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Krithika's POV

The silence of my apartment usually feels like a victory, but tonight, it felt like a tomb. I had collapsed into a nap the moment I got home, the voices of board members and the technical jargon of gene-mapping still echoing in my skull.

Sunday morning brought no relief. A text from my cook-on leave-was the final straw. I stood in my designer kitchen, the marble cold under my feet, staring at a loaf of bread. I didn't have the soul left to cook a real meal. I settled for toast and butter, eating it over the sink like a woman who had everything and nothing all at once.

I tried to drown the world out with "When Life Gives You Tangerines." I wanted to lose myself in someone else's fiction, someone else's heartbreak. But the vibration of my phone on the coffee table shattered the peace.

Mamma.

"Kittu, listen to me," her voice was bright, too bright. "There is such a good proposal. A very settled family, the boy is-"

"Mamma, stop," I said, my voice flat. "I'm not ready. I've told you this a thousand times. I am not doing this right now."

The brightness in her voice vanished, replaced by that sharp, familiar edge of maternal guilt. "You are thirty, Krithika. It is high time. We have to think about Mannu's future too. We can't marry her off until you are settled. Don't be so selfish."

Something in me snapped. The bread in my stomach felt like lead. "Selfish? Because I won't follow a timeline created by society? I don't care about 'late,' Mamma. And if Mannu is ready, marry her off! Don't use her as a leash to drag me to an altar I don't want to stand at. It's my life. My decision."

"This is why we supported your education?" Mamma's voice rose to a shrill pitch. "So you could throw us away like a piece of paper? People were right... girls shouldn't be educated this much. We made a mistake. We gave you wings and now you're using them to fly away from your duty."

A bitter, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. "Duty? I am a Senior Biotech Consultant. I handle multi-million dollar trials. I've achieved more than anyone in our family ever has! But to you, I'm just a failure because I don't have a wedding ring, right? You can't see me as a successful woman; you only see me as an 'unmarried daughter.'"

My vision started to blur. The walls of my beautiful apartment felt like they were closing in. "It's the 21st century, and yet, you make the world so unkind to me. I was the good girl. I followed every rule. I never jumped walls, I never lied, I never broke your trust. And yet, I'm the culprit. Tell me, Mamma... if I actually made a mistake, would you even stand by me? Do you have the courage to choose your daughter over what the neighbors think?"

I hung up before she could answer. My chest felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. I sank to the floor, my back against the cold sofa, clawing at my throat as the panic attack took hold. I was successful, I was powerful, and I was drowning in the middle of my own living room.

Author's POV

In the Sharma household, the silence after the call was deafening. Kumud sat on the edge of the bed, her hand trembling as she recounted the fallout to Neeraj.

"She's changed, Neeraj," Kumud whispered, her eyes wet. "She spoke with so much venom. She thinks we don't value her career."

Neeraj sighed, the weight of the last ten years etched into the lines of his face. "Can you blame her, Kumud? We need to look at what we did. Ten years ago, when Mannu made that mistake, we didn't just punish Mannu. We passed an ultimatum that changed Kittu too. We forced her into a mold of 'perfection' to compensate for her sister. We gave her an education, but we never gave her a choice. She's been living under the shadow of our rules for a decade."

Later that evening, Kumud called Mannu, her voice weary as she explained Kittu's outburst.

Mannu listened in silence, her heart aching for the sister who had always been her shield. "Kittu is right, Mamma," Mannu said softly, her voice firm. "She has earned her life. If she doesn't want to marry, you cannot force her. And please... don't use my name to pressure her anymore. I am in no mood to marry anytime soon myself. Let her be, Mamma. She's been the 'perfect daughter' for ten years. Let her just be Krithika for a while."

Kumud looked at the phone, the words of both her daughters finally beginning to pierce the armor of her traditional mindset. The "perfect" family was fracturing, and for the first time, she realized that the rules she used to protect them were the very things tearing them apart.

The storm isn't just outside; it's inside the heart of the home.

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