waiting for it to vibrate again.

At one point, my trainer leaned closer and whispered,

“You okay, Niya? You look a little pale.”

I blinked.

“Oh! No, I mean yes… I’m fine.”

She smiled softly. “First-day anxiety. Totally normal. It’ll settle in a few hours.”

I nodded, not correcting her. It was easier than explaining that my “anxiety” had nothing to do with work and everything to do with home.

By 4 PM, my brain was exhausted.

HR called me into a separate cabin to complete some onboarding forms. I sat by the small desk, filling my details one by one. My handwriting wobbled slightly.

Everything felt normal around me

the whirring AC,

the clicking keyboards,

people chatting in muffled voices.

But inside me, nothing was normal.

At 4:32 PM, my phone buzzed again.

A short message.

𝗡𝘆𝗿𝗮: “𝗛𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆.”

My blood turned cold.

Papa?

Home?

Already?

On a weekday?

That never happened.

My throat tightened, and my hand froze over the form.

I quickly typed back:

𝗡𝗶𝘆𝗮: “𝗜𝘀 𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗿𝘆?”

I waited.

And waited.

Her typing bubble appeared… then disappeared.

My chest grew heavy.

Finally, her reply came,

𝗡𝘆𝗿𝗮: “𝗛𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱.”

Silence.

The most dangerous thing a man like my father could choose.

I exhaled shakily. My hands trembled so badly I dropped the pen.

I crouched down to pick it up, trying to breathe, but worry was crawling up my spine like tiny sharp claws.

If Papa was silent, it meant he was thinking.

Judging.

Preparing.

And that scared me more than yelling ever could.

By 5 PM, when my shift officially ended, I packed my things quickly.

My colleagues asked, “Going already? We usually stay till 5:15.”

But I smiled apologetically and said,

“I need to reach home early today.”

Outside the office, the sky was turning orange

beautiful, calm, completely opposite of the tension twisting inside my chest.

I booked an auto, my fingers stiff with worry.

As soon as I sat inside, the driver started the engine, and the city rushed past me.

But all I could hear was my own heartbeat.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘗𝘢𝘱𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘕𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩

I kept rehearsing excuses in my head.

Rehearsing lies.

Rehearsing ways to divert Papa’s anger.

But no matter what I planned, I knew one truth:

Tonight…

this house would not remain the same.

The moment I reached the colony gate, my stomach twisted tightly.

I walked faster.

My hands were cold.

My heart felt too loud.

When I reached the house and slowly pushed open the front door… the silence hit me first.

No TV.

No cooking sounds.

No chatter.

Just a thick stillness hanging in the air.

Nyra was sitting on the sofa, her hands clasped together, her eyes red as if she had cried quietly.

Papa sat opposite her, his face emotionless.

Mom stood near the kitchen door, worry etched across her forehead.

The moment Nyra looked at me, relief washed over her like a small wave but fear stayed in her eyes.

Papa turned slightly, his gaze fixing on me.

“Come, Niya,” he said calmly.

“Close the door.”

My breath caught.

This was it.

The moment everything would change.

I stepped inside, my heartbeat loud in my ears, and shut the door gently behind me.

The sound of the latch clicking echoed through the house like a warning.

I took a slow step forward.

Papa’s voice was calm.

Too calm.

The kind of calm that made my chest tighten with fear.

“Sit,” he said.

I sat beside Nyra. Her hand slowly brushed against mine, a silent plea, a silent apology, a silent don’t leave me alone in this.

Papa leaned back slightly, his eyes fixed on both of us with a strange, unreadable intensity.

The room felt suffocating.

Mom stood near the dining table, hands wringing the edge of her dupatta, too scared to sit, too scared to leave.

Finally, Papa spoke.

“Nyra,” he said, his tone steady. “Do you want to tell me where you were this morning?”

Nyra’s breath hitched. She looked at me for one small second her eyes asking, 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭? 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘦?

I squeezed her hand under the table.

𝘐’𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺… 𝘐’𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

Nyra inhaled shakily.

“Papa… I left early today because…”

Her voice cracked.

“Because I had to meet someone before office.”

Papa raised an eyebrow slightly. “Someone? Who?”

Her fingers tightened around mine.

She swallowed hard. “Sahish.”

The name dropped into the room like a stone into still water

a small splash, followed by a ripple of silence.

Papa didn’t blink.

Mom closed her eyes briefly, as if praying nothing worse would follow.

I held my breath.

After a long, heavy pause, Papa spoke again calm, controlled, cutting:

“And who is this ‘Sahish’ to you?”

Nyra’s throat bobbed. “Papa… he’s someone I care about.”

“That wasn’t my question,” he replied sharply.

Nyra flinched.

