A tired sigh escaped my lips as I parked the car in front of my house. It was already 2:30 a.m. Like every other night, I had worked late again — it had become a habit ever since I began practicing as a lawyer. I usually stayed at the firm until exhaustion consumed me. Work had become my escape, my shield against a world that never seemed to quiet down. Whenever life got too loud — unbearably loud — I buried myself in case files, deadlines, and legal documents until reality became a blur.

I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and stepped out. My heels clicked softly against the pavement as I walked toward the door.

The moment I unlocked it with my key, an unpleasant sight greeted me — one I was not even remotely prepared for.

My so-called family was sitting in the living room.

All of them.

Wide awake. At this hour. That alone was strange because they all usually sleep early, especially on weekdays. But now, for some inexplicable reason, they were up — waiting.

I was going to ignore their existence as usual and head upstairs to the peace of my room when my father's voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

“I have arranged your marriage to the younger son of the Malhotra family.”

My breath caught in my throat. For a moment, my body went still — the words crashing into me like a cold slap in the face.

Marriage?

Mine?

And he didn’t even ask me?

A wave of anger surged up from my stomach, heating my blood, turning my pulse into a roar in my ears. I turned around, no longer able to contain the storm rising within me. My tone was sharp, far from polite — and I didn’t care.

“I will not marry him.”

The words were final. Firm. Irrevocable.

I turned to walk away, but before I could take another step, he grabbed my arm — hard — yanking me back toward him.

“I am not asking you. I am telling you. And it’s final,” he shouted. “They’re coming tomorrow to see you, so you better behave.”

My eyes stung with tears I refused to let fall. I straightened my spine and stared straight into his eyes. My voice, when it came, was cold and unyielding.

“NO, I WON’T BEHAVE. I am done playing the obedient daughter.”

His eyes widened. For the first time, he looked genuinely startled — clearly unprepared for rebellion. His grip on my arm faltered, and he stumbled back a step before catching himself.

“Is this how you talk to your father?” my uncle snapped, stepping forward.

“So he gets to make decisions about my life — arrange my marriage without even consulting me — but I’m not allowed to say no?” I retorted, my voice shaking with restrained fury.

“But he’s your father—”

“And I’m his daughter. Not that he’s ever remembered that,” I snapped. “Where was this father when I begged him to attend my school’s award ceremony? The day I topped the entire school?”

They all looked at me blankly. Confused.

I chuckled bitterly. “Let me remind you. He was at Ananya and Harsh’s sports day — cheering in the audience while I scanned the crowd for him. Hoping. Waiting.”

My throat burned as I spoke, but I didn’t stop.

“Just because you impregnated my mother and she gave birth to me doesn’t mean you were ever a father. You’ve always acted more like a father to my cousins than to me. So stop pretending. Stop making decisions for my life and claiming the title of ‘father.’”

I turned again, heading upstairs. But just before I reached the first step, I paused. Without looking back, I asked quietly,

“Do you even remember the last time I called you Papa?”

I didn’t wait for his answer.

Because now, it doesn’t matter anymore.

When I reached my room, I locked the door with trembling hands and leaned my back against it, trying to calm my erratic breathing. My heart thudded against my ribcage like it wanted to escape. I dropped to my knees and frantically rummaged through my bag, finally finding my anxiety medication.

With shaky fingers, I opened the box, took out two pills onto my sweaty palm, and forced them down. They always helped — numbing the chaos, silencing the storm.

I slowly slid down the door and sat on the floor, retrieving my phone and AirPods. I connected them, unlocked my phone, and opened YouTube.

In my top searches was something that shouldn’t have been there in the first place:

[ASMR] Reassuring father comforts you (Roleplay)

I clicked the first video and lay on the floor, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes as the soft voice echoed in my ears.

It felt like a cruel comfort.

I didn’t even realize when sleep finally claimed me.

___

I woke up when my alarm rang, like always. But I had already made up my mind — I wasn’t going to work today. I had informed Zoya in advance.

I knew my father wouldn’t back down from the marriage arrangement. The Malhotras were one of the most influential families in Australia, and I knew how my father worked. Appearances. Power. Profit.

So I stayed home. Not to accept the arrangement, but to ruin it.

I had heard the rumors — their younger son was gay. He stayed away from women and was in a secret relationship with his best friend. The whole of Australia whispered about it.

By evening, they would be here.

I got dressed in a pastel pink kurti with delicate floral prints and white leggings. Minimal makeup — just enough to look alive. Then I walked downstairs.

They were already waiting in the living room.

Meera aunty stood up when she saw me. She was sitting across from my father, uncle, and aunt.

She approached and wrapped me in a warm hug.

“How are you, beta?” she asked softly.

“I’m good,” I lied with a practiced smile.

She held my hand and guided me to sit beside her. She didn’t let go of my hand — not even for a second — as she spoke to my family.

I knew her well. She was the mother-in-law of my best friend, Shikha. And now, supposedly, my future mother-in-law too.

I looked around — but there was no sign of my would-be fiancé. Not that I expected him to be here. He had no interest in this arrangement. He was in love — just not with me.

Eventually, my family left us alone. Meera aunty turned to me with a gentle smile and took both my hands in hers again.

“You know, I wanted to make you my daughter-in-law the moment I saw you at Shikha’s wedding.”

My eyes widened slightly in surprise. I gave her a nervous smile.

“A-Aunty, actually… I don’t know how to cook,” I tried hesitantly.

“So what? We have servants for that.” She dismissed it instantly.

I tried again, grasping for an excuse. “And… I don’t know how to do laundry either.”

She released my hands only to cup my face with tenderness. Her voice softened, like she was speaking to something fragile, something breakable.

“Beta, why are you talking about cooking and cleaning? I’m not here to hire a maid. I’m here to make you the daughter of my family.”

Tears burned my eyes again — one escaped before I could stop it. She wiped it away gently.

“B-But I have anger issues… Sometimes I just get mad for no reason,” I confessed.

She smiled like I hadn’t just admitted a flaw — like I’d handed her a precious gift.

“That’s okay. My son is calm. Mature. The total opposite of you. He’ll take care of you. He’ll love you more than anything.”

“B-But—”

“No more ifs or buts,” she said sweetly, popping a kaju katli into my mouth before I could argue further. “You will be the wife of my son, Neil. That’s final.”

And just like that, she pulled me to my feet, gently tugging me toward the garden where my family lounged like royalty.

“I agree to this marriage,” Meera aunty announced. “But I think the kids should meet first. After all, they’re the ones who have to spend a lifetime together. We shouldn’t decide that for them, right?”

My father nodded silently.

She turned to me again, cupping my face like I was hers already.

“He’ll meet you tomorrow. I’ll text you the place, okay?”

I swallowed hard and nodded, a weak smile plastered on my face.

Then she was gone.

And me?

I’ve been sitting in my room for the past two hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering —

Why am I like this?

Even when I swear I’ll choose myself… I never do.

Even when I decide I’ll live for me and no one else… I end up bleeding for other people’s happiness.

Silently.

Like always.