Chapter 5: A Taste of Freedom

Maybe because I'd been suppressed for too long, on Diwali night, I watched anime until 4 a.m. before falling asleep.

I giggled quietly at the jokes, feeling deliciously rebellious. The thrill of being awake when everyone else slept, wrapped in the warmth of Mausi’s home, was better than any cracker I’d ever burst.

At 9 a.m., I felt someone open the door. Then I heard the voice that fills me with dread: "Ananya, time to get up for breakfast."

I froze under the covers, pretending to be deep in sleep, heart pounding as Mummy’s footsteps creaked on the floor. The sweet smell of chai and parathas drifted in, but I wasn’t hungry anymore.

Mummy had actually come to see me early in the morning, but I didn't want to face her, so I pretended to sleep.

I slowed my breathing, squeezing my eyes shut tighter, hoping she’d leave without making a scene.

Mausi pulled Mummy away: "It's the first day after Diwali. What's the rush? Let the child sleep a bit longer."

Her voice was light, almost teasing, but there was steel underneath. I felt a rush of gratitude for her protection.

Mummy was embarrassed to make a scene at Mausi's house, so she quietly sat on a chair by the door, waiting for me.

The sound of her bangles clinking as she fidgeted reached my ears. I could sense her impatience, but Mausi's home felt like a fortress—she wouldn’t dare raise her voice here.

Mausi guessed I'd already been woken up, so she snapped a funny photo and sent it to me: [I really can't with your mummy—she still thinks you're a baby.]

I stifled a laugh under the blanket, peeking at my phone. Her silly selfie—eyes crossed, tongue out—was a tiny rebellion against Mummy’s seriousness.

[Mausi, can we still see the movie?]

I typed quickly, anxiety rising. I was desperate for the escape she’d promised.

[Of course. Sleep a bit more. I'll find a way to get your mummy to leave.]

Her assurance was like a warm hug. I rolled over, relaxing for the first time in days.

Mausi kept her word. That afternoon, I finally got to see a movie I'd been longing to watch.

We dressed up, Mausi wore her bright green kurta, Sneha braided her hair with tiny jasmine flowers, and I felt like a normal teenager again. We giggled through the auto ride, munching popcorn even before the movie began.

Last year and the year before, Mummy promised several times to take me to the movies, but always broke her promise, so I didn't dare hope for it anymore.

I recalled those broken promises—each one stinging a little more, until I learned to stop asking. But today, for once, hope had won.

Because of this, I cherished the opportunity, took a picture of the movie ticket, and posted it on my WhatsApp Status to tell the world that I was celebrating Diwali too.

As I composed the status, I hesitated, thumb hovering over the post button. Should I hide this from Mummy? No, let her see. I picked the best filter, adding a little diya emoji. For a moment, I felt just like my friends—free, happy, part of the celebration.

Unexpectedly, this post—which I hadn't hidden from my parents—enraged Mummy. She yelled at Mausi over the phone: "All you do is take Ananya out to play. Doesn't she need to study? If she can't get into college, will you take responsibility?"

Her voice carried even through the phone, each word a slap. Mausi rolled her eyes, putting the call on speaker so I could hear both sides.

Mausi was angry too: "Ananya's grades are so good. How could she not get into college?"

She spoke with the authority of someone who knew my worth, refusing to let Mummy’s doubts go unchallenged.

"Good grades? Scoring only 139.5 in English is good?"

I could hear the disbelief, the disbelief that had haunted me for days. Even Sneha looked away, embarrassed by the tension.

...Mausi was speechless, and I shivered involuntarily.

The joy of the movie faded. My hands grew cold, and I wished I could turn invisible, if only for a while.

139.5. Again, 139.5.

The number echoed in my head, taunting me like an unwanted guest who refused to leave.

Is not getting 140 some kind of unforgivable crime?

I squeezed my fists, wondering if I’d ever be good enough, if there was anything I could do to make her proud.

139.5 is already fourth in the class—why can't Mummy ever see my strengths or hear my voice? Why is she always so domineering, always above me?

I looked at Mausi, who squeezed my hand. Her silent support steadied me, but the hurt lingered. My happiness always seemed to depend on a number I could never control.

At that moment, I suddenly felt that Mummy and I were born enemies, that maybe only one of us could survive.

I blinked away tears, realising that our worlds might never truly meet. But I also felt a stubborn flicker of hope—that one day, things would change.