Tangled Hearts

The weight of silence

The morning sun peeked through the thin curtains of Inaya Siddiqui’s room, casting faint, pale rays across her bed. The tranquility of dawn was abruptly broken by the sharp, angry voice of her mother cutting through the quiet.

“Inaya! Get up this moment! How many times do I have to tell you? You think you can sleep your life away?”

Inaya’s eyes snapped open, the remnants of sleep quickly dissolving into the harsh reality of her mother’s anger. Her body still ached from the previous night, a night that had stretched on far too long with work at Qureshi Enterprises. But exhaustion was no excuse in this house, and she knew it.

She had barely returned home a few hours ago, worn out and desperate for rest, only to be met now with this morning’s reprimand. The one place where she should have found peace offered none. Instead, it felt like a battleground, and she was always on the losing side.

The door to her room flew open with a bang, and there stood her mother, eyes blazing with irritation. “Lazy girl! Do you think this is a hotel where you can come and go as you please? You’re nothing but a burden, sleeping while everyone else has been up for hours. How dare you think you can ignore your responsibilities?”

Inaya sat up slowly, trying to shake off the weariness that clung to her bones. Her mother’s words were like daggers, sharp and cutting, but she had long ago learned to swallow the hurt and keep her emotions hidden.

“I’m sorry, Ammi,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Sorry? What good is sorry when you keep doing the same thing over and over? You come home late like some wayward girl, and then you lie in bed all morning! Do you have any shame at all?” Her mother’s voice grew louder, each word laden with contempt. “Do you think you can live like this, without any discipline or respect for this family? You’re useless, just like you’ve always been!”

Inaya’s heart clenched at the harshness of the words, but she kept her head down, not daring to meet her mother’s furious gaze. She could feel the sting of tears welling up in her eyes but refused to let them fall. There was no point in crying—tears had never softened her mother’s anger before, and they wouldn’t now.

“Get up and make yourself useful,” her mother snapped. “There’s no room in this house for your laziness and selfishness. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Ammi,” Inaya replied, her voice hollow.

With a final glare, her mother turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind her. Inaya remained motionless for a moment, the silence that followed almost deafening. Her mother’s harsh words echoed in her mind, each one a reminder of the weight she carried every day—the weight of her family’s expectations, their relentless demands, and the suffocating pressure to be perfect.

She slowly pushed herself out of bed, her body moving on autopilot as she began to get ready for the day. There was no room for weakness here, no space for her own needs or desires. In this house, Inaya had learned that she was expected to be obedient, silent, and compliant.

As she dressed and prepared for the day ahead, the weight of her mother’s words pressed down on her, heavy and unrelenting. But like always, she would push through, burying her pain deep within, where no one could see. Inaya had mastered the art of silence, and in that silence, she found her only form of survival.

Inaya made her way downstairs, her stomach growling with hunger since she hadn’t eaten anything since the previous afternoon. She found her mother in the kitchen, bustling about as she prepared breakfast for her younger brother, Farhan. The smell of food was faint, but the sight of the meager portions set out on the table was enough to tell Inaya that there wouldn’t be enough for everyone.