When you smile

Chapter 40

Arya's P.O.V.

The silence at home has become suffocating. It's as if a thick, heavy fog has descended upon our lives, making every interaction strained and every moment unbearable. No one speaks; no one dares to break the oppressive quiet that engulfs our once-vibrant home.

The only sounds that punctuate the stillness are the relentless ticking of the wall clock and the clinking of kitchen utensils. It's as if time itself has turned into a relentless, unfeeling metronome, measuring out the seconds of our misery. I used to find comfort in the rhythmic ticking, but now it serves as a constant reminder of the tension that surrounds us.

Meghna, once the vivacious heartbeat of our family, has withdrawn into a shell of silence. Her eyes, once filled with determination, now reflect a profound sadness. She doesn't speak to anyone, not even me, her confidante. It's heartbreaking to see her like this, robbed of her voice and her spirit.

Dad, too, is a prisoner of his own anger and pride. He walks through the house like a storm, his footsteps heavy with unresolved rage. He avoids eye contact with anyone, as if acknowledging our presence would be an admission of defeat. His silence is a force unto itself, a wall that separates us from him.

Mom, caught in the crossfire of our family's turmoil, is a fragile figure. She moves through the house with a distant look in her eyes, as if lost in a world of her own. She doesn't have the strength to engage in conversation or mediate the conflicts that have torn our family apart. Her silence is a reflection of her powerlessness.

And then there's me, caught in the middle of this emotional battlefield. No one wants to talk to me, perhaps because they see me as the catalyst for our current predicament. But I refuse to be a silent bystander. I refuse to let our family be torn apart by stubbornness and prejudice.

I sit in my room, my determination growing with each passing moment. The weight of the silence in our home, the tension that threatens to shatter us, it's all too much to bear. But I refuse to let it break us apart, especially if it means protecting Meghna from Dad's misguided anger and decisions.

I won't let my father ruin Meghna's life. She deserves better than this, better than being forced into a future she never wanted. My sister's dreams and aspirations should not be sacrificed on the altar of society's judgment.

As I hear the ticking of that relentless clock, I know that time is not on our side. But I also know that I won't be silenced. I won't let my family be torn apart by stubbornness and pride. I'll find a way to break through this suffocating silence, to make my father see reason, to make him understand that his actions are hurting the very people he's supposed to protect.

I've always known that Dad has never been the type to express love openly. He's never been the one to say those three words – "I love you." And if I'm honest with myself, I've never been his favorite. It's not like he's ever shown any overt favoritism, but it's the little things, the subtle differences in how he treats Meghna and me.

But there's a peculiar aspect to our relationship that I've come to understand over the years. Dad has always let me do anything I wanted. From experimenting with over-the-top makeup to my unconventional choice of clothing, he never scolded me for it. My grades, whether good or bad, never seemed to matter to him. It was as if he didn't care.

At times, I've wondered if he simply didn't care about me, but I've come to realize that it's more complicated than that. Perhaps he just didn't know how to connect with me. Perhaps he thought that giving me space and freedom was his way of showing love, even if it didn't involve hugs or affectionate words.

But now, as I see the havoc his anger and pride are wreaking on our family, I can't help but wish he had shown more care, more involvement in our lives. I wish he had taken the time to understand us, to know his daughters beyond the surface.