The present carried the echoes of that rebellion.
Meera sat at her boutique’s desk, sunlight spilling across neatly folded sarees, when Arjun bounded in waving a newspaper.
“Didi! Dekho! Tumhara interview छपा hai!”
On the front page of the local supplement, bold letters announced:
“Boutique with a Heart: Meera Khanna Empowers Women Through Work.”
The article described how her boutique had created jobs for widows and young girls, giving them financial independence and dignity. Neighbors came by to congratulate her, showering admiration.
Of course, admiration came with its shadows. Some relatives muttered, “Aurat ko itna khula haath dena theek hai kya?” Others clucked about her being “too outspoken” to ever settle down.
Meera ignored them. For every whisper of judgment, there were five voices of respect from women whose lives she had touched. That balance mattered more.
Aditya walked in late that evening, holding the same newspaper. His smile stretched wide as he held it up.
“Dekha? Main keh raha tha na, tu apni hi filmon ki heroine hai.”
Meera laughed. “Aur tu mera overprotective sidekick.”
But Aditya wasn’t done. He leaned against the doorframe, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Waise… tujhe yaad hai na teri dowry wedding wali speech? Seedha movie heroine ki tarah khadi ho gayi thi hall ke beech mein. Mujhe laga abhi background music bajega aur tu camera mein dekhegi.”
She threw a cushion at him, but her laughter echoed in the room.
In that laughter was pride, memory, and the unspoken truth that Aditya carried — his sister wasn’t just bold. She was unstoppable.
The scent of incense and wilted roses hung heavy in the air, mingling with the crackle of shehnai music from the marriage hall. Guests bustled about, whispering about jewelry, about gifts, about how “perfectly” the match had been made.
But Meera remembered none of that. What etched itself into her memory was the sight of her cousin, veiled and trembling, her father sweating profusely as envelopes of cash changed hands behind closed doors.
The whispers weren’t just about marriage — they were about transactions.
That night, something in Meera had snapped. She had stood up in the middle of the ceremony, her voice ringing out sharper than the shehnai.
“Aap log shaadi kar rahe hain ya dhandha? Dulhan ki khushi ke bajay dahej ki list lambi ho rahi hai. Agar izzat sirf rupaiyon se tolni hai toh phir pyar aur samman ki jagah kahan hai? Main apni behen ki shaadi ko bazaar ka maamla nahi banne dungi.”
The hall had fallen silent. Faces turned pale, angry, embarrassed. Aditya had immediately stepped to her side, his steady presence giving her fire a shield. Together, they had pulled her cousin away, shielding her from a marriage that was nothing but a sale in disguise.
For weeks, relatives had gossiped. Some praised Meera’s courage, most condemned her boldness. But in that moment, she had learned something unshakable: her voice carried weight, and she would never let it be silenced.
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To all my girlies, I literally read a quote on Instagram that said that every act of kindness from a guy is just kindness until and unless he actually confesses, yes I am talking about those " oh he gave me a pen" " oh he helped me carry my book". I am equally delusional 😭. And I have the shit ass confidence to go and confess to this guy just coz he helped me once 😭. ( he didn't like me back 😭)
Anyways, thank youuuuu so much for reading ❤️❤️
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