In a home filled with expectations and silence, Meher stands alone—carrying the weight of a missing sister and dreams dismissed by those who claim to love her. She refuses to follow the path laid out for her, choosing instead to fight for the truth, for her sister, and for herself. Because some loves don't fade—they burn fiercely, driving us to rise, to resist, and to never give up.
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Meher pressed the doorbell again and again, her finger growing heavier with each ring. The sharp chime outside was no match for the chaos within—the crash of dishes, overlapping voices, and the television blaring at full volume. Her jaw clenched.
"Where is everyone? And what's with all this noise?" she muttered under her breath, exasperation rising in her chest like smoke from a slow-burning fire.
Her dress—once elegant—was now stained, the ugly smear across the front serving as a final insult on a day that had already gone terribly wrong. Her expression said it all: she was tired, angry, and fed up.
Finally, the door creaked open. A maid appeared, startled and breathless.
"Sorry, ma'am…"
"How long does it take to open one door?" Meher snapped, brushing past her. "And don't give me excuses. Just get me a coffee. Someone's already managed to ruin one... and my mood."
She left her suitcase at the door and walked down the hallway, boots clicking sharply against the marble. The voices from the living room were clearer now—two tones she knew too well.
As her father, Asad Khan's voice carried the calm authority he wore like a second skin.
"As her father, I believe her career is most important," he said, his arms folded as he sat upright. "She should take over the company. That's what I've raised her for."
"And I'm her mother," Zehra interjected, tone sharper, wearier. "It's time she got married. That's not too much to ask."
From the hallway, Meher stood watching—expression blank, eyes hollow. The usual argument. Always about her. Never to her.
"So this is why no one opened the door," she thought, bitterness curling in her stomach. "Why am I not surprised?"
Asad finally noticed her.
"There she is," he said, with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let's ask her directly."
Meher stepped into the room, chin high, her voice sharp with restraint.
"I've just come back from a long trip. The least you could've done was ask how I'm doing," she said, her tone colder than the marble floor beneath her. "But I didn't expect that from either of you. So let's skip it."
Her eyes met theirs without a flicker of doubt.
"I'm not getting married."
Zehra gasped softly, blinking in disbelief. Asad, on the other hand, leaned back with a look of triumph.
"See? I told you," he said smugly.
"She'll choose business. I know my daughter better than anyone."
But Meher turned to him slowly, eyes hard and unreadable.
"No, you don't," she said flatly. "Not at all."
She took a step forward, her voice gaining strength.
"I'm not joining your business either. I'll start my own company."
Her words dropped like a stone into still water. The silence that followed was heavy, charged.
Asad's expression shifted, the pride fading quickly into irritation.
"You can't go back on your word," he snapped. "You promised me—if I helped you find your sister, you'd take over the business."
His tone was sharp, edged with anger and entitlement. "That was the deal."
Meher's eyes didn't waver.
"It seems like I'm the only one who actually cares about her," she said bitterly. "I've given up so much for her. But you two?"
She looked from her father to her mother.
"Have either of you ever really thought about her? Even once?"
Zehra shifted uncomfortably, her voice soft.
"We do remember her, Meher. But we've accepted that she is de—"
"Don't say it."
Meher cut her off, her voice trembling with emotion. "Not a word more."
Tears threatened to rise, but she held them back.
"How do you know she's not alive?"
Meher's voice rang out, raw and trembling.
"Tell me—how do you know?"
She looked at her mother, eyes burning with disbelief and pain.
"Do you have proof? Have you seen her? Have you searched like I have?"
Zehra stood frozen, lips parted but silent. Asad said nothing.
"You don't know," Meher continued, voice shaking but rising. "No one does. And until I do—until I find the truth—I will keep looking."
There was a pause, a painful beat where her breath caught in her throat.
"I will look for her until my last breath."
Her voice cracked, the final word barely more than a whisper.
"So just... stop. Please."
She turned abruptly, not waiting for an answer, not trusting herself to hold back the storm welling up behind her eyes. Her boots struck the stairs in an urgent rhythm, carrying her up with a speed that made it clear: she couldn't stay in that room a second longer.
At the top, she disappeared into her bedroom and slammed the door shut. A hard click of the lock followed.
Behind the door, she leaned against it, her forehead pressed to the wood, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her chest heaved with the weight of unshed tears, with anger, with exhaustion.
Outside, the silence was deafening. Neither parent spoke. No one knocked.
^
To be continued....
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In a world quick to give up and slow to understand, Meher's fierce determination becomes a beacon—a reminder that true strength is born from love, loss, and the unyielding refusal to be forgotten.
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( realising date 30/7/2025 )
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"Stay strong, stay hopeful, and most of all, stay happy—because sometimes the greatest strength lies in choosing joy despite the storm."🌈💕
-Yours Galaxy's eyes.