Short stories by Ranaji

Vinod was sitting in his room when his daughter, Vaishali, spoke in a sharp tone, "Papa, I'm not a child anymore! I'm 21 years old, a graduate. I can decide what's right and wrong for me. These days, boys and girls are friends, they hang out, work together, and even some live in live-in relationships. It's all normal now."

Vinod's eyes reflected worry, and his heart felt heavy. In a low voice, he said, "Beta, we are middle-class people. Respect is our true wealth. If something goes wrong tomorrow, how will we face society? And then there's your younger sister to think about, her marriage too."

But Vaishali's face turned red with anger. She retorted sharply, "Keep your middle-class mindset to yourself, Papa. Don't lecture me on all this." Saying this, she picked up her bag and headed for the door.

Vinod, her mother, and her younger sister tried to stop her. Her mother was in tears, and Vinod's face clearly showed helplessness and pain. But Vaishali's eyes and heart were blinded by love. She was not ready to listen to anyone.

Vinod watched his precious child walk away. Words failed him to stop her. He was breaking inside, but Vaishali's steps were swiftly moving towards the outside world.

A few days later, a news headline tore Vinod's heart apart. The headline read: "The body of a girl in a live-in relationship found in a bag, dumped in a drain."

Vinod's hands trembled, his heart raced uncontrollably. One question echoed in his mind: "Could this be Vaishali?"

He tried to read the entire news article, but his vision blurred. Helplessness, anger, and grief gripped his heart. The world's noises seemed to fade away, and only Vaishali's last words resonated in his ears: "Papa, I'm not a child..."