When you smile

Chapter 49

Arya's P.O.V.

I pull out my phone, fingers trembling with urgency, and dial Ahan's number. Each ring feels like an eternity until finally, he answers with a mixture of surprise and sadness in his voice.

"Arya, what's wrong?" Ahan's voice crackles through the phone, and I can almost picture the concern in his eyes, even though we're miles apart.

Taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart, I quickly fill him in. "Ahan, today the Rathor family came to meet Meghna. It's all happening, and it's worse than we thought."

There's a heavy silence on the other end, and I can almost hear the gears turning in Ahan's mind as he processes the news. "I can't believe it's happening so soon," he finally replies, his voice laced with frustration and helplessness.

"Yeah, it's like a nightmare," I respond, my own frustration bubbling to the surface. "We need to figure out how to stop this, Ahan. Meghna's future is at stake."

As I hang up the phone, I can't help but feel a pang of worry for Ahan. He's carrying his own burden of emotions, and now he has to navigate this storm with us.

Returning to the dimly lit living room, I find Dad and Mom engaged in conversation. Dad is talking about the Rathor family, their business, and God knows what else. His tone is formal, and he seems almost animated in discussing their background, as if this is the most important decision he'll ever make.

I can't help but feel a wave of frustration wash over me. How can he talk about business and family background when he's making a decision that will shape Meghna's entire life? The irony of it all is suffocating.

I clear my throat, unable to contain my anger any longer. "Dad, do you even know what Meghna wants?" I demand, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation.

He pauses mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing at me. "Arya, this is not the time for your questions," he replies curtly, dismissing my concerns as if they're irrelevant.

But I refuse to back down. "This is her life, Dad! Her happiness! Shouldn't she have a say in it?"

Mom, caught in the crossfire of our argument, looks torn and conflicted, but she remains silent, unable to challenge my father's authority.

I clench my fists, I won't let this decision be made without considering Meghna's feelings and aspirations. She deserves a voice in her own future, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets it.

Returning to my room, I find it empty. Meghna is not here. She's probably on the terrace, where she often seeks solace when the weight of our family's expectations becomes too much to bear. As I make my way to the terrace, frustration gnaws at my insides like a relentless beast, and I can't help but replay the evening in my mind.

I remember how they made Meghna sit before the Rathor family as if she were nothing more than a showpiece in a mall, an object on display for their inspection. The image of her sitting there, her eyes downcast, her hands trembling, it haunts me.

The Rathor family fired questions at her, one after another, as if in a few hours, they could truly understand who she was. They asked about her studies, her hobbies, if she knew how to cook, and whether she had any aspirations to work. It was like they were trying to fit her entire life into a neat little box, and it was suffocating to watch.

Meghna, always timid and shy, struggled to answer their barrage of inquiries. She mumbled her responses, her voice barely audible, and I could see the fear in her eyes. It was as if they were dissecting her, analyzing every facet of her existence, and she had no say in the matter.