The exams were over. The endless late-night study sessions, the smell of ink and coffee, the panic of remembering formulas—all of it had finally ended.

For the first time in months, Ishani could just sit by her window, feeling the soft afternoon sunlight warm her face. The neighborhood sounded distant—the faint laughter of kids, the whistle of a pressure cooker, the hum of a world moving forward. But her world? It felt paused, uncertain.

“What next?” she whispered to herself, tracing invisible circles on the glass.

Her father, Rajesh, thought she’d take up commerce, just like her cousin Karan. Her mother didn’t say much—she rarely did. And Ishani… she’d learned to keep her thoughts quiet too. Growing up in a house where emotions were treated like a weakness, she’d stopped expecting anyone to listen. But deep down, she’d always wanted to be the listener she never had—to hear people’s stories, their silences, their hidden aches.

Maybe that’s why the word psychology had started echoing in her mind like a heartbeat.

“Follow what makes sense to you,” Karan had told her when she called him, nervous about her future. As a college professor, he’d seen hundreds of students lose themselves in what others wanted for them. He didn’t want that for her.

So together—with her father’s silent approval and Karan’s guidance—she began her journey. The admission day felt like stepping into an unfamiliar world. The college campus was alive—students laughing in English so fluent it almost sounded like another language. Ishani clutched her file tightly, her palms sweating.

Her English wasn’t that good. And in a room full of confidence, she felt like a whisper among loud voices.

That’s when she heard someone say, “Hey.”

She looked up. A boy stood there, tall and calm, wearing a half-smile that somehow reached his eyes.

“I’m Vihaan,” he said. “You’re here for counseling too?”

His voice was kind—no hint of arrogance, no teasing edge. Just simple curiosity.

“Yeah,” she managed, her voice smaller than she meant it to be.

For a second, time stumbled. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before. She wasn’t used to being noticed. She’d always been “that quiet girl,” the one people forgot in group photos, the one whose name teachers sometimes mixed up.

But this stranger had seen her.

They talked—light, awkward words about the heat, the crowd, the forms. He even joked about how confusing the process was, and she laughed, a soft, hesitant sound she hadn’t realized she’d been holding back for months.

When the session ended, Karan called her from across the hall. Ishani waved at Vihaan before walking away, her heart strangely light.

That evening, as the car drove her home, she watched the world blur past the window and caught herself smiling for no reason.

It was ridiculous, she thought. It was just a “hi.”

Just a boy being polite.

But somehow, her world didn’t feel paused anymore.

The morning sun touched Ishani’s cheeks with a warmth she hadn’t felt in days. For once, she had something to be proud of — she had secured admission to one of the most prestigious colleges in the city. Psychology. Her dream course.

She couldn’t wait to share the news with her family, especially her elder brother Raghav, who she always looked up to. Maybe, she thought, today would be different — maybe her parents would smile at her, maybe her sister Ishania would be proud, and maybe, just maybe, her mother would hug her.

She stepped out of her room with a bright smile. Rajesh, her father, sat on the sofa reading the newspaper. Shobha, her mother, was already scrolling through her phone. Raghav was fixing his watch near the mirror, and Meera, her youngest sister, was humming while packing her school bag.

“Papa,” Ishani started softly, “I wanted to tell you something. My admission—”

But before she could finish, Ishania’s voice cut clean through the room like it was rehearsed. “Papa! You won’t believe this!” she exclaimed, her voice glowing with practiced excitement. “I just got selected for the finals in the Business Idea competition! They said my project was one of the most innovative ones they’d seen!”

Rajesh immediately put down the newspaper, his expression brightening. “Really? That’s incredible, beta! I knew you had it in you. You never disappoint.”

Shobha’s phone was forgotten as she hurried over. “Ishania, that’s wonderful news! You’ve made us so proud again. You always have such big ideas, just like your uncle. We must celebrate tonight.”

Meera clapped happily. “Didi, you’re amazing! You always win!”

Raghav smiled, leaning on the wall. “Well done, champ. You’ll crush the finals too.”

Amidst all the cheers, Ishani stood frozen, her half-formed words dying in her throat. Still, she managed a small smile. “That’s… that’s really great, Ishania. Congratulations.”

Ishania turned toward her, lips curving into a delicate, knowing smile. “Oh, thank you,” she said sweetly. “Wait, weren’t you talking about psychology or something? What happened with that? Or are you still figuring things out?” Her tone was innocent, but the edge beneath it was sharp.

“I—no, I got in,” Ishani said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I got my admission letter yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s adorable,” Ishania replied with a short laugh. “Psychology really suits you. You’ve always been so… emotional. Maybe now you can analyze why you cry over everything.” Her laughter rang out again — airy, careless, perfectly cruel.

Raghav’s smile faded, and he quietly moved to the dining table. Rajesh followed, still chatting with Shobha about how brilliant Ishania’s idea must have been. Ishani walked behind them, her excitement melting into quiet shame.

As they all sat for breakfast, Rajesh looked up. “So, Ishania, how are you preparing for the finals? You should take Raghav’s help; he’s good with presentations.”

Raghav nodded, his tone warm. “Yeah, I can help you polish it up a bit. Maybe add some statistics and visuals — you’ll impress them for sure.”

“Thanks, bhaiya!” Ishania smiled brightly. “You always know how to make things better.”

Meera clapped her hands. “You’ll win again, I just know it!”

Ishani quietly served herself some food, careful not to draw attention. But as the laughter and chatter continued, she found herself trying again. “Actually, I wanted to say—”

Shobha didn’t even look up. “Is it something urgent, Ishani? Because if it’s not, please don’t start unnecessary stories while eating. You always seem to have the worst timing.”

