Kabhi main, kabhi tum, kabhi yeh, kabhi voh

You'll Always Be My Home: Part 3

Sharjeena moved through the days robotically, splitting her time between work, classes, and her seemingly endless search for a place to call her own. She didn't tell her parents about her decision to move out, fearing they would dissuade her or worry unnecessarily. This was something she had to do alone—not for their sake, but for her own. She needed to carve out a space where she could exist without judgment, without the constant reminders of everything she had lost.

But the search was nothing short of soul-crushing.

Her budget was limited, far too small to afford a place in the affluent areas where she could live comfortably. And the areas she could afford? Shady neighborhoods with shadier neighbours, where streetlights barely worked, or dingy apartments with peeling paint and broken fixtures. Some places felt suffocating the moment she stepped in, like the walls themselves carried the weight of despair. Other times, the real estate agents and landlords made the experience unbearable.

"Aapke shohar kahaan hain?" a landlord once asked bluntly, his tone laced with suspicion as he eyed her up and down.

She hesitated. "Main akele rahungi."

The man frowned. "Akeli ladki? Sorry, hum ghar sirf families ko denge."

Another agent, younger and more polished, had smirked at her determination. "Aap is sheher ke hisaab se kuch zyada hi advanced hain. Itni hi forward thinking hai aapki toh jaake abroad settle ho jaayein. Yahaan aapka kuch nahi ho sakta. Ab log toh apne hisaab se sahi soch rahe hain."

She had gritted her teeth, biting back the retort burning on her tongue. When I wanted a family life, I was delusional and impractical. Now that I'm trying to be independent, I'm suddenly too ambitious. The bitter irony wasn't lost on her.

Every visit left her more disheartened. The misogyny, the judgment, the endless questions about her husband and family—it was as if the world couldn't fathom the existence of a woman trying to stand on her own two feet without a man's shadow looming over her.

"Ek akeli ladki ko itne badey flat ki zarurat kya hai? Aur koi bhi rahega kya aapke saath?" one agent had asked, his tone dripping with suspicion.

She had clenched her fists. Why does it matter? she thought bitterly. But she simply replied, "Mujhe apne kaam aur study materials ke liye space chahiye."

The man had laughed. "Aapke jaisi ladki ko settle hone ke baare mein sochna chahiye, yeh fazool cheezon ke baare mein nahi."

She had walked away from that conversation more bitter than ever. Each rejection, each dismissive comment chipped away at her already fragile sense of self. She began to feel like the city itself was rejecting her. Am I too much for this world? she wondered.

But giving up wasn't an option. She kept scouring listings, calling agents, and scheduling visits, even though every outing drained her emotionally. After work, she would visit cramped apartments in dimly lit buildings, often feeling a gnawing sense of unease as she climbed rickety stairs or passed by suspicious stares in narrow alleys.

She tried to save every penny she could, cutting back on meals and luxuries, avoiding unnecessary expenses, all in the hope of affording a slightly better place. Some days, the weight of it all would hit her when she returned home. She would sit on her bed, staring at her laptop screen, rechecking the same listings she'd seen a hundred times before.

Her parents, oblivious to her plans, noticed her growing exhaustion. Her mother would sometimes bring her tea and ask her gently if she was okay. "Thoda sa break le lo, beta. Tum khud ko zarurat se zyada thaka rahi ho."

She would nod, offering a faint smile. "Main theek hoon, Ammi.

But in truth, she felt anything but fine. The constant rejections, the financial strain, the judgment—it all weighed heavily on her. Yet, she kept pushing forward, fueled by the faint hope that somewhere, a small corner of this city existed where she could finally breathe. A place where she could piece herself back together, away from the prying eyes of society and the relentless burden of expectations.