Meher's POV
Power looks very attractive from the outside.
Boardrooms.Glass buildings.People waiting.
From inside, power feels like pressure.
It feels like being watched before being heard.It feels like being measured before being understood.It feels like being useful before being human.
That day, my mother didn't call me Meher.
She called me "Ms. Kapoor."
It happened in the office lobby.
In front of people.
It shouldn't have hurt.
It did.
We walked into the conference hall together, but we didn't sit together.
She took her seat at the center.
They placed mine three chairs away.
Not symbolic.
Strategic.
The meeting was about expansion.
About buying out a youth-based digital company.
About image.
About numbers.
I listened.
Then I realized something that made my chest tighten.
The company they were discussing…
was Pulse Youth Network.
Ananya's audition place.
The air in the room suddenly felt heavier.
"This acquisition will give us direct control over youth narratives," a man said.
Control.
The word made something inside me go very still.
Another added, "We can streamline content. Reduce risk."
Risk.
Meaning voice.
Meaning mess.
Meaning truth.
My hands tightened on the table.
I raised my eyes. "What happens to their editorial freedom?"
A few heads turned.
One man smiled politely. "That's flexible."
My mother didn't look at me.
"That's dangerous," I said calmly.
The room quieted.
"You're emotional," someone said lightly.
I didn't raise my voice.
I didn't smile.
"I'm informed," I said. "You don't buy youth platforms to control them. You support them to understand them."
Silence.
Then my mother finally spoke.
"We're not here for a debate," she said. "We're here for growth."
I met her eyes.
"Then don't confuse growth with ownership," I replied.
The room froze.
After the meeting, she followed me into the corridor.
"What are you doing?" she asked sharply. "Undermining the board?"
"No," I said. "I'm protecting what you're about to break."
"You're a child," she snapped. "You don't understand power."
I looked at her.
Really looked.
"I've lived under it my whole life," I said quietly. "I'm just no longer willing to be crushed by it."
Her face didn't soften.
But something in her eyes… shifted.
That evening, I didn't go shopping.
I didn't meet friends.
I went back to the hostel.
To Room 407.
Ananya was sitting on her bed, typing, expression soft and serious.
I watched her for a moment before she noticed me.
"What happened?" she asked.
I sat beside her.
"They're planning to buy Pulse," I said.
Her fingers froze.
I continued, "And I don't trust their intentions."
She looked up slowly. "Kabir works with people there. That space matters."
"So does yours," I said. "And I won't let them become the same thing."
She searched my face.
"You're stepping into war," she said.
I smiled faintly. "I was born into one. I'm just choosing sides now."
She didn't laugh.
She reached out and held my hand.
And in that small hostel room, between books and half-charged phones, I realized something very clearly:
Power was no longer an idea.
It was standing in my life.
And it was asking who I was willing to become.