Meher's war wasn't online.
It was at a dining table big enough to seat silence.
Her mother, two board members, and a legal advisor.
"You're being emotional," one man said after she explained her youth mental-health initiative idea.
Meher met his eyes.
"No. I'm being strategic. Emotional is ignoring a generation and expecting loyalty."
Her mother's fingers tightened on her fork.
"This is not how this company works."
Meher leaned back.
"Then this is how I will."
They stared.
She continued, voice even.
"You want a young face. I won't be a decorative one. If I join officially next year, this division exists. With real funding. Or my name doesn't."
The room went very quiet.
Later that night, Meher sat on her hostel bed, shoes kicked off, hands resting on her knees.
She wasn't shaking.
She wasn't crying.
She was… solid.
Ananya sat beside her.
"You scared them," Ananya said.
Meher smiled faintly. "Good."