PAST
SMRITI POV
So I lost my parents…
Just four months after my 21st birthday.
Sometimes I wonder if God gives happiness only to test how much pain a person can survive after.
At their funeral, many people came.
Some out of sympathy.
Some out of curiosity.
But from the Raichand family… only Dhruv uncle and Adyant dada came.
The rest never showed up.
Maybe they believed the rumors too
Maybe they thought my father was guilty.
Dhruv uncle stood beside me during the rituals.
Before leaving, he held my shoulder and said something.
“I promise you…”
But honestly?
I didn’t pay attention.
Promises mean nothing.
In this world, when you fall — you fall alone.
No one really stays.
Before everything collapsed…
Before Papa’s business was destroyed…
Before 20th September…
I used to dream of becoming a businesswoman like him.
I would sit in his office chair and say,
“One day this will be mine.”
He would laugh proudly.
But dreams need money.
And we had none.
So I chose something practical.
Teaching.
I completed my degree at the age of 22, around October.
And soon after, I got a job in a small private school.
My salary?
8000 rupees per month.
Not much.
But when tiny children hold my hand and say,
“Ma’am, see my drawing!”
For a few hours… I forget everything.
Teaching doesn’t give money.
But it gives peace.
Maybe that’s why I survived.
Right now, I’m 23.
Before I turn 25… I have to leave this house.
That’s my goal.
Every month:
8000 salary.
4000 — Chacha takes.
“House expenses,” he says.
Even though legally this house belongs half to my father.
4000 — I save.
But still I save ₹4000 every month, even though my personal expenses keep going up and down… and somehow, I still managed to save ₹30,000.
I’ve calculated everything carefully.
I have saved 30,000 rupees so far.
But apartment rents are high.
Deposit. Advance. Basic furniture.
I need at least 2–3 lakhs to leave safely.
It will take time.
But I will reach there.
I always do silent math in my head.
Money. Time. Freedom.
I sighed and stood up from the park bench.
The house in front of me didn’t feel like home.
It felt like someone else’s property where I was just allowed to stay.
I walked inside.
Riya Chachi’s voice immediately echoed from the kitchen.
“Madam teacher aa gayi?”
I ignored it.
Because one thing I have learned—
Silence is not weakness.
It is preparation.
And I am preparing.
For the day I will walk out of this house…
Without looking back.
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