Ishania leaned forward, feigning concern. “Aww, Mom, maybe she just wants to tell us about her new college life. That’s cute.” Her voice softened, sugarcoated. “Don’t worry, Ishani. You’ll do fine there. Just try not to… overthink or get too emotional, okay? People might find it a bit… awkward.” She smiled like it was genuine advice, but her eyes gleamed with quiet triumph.

Ishani lowered her gaze. Even Meera, who often defended her, stayed quiet this time — her small face uncertain, lost in the tension.

Rajesh sipped his tea and said flatly, “You should really learn from your sister, Ishani. Look at her — confident, clear-headed. You two share a birthday, but sometimes I wonder if you even share the same genes.”

The words hit harder than anyone noticed.

“I’m done,” Ishani murmured, pushing her plate away.

No one responded. The conversation picked up right where it left off, as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

She went back to her room, her chest tight. Opening her laptop, she logged into the quiet online forum where a few kind strangers felt more like home than her own family.

“Hey, I got into college today,” she typed. “But no one seemed to care.”

After a few moments, a reply blinked on the screen.

“Don’t worry, Ishani. The world doesn’t see gentle souls immediately. One day, they’ll understand your worth. Just keep being you.”

A soft smile touched her lips — fragile, but real.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe one day, someone would see her… really see her.

The door clicked shut behind her. For a second, Ishani just stood there, her hand still resting on the knob, the silence pressing against her chest.

The letter trembled in her fingers — the one she had waited months for. The one that carried her dream.

She sat on her bed, eyes fixed on her name printed neatly at the top.

“Admission confirmed,” it read.

A soft, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“I did it… I actually did it,” she whispered, voice barely a breath. “And they didn’t even look at me.”

The words felt heavy. Like they’d been waiting too long to be said.

She ran her thumb over the edge of the paper, careful not to tear it. “I thought… maybe this time, Papa would smile. Or Ma would… just look proud. For once.”

But the laughter from the breakfast table still echoed in her head — the claps, the praise, the love that was never hers.

She looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard.

When did it start?

When did everything begin to fall apart?

...----------------...

She was ten again. The school hall smelled like chalk dust and sweat. Both she and Ishania were on stage that day — same competition, same excitement.

But only one name was called.

“Ishani Rajesh Sharma — first place.”

Her little hands had trembled as she held the trophy, eyes searching the crowd for her parents. Rajesh had smiled faintly, distracted.

“That’s good, beta,” he said, already looking away.

Her mother had gone straight to Ishania. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll win next time, hmm? You were amazing.”

Ishani had stood there, holding her trophy tighter, feeling something small die inside her.

That was the first time she realized — love wasn’t something everyone got equally.

......................

The next memory came uninvited, like a cut reopening.

They were playing in the backyard. Ishania on the swing, Ishani pushing gently, Raghav laughing nearby. The sun was soft that evening — the kind that made everything feel gold.

Then suddenly — a scream.

A fall.

A cry that pierced straight through her.

“Ishani pushed me!”

Her father came running. “What happened?!”

“She pushed me, Papa!” Ishania sobbed, holding her arm.

“I didn’t!” Ishani’s voice shook. “I swear, I didn’t even—”

Rajesh’s face hardened. “How could you hurt your own sister?”

“I didn’t!”

Shobha’s voice snapped through the air. “Enough. Apologize.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Apologize!”

She did. Because that’s what peace looked like in that house — her silence.

......................

Years blurred after that.

One accusation after another.

One small mistake was enough for everyone to believe she was the problem.

Until that night by the pool.

They were fifteen. The air smelled like rain and chlorine. The fight started small — it always did.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” Ishania spat.

“I didn’t say that,” Ishani whispered, tired. “We’re the same. You’re my sister. Why do you—”

“Don’t call me that!” she shouted. “You ruined everything. They used to love me! And now it’s always you! You and your fake innocence!”

“Ishania, that’s not true,” she tried to reason. “They love you, too.”

“Lies!” Ishania’s eyes burned. “You took them from me. You took everything.”

And then it happened too fast — a slip, a splash, a scream.

“Ishania!” Ishani yelled, dropping to her knees. “Give me your hand!”

The maid came running, water splashing everywhere, pulling the shivering girl out.

Minutes later, Rajesh and Shobha burst into the garden.

“What happened here?!”

Before Ishani could speak, the maid stammered, “Sir, I think Ishani… she was near the pool—”

That was enough.

Rajesh’s eyes turned red. “You pushed her?”

“No! Papa, I didn’t—”

The slap came before she could finish.

Her cheek burned, her heart stopped.

Shobha’s voice sliced through the night. “You could’ve killed your sister! You’re a disgrace!”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up!”

Raghav stood there, silent. Cold. Watching her fall apart.

And when her father grabbed the belt, she didn’t even run.

She just stood there, because she’d already learned — no one would believe her.

...****************...

Back in her room, Ishani pressed her hands over her face, but the tears slipped through anyway.

They were quiet, slow — the kind that didn’t need sound to hurt.

“Why me?” she whispered. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Her phone buzzed once.

📱Didi, don’t cry. I’m proud of you. You did it. ❤️

Meera.

A broken smile tugged at Ishani’s lips. “At least someone still sees me.”

Her eyes drifted to the framed photo on her desk — Diwali night at Karan’s house. She, Karan, and his parents, laughing, her face glowing with genuine joy.

Karan’s mother had hugged her before she left that night. “You’re always welcome here, beta. You’re family.”

That word "family "still echoed in her heart.

She wiped her tears, folding the admission letter neatly and tucking it between her diary pages. “Maybe one day,” she whispered, “I’ll stop trying to earn their love.”

The wind outside brushed against the window, carrying the faint sound of morning traffic and life that went on just like hers had to.

She closed her eyes. “Maybe this is just the beginning.”