Misha sighed quietly on her way home. She hadn't told her parents about her job because they would never allow her to become independent. Instead, she had told them that she was visiting a friend's house where she was learning household chores—especially sewing and crocheting. Her parents liked that idea; they thought it would make her more "marriageable," so they agreed.
The house felt unusually quiet when Misha stepped inside that evening. It had been almost a week since she joined Kitaab Café. The silence felt heavy—too heavy.
Her mother sat on the edge of the sofa, eyes sharp and restless. Her father stood near the window, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
"Where do you work?" her mother suddenly asked.
Misha froze.
"What… what do you mean?"
"We know," her father snapped. "That café. That place you go to every day pretending to be something important."
Her mother stood up so quickly that the chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"You think you can run around like a shameless girl? Earning money, meeting people, acting free?"
Before Misha could answer, her father grabbed her arm and dragged her toward her room. Her bag slipped from her shoulder as she struggled, her heart pounding.
"Stop! You're hurting me!"
He threw her inside and slammed the door. The lock clicked.
"Open it!" she cried, banging on the wood. "Please!"
Her mother rushed in before the door was fully shut and snatched Misha's phone from her hand.
"You don't need this anymore," she said coldly.
"No! That's mine!" Misha reached for it, but her mother pulled it away.
From behind the locked door, Misha heard her mother dialing a number.
"Yes, I'm her mother," she said loudly, making sure Misha could hear every word. "She will not be coming to work anymore. You should stop expecting her. She is at home now—where she belongs."
Misha slid down to the floor, her back against the door.
"No… please don't do this…" she whispered.
Her manager's confused voice faintly came through the phone, but her mother cut him off.
"She doesn't need this job. Don't call again."
The call ended.
Then—silence.
The next two days felt endless.
They only opened the door to slide food inside, like she was a prisoner. No phone. No outside world. Just her thoughts and the ticking of time.
Misha sat by the window, staring at the sky. She watched birds flying freely and children playing outside. She wondered what she had done to deserve this. Why couldn't she even walk freely in her own house?
Her hands trembled. Tears filled her eyes. Her lips shook. Her heart felt like it was breaking. Her dreams were collapsing in front of her. Her body began to shake, her mind went numb, and her cries grew louder—until everything faded and she collapsed.
That evening, her parents opened the door and found her lying there, unconscious. Her mother panicked—not because she cared, but because in two days a wealthy family was coming to see her for marriage. They had promised to make her father a business partner after the marriage.
They called a doctor.
After examining her, he said,
"She's unconscious due to starvation and extreme stress. You must take care of her. If something is troubling her mentally, therapy is needed, or her condition will worsen."
Smiling and nodding, her father walked the doctor out.
Misha regained consciousness when she heard her mother's faint voice.
"Thank God she's not dead. For the first time, she'll be of some use. Marrying her into that family will bring us money."
Misha pretended to be asleep.
Her father replied,
"Yes. Take care of her for the next two weeks until the wedding. We can't let this alliance fall apart. Tomorrow the groom's family is coming at 4 PM. She must look fit and fine."
Misha felt like she would faint again.
Marriage?
Her heart shattered.
How could they do this to their own daughter? Was she just an object to be traded for money?
Tears slid down her face as she stared at the dark night outside the window. Her life felt just as dark—hopeless, broken.
Then she remembered Ishvi's words and her colleagues' voices:
You can reach us whenever you need anything—we're your family now.
But her hope faded.
Her phone was gone. Her mother had called them. How would she ever reach out for help?
"Please, Shiv ji… please save me. I don't want this marriage…" she whispered through her tears.
Crying from exhaustion and heartbreak,
Misha finally fell asleep.