At Anshika's house

Anshika stepped inside the house, her heart heavy with the same suffocating feeling that gripped her every time she crossed this threshold. The scent of expensive perfumes and fresh flowers did nothing to mask the bitterness that lingered in the air.

She walked into the living room, her gaze instantly falling on her stepmother and stepsister, Siya. They were huddled together, whispering about something, their perfectly manicured nails tapping against a jewelry box.

Anshika didn't care what they were up to—it was never anything good, at least not for her.

The moment Siya's eyes landed on her, a smirk curled on her lips. "Oh, look who's back," she drawled, crossing her arms. "The unwanted guest of the house."

Anshika ignored her and moved toward the staircase. But before she could take a step, one of the servants—a woman who should have been neutral but instead enjoyed adding fuel to the fire—blocked her way.

"Miss Anshika, shouldn't you greet your family properly?" she sneered. "Or is your attitude getting worse by the day?"

The other servants chuckled. They always took Siya's side. Always followed her lead.

Anshika clenched her fists but forced a blank expression onto her face. Reacting would only give them what they wanted. Instead, she silently moved past them, acting as if their words meant nothing.

But they did.

Each day in this house was a battle—a battle she was forced to fight only because her Daddi insisted she stay here.

"Women should live with their families," Daddi had said. "A girl's home is with her father."

What Daddi didn't understand was that this wasn't a home. It was a battlefield, and she was always on the losing side.

She had tried to tell her once—tried to explain the humiliation, the neglect, the cruel words thrown at her every day.

But Daddi had simply patted her hand and smiled. "They are your family, beta. Give them time. They will accept you."

Anshika had given them years.

Nothing had changed.

Siya, of course, wasn't done yet. She never was.

"So, Anshika," Siya's sickeningly sweet voice rang out. "How does it feel to be back in this house where no one wants you?"

Anshika stopped mid-step but didn't turn around. She wouldn't give Siya the satisfaction of seeing her expression.

Siya continued, her voice dripping with fake concern. "You know, I feel bad for you. No mother, no love, no importance. Just existing like a shadow in someone else's home."

Anshika took a slow breath. Stay calm. Don't react.

Siya chuckled. "Oh, and don't bother going to Daddi about this. We both know she won't believe you. She only sees what she wants to see."

Anshika gritted her teeth and walked away, refusing to let Siya get to her.

As she climbed the stairs, the front door opened.

Her father had arrived.

Instantly, as if flipping a switch, Siya and her mother transformed. The arrogance vanished from their faces, replaced by gentle smiles and soft voices.

"Papa, you're home early today!" Siya beamed, rushing toward him like the perfect daughter.

Her stepmother adjusted her sari, smiling sweetly. "You must be tired. Should I get you some tea?"

Anshika paused at the staircase, observing the flawless act they put on for her father.

They were so good at it. So good at pretending.

Her father looked up, spotting her. His expression remained neutral, unreadable as always.

"You're home, Anshika," he said simply.

It wasn't a warm greeting. It wasn't cold either. Just indifferent.

Siya turned to her, her eyes gleaming with hidden mischief. "Oh yes, Papa! Anshika was just telling us how much she loves being here, isn't that right?"

Anshika forced a small smile. "Yes, Papa. I'm happy to be home."

She had no choice but to play along.

Her father nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Focus on your studies."

And just like that, he walked past them, heading to his study, oblivious to everything that happened in his absence.

The moment he was out of sight, Siya leaned in, whispering, "Liar."

Anshika ignored her and went to her room.

At her room

She locked the door behind her, finally allowing herself to breathe.

Dropping her bag on the desk, she sat down and pulled out her books. If there was one thing that gave her control in this life, it was her studies.

She drowned herself in assignments, numbers, and notes—anything to block out the reality of the house she was forced to call home.

Because the truth was, she didn't belong here.

And one day, she wouldn't have to pretend anymore.

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