"You forget how hard it is to ignore someone who looks the way you do," He replied smoothly, taking advantage of the close proximity between the two of us.
Running his large hands slowly down my arms before looping them around my waist possessively...
I hated this feeling, this dull ache that settled in my chest every time my parents came up. I wanted to believe I'd made peace with it, but here I was again, spiraling at the thought of sitting across from them tonight. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I wasn't good at letting go.
When I was a kid, I thought my parents were perfect. My mom was this force—always moving, always doing. She worked hard, cooked elaborate meals, volunteered, and still managed to have her hair done every Sunday. And my dad? He was her calm. The quiet presence in the background who rarely raised his voice, never demanded much. He let her take the lead in everything. I didn't realize until later that he let her take the lead in me, too.
As I got older, the cracks started to show. My mom wasn't just busy—she was critical. Nothing I did was ever good enough. My grades could always be higher, my room cleaner, my attitude more agreeable. I remember this one time in high school when I came home with a B in calculus. I thought it was fine—I mean, it was calculus. But when she saw it, her face just... fell. She didn't even yell. She just sighed and said, "You're capable of so much more than this, Ahvi. Don't settle for average."
I think that hurt more than if she'd screamed at me.
My dad, on the other hand, didn't say anything. He didn't really tell her to back off, didn't tell me it was okay— he did it sometimes but most of the times— He just sat there, sipping his coffee like the conversation wasn't happening. That was the dynamic between them: she was the sharp edge, and he was the silence that followed.
I'd tried to fight her on it once—just once. I was 19, and she'd started in on me again about college. About how dropping out was the worst decision I'd ever made, how I was throwing my future away. It had been months since I left, and I thought she'd finally let it go, but no. She kept pushing, kept jabbing at me like I didn't already feel like a failure.
So, I snapped. I told her she didn't get to control my life anymore, that I wasn't going to be some perfect daughter for her to parade around. I'll never forget the look on her face—like I'd slapped her. She didn't yell, didn't argue. She just turned to my dad and said, "Do you see what happens when you don't step in?" Then she walked out.
And my dad? He just stood there, staring at the floor like he wanted to disappear.
That was the last time I really let myself fight back.
