The next day, Riya felt a strange heaviness in her chest. It was as if the words from the wedding night had settled into her bones. She could hear Meera's voice in her head: "People see skin first. They stop there."
School felt different now. It wasn't just about the subjects they studied or the assignments they had to complete. It was about how people were seen. How they were valued. Riya couldn't ignore it anymore. The idea that her light skin made her better, that it placed her on a pedestal while others were pushed to the edges, felt suffocating.
It was early in the morning when she entered the classroom, her bag slung over her shoulder, feeling the weight of her thoughts more than the textbooks inside. The bell rang, signaling the start of class, but Riya wasn't paying attention. Her eyes lingered on Naina, who was sitting in the front row, flipping through a fashion magazine during the lesson.
Naina was one of Riya's closest friends. They'd been together since they were little, their bond strengthened by shared moments of laughter and tears. But even Naina, with her radiant smile and sharp wit, was trapped in the same system of expectations. She used fairness cream every day, as if it was a part of her routine—like brushing her teeth or doing her homework.
Riya had noticed it for months, but today, it felt different. She watched Naina carefully as she pulled a small jar of cream from her bag and dabbed it on her face. The small jar had a label Riya had seen many times: "Fair and Lovely." The same brand her mother used. The same brand Meera's family had recommended.
Why? Riya thought, watching the motion of Naina's fingers, spreading the cream over her face, just as if it were an essential part of getting ready in the morning.
"Riya," Naina said, breaking her concentration. "You look lost in thought. What's on your mind?"
Riya snapped back to the present. She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Nothing," she said, looking away. She didn't want to talk about it—not yet. Not when she wasn't even sure what to think.
That night, Riya couldn't stop thinking about Naina, about the fairness cream, about the whole cycle that kept repeating. She thought about how her mother had always encouraged her to protect her skin from the sun, as if the darker it got, the less valuable she would become.
Even her grandmother had given her a box of fairness cream when she turned twelve. For good luck, she had said, as if a lighter complexion could make things easier for her in life. No one will take you seriously unless you're fair, her grandmother had warned her, her voice laced with years of old, inherited wisdom.
It was as though the world had sold them all a lie—a mask they were all supposed to wear to be accepted. But the truth was hidden beneath the surface.