Papa leaned forward slightly, his gaze cold. “I asked: Who is he to you?”

Nyra took another breath. Her eyes glistened.

“He’s… my boyfriend.”

Mom’s hand flew to her mouth.

The silence shattered.

Papa leaned back slowly. “How long?”

Nyra opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

She looked at me again scared, trembling and I nodded softly, giving her strength.

Papa’s voice hardened. “I asked you something. How long?”

Nyra whispered, “Two years.”

For a second, Papa’s face changed not anger, not shock…

but hurt.

Deep, disappointed hurt.

“You hid something from me for two years?” he asked quietly.

Nyra’s eyes filled instantly. “Papa, I… I was scared.”

Papa stared straight into her soul.

“And you,” he said suddenly, his gaze turning to me.

My heart stopped.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?”

My mouth went dry.

I didn’t know what to say.

A lie would break trust with Nyra.

The truth would break it with Papa.

Nyra’s fingers clutched mine tighter terrified.

Papa’s voice grew sharper. “Niya. Answer me. Did you know?”

I inhaled slowly, my hands trembling in my lap.

I lifted my eyes and met his.

And for the first time in a long time…

I didn’t let fear speak for me.

“Yes, Papa,” I said softly. “I knew.”

Mom gasped quietly.

Papa stared at me, stunned not by the words, but by the courage behind them.

“You supported her lies?” he asked in a low, controlled voice.

I swallowed.

“No. I supported her happiness.”

For a moment, the entire house froze.

Papa’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing.

Nyra looked at me like I had just stepped into fire beside her.

A dangerous storm hung between us

one breath away from breaking.

Papa leaned forward.

“Both of you…” he said slowly, the calm slipping.

“…will sit here. I’m not done.”

Papa’s silence was louder than any shouting.

He looked at Nyra first… then at me… then at the floor, as if gathering every ounce of control he had left.

Finally, he exhaled long, heavy, tired.

“Two years,” he said quietly.

“Two years you met this boy behind my back.”

Nyra’s lips trembled. “Papa--”

He raised a hand.

She instantly fell silent.

“I trusted you,” he continued, his voice tight with hurt. “I thought you were focused on your studies. On your career. On your future. But instead… you were wasting time on a relationship I would never approve.”

Nyra’s face crumpled. “Papa, please—don’t say that. He’s a good person.”

Papa’s eyes snapped up.

“I don’t care who he is.”

His tone was final, like a door slamming shut.

Mom flinched at the sharpness.

Nyra’s breath broke into a quiet sob. “Papa… please, just listen. Sahish respects me. He loves me. He treats me well.”

Papa didn’t soften.

Not even a little.

“Love,” he repeated with a bitter smile. “Girls your age don’t know what that word means.”

Nyra swallowed a sob.

I squeezed her hand again, but even my fingers were shaking now.

Papa continued, his calm turning colder:

“And understand this clearly whatever you feel for that boy ends today.”

Nyra blinked at him, stunned. “Papa… w-what?”

“You will stop meeting him,” he said. “Stop calling him. Stop thinking about him. This ends.”

Nyra’s world shattered in a single sentence.

“No,” she whispered, tears spilling freely. “Papa, you can’t decide that for me.”

He shot up from his seat so fast that the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“Of course I can!”

His voice thundered through the house.

Mom gasped and stepped back.

I stiffened.

Nyra froze, breathless.

Papa pointed toward her with a trembling hand anger and fear mixing in his eyes.

“You are my daughter. And I will not let you ruin your future with some boy I have never met, never chosen, and never approved.”

Nyra shook her head, crying harder. “But I love him.”

Papa’s expression hardened into stone.

“Love is not permission,” he said.

“And my answer is no.”

Nyra covered her mouth to stop a sob.

Papa turned to me then his gaze sharp, accusing, disappointed.

“And you, Niya… You knew. You helped her hide it.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

Papa’s voice lowered, but the disappointment cut deeper than anger.

“I expected better from you.”

Something inside me twisted painfully.

He looked at both of us with finality.

“There will be no more conversations about this boy.

No meetings.

No relationship.

Nothing.”

Then he added the words that broke Nyra completely:

“As long as you live in this house, you will follow my rules.”

Nyra looked at him through tears heartbroken, small, defeated.

Papa stepped back, chest rising and falling heavily.

“I’m done talking.”

He walked away, his footsteps echoing like a

verdict.

Mom covered her face, tears slipping through her fingers.

Nyra collapsed against me, sobbing violently.

And for the first time in our lives…

I couldn’t protect her.

I couldn’t fix this.

All I could do was hold her.

While outside our room,

Papa’s refusal hung in the air like a storm that had only just begun.

...........................🤍...........................