~I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people that make you feel alone~

~~~

~Author's POV~

Aaradhya's teenage years should have been filled with laughter, friendships, and dreams of the future. Instead, they became a slow, suffocating cycle of endurance. Every day was the same—silent, measured, calculated. She had long stopped expecting love, but the loneliness never became easier. It just settled deeper into her bones, making a home in her heart.

At school, she excelled.

She topped every exam, won every competition she entered, and was adored by teachers. On paper, she was the perfect student—the kind who made parents beam with pride. But Aaradhya knew better.

Her achievements were nothing more than ink on a page, meaningless within the four walls of her home.

Each time she brought home a trophy or certificate, she hesitated before stepping inside. Hope, however small, flickered in her chest. Maybe this time they would say something. Maybe this time her father's eyes would shine with pride. Maybe this time her mother would hug her like she used to.

But the moment she crossed the threshold, she became invisible again.

The certificates would be left on the dining table, untouched, unnoticed. The trophies would gather dust in a corner. No one asked. No one cared.

Siya, on the other hand, barely had to lift a finger. A single passing grade in a subject was celebrated like a grand victory. Their mother would cook her favorite meal, their father would pat her head with pride, and the whole family would gather to praise her.

Aaradhya would watch from the sidelines, her achievements buried beneath silence, the glow of pride in her heart slowly dimming until it was nothing more than a distant ember.

But before all of this, before she became nothing more than a shadow in her own home, she had once been cherished.

She never cried in front of them. Never.

But at night, when the world was asleep, she allowed herself to feel.

Some nights, she would sit on the floor of her room, her back pressed against the cold wooden bed, arms wrapped around her knees. The weight of loneliness, of being unwanted, crushed her chest until she couldn't breathe.

Her throat would ache with the effort of holding back sobs, but she never let them out. Letting them escape felt like giving her pain an audience. And no one was listening.

Sometimes she would think, if anyone will even care if she died or not, if she never came back at the house at all, because it was not a home she once cherished, if they would even sense her missing, but life doesn't go our way, does it.

Crying made no difference.

No one would come to comfort her. No one would ask why.

So what was the point?

Instead, she let silent tears slip down her cheeks, soaking into her pillow. Then she would wipe them away, take a deep breath, and remind herself that emotions were a luxury she couldn't afford.

Aahan rarely came home from boarding school, but when he did, Aaradhya found herself unable to face him.

Not because she was angry—no, she could never be angry at him. But because she was terrified of breaking in front of him.

She had perfected the art of silence, of pretending she was fine. But Aahan had always seen through her. He had always known when she was hurting.

And if he saw her now, truly saw her, he would ask.

And she wouldn't be able to lie.

So she avoided him, giving him small smiles and brief conversations. She made sure never to be alone with him for too long. And eventually, he stopped asking.

"You know," Siya said one day, her voice dripping with fake concern, "you should smile more. No wonder everyone finds you so dull."

Aaradhya didn't respond. She had long stopped responding to Siya's taunts.

"You used to be the golden child," Siya continued, inspecting her nails, "and now? Now you're just a shadow. It must be exhausting, trying so hard to be noticed."

Aaradhya met her gaze for a brief second before looking away. She wasn't trying to be noticed. Not anymore. She just wanted to survive.

~

It happened during her final year of school.

Aaradhya had just received her acceptance letter to one of the top universities in New York—a full scholarship, earned through years of relentless effort.

She held the letter in her hands, staring at it, her fingers trembling. For the first time in years, something like pride flickered in her chest. This was something no one could take away from her.

She folded the letter carefully and walked into the living room, where her parents were seated. Taking a deep breath, she placed it on the table in front of them.

"I got into university," she said, her voice steady but quiet. "On a full scholarship."

For a moment, there was silence. Then her father exhaled, barely glancing at the letter.

"That's good, at least now we don't have to waste our money on you" he said, returning to his newspaper.

Her mother nodded absentmindedly. "You should go put some tea on the stove."

Aaradhya's fingers clenched around the edge of the table.

That was it.

No 'I'm proud of you.' No 'You worked so hard.' Not even a second glance at the letter.

Nothing.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding once before picking up the letter and walking back to her room.

As she shut the door behind her, something inside her broke completely.

She had always known they didn't care. She had spent years preparing herself for it. But some foolish part of her had still hoped.

That night, she sat on the floor of her room, staring at the letter in her hands. And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to cry—deep, shattering sobs that wracked her body, years of suppressed pain spilling out all at once.

But when morning came, she wiped her tears, folded the letter neatly, and locked it away in a drawer.

She wouldn't cry again.

She wouldn't hope again.

She would leave this house.

And she would never look back.

~

Aaradhya stepped out of her house for the last time with nothing but a suitcase and a heart weighed down by years of neglect. The moment she set foot on the university campus, she felt something unfamiliar - freedom.

She buried herself in her studies, excelling in interior design. She built a life for herself, one where she wasn't defined by her past but by her own merit.

But she had to return eventually. When she heard about her grandparent's health by her brother, her heart clenched with fear and longing. Yet, as she stepped back into the house, she was met with resistance. Her parents, now running a successful business, tried to hold her down, to make her a part of their world.

She wanted nothing to do with it.

She had stayed only for Aahan and her grandparents - her real family, who visited her even when she was studying abroad, always reminding her that she still had someone who cared.

The little girl who once longed for love no longer needed it. She had learned to be enough for herself.

~~~

Aaradhya had thought she had left her past behind. That the years spent away, carving her own path, had erased the ghosts of the home she once knew. But as she stepped back into the Rathore mansion, she realized the chains had never truly broken. They had only loosened, waiting for the moment to tighten around her again.

The grand chandelier hung in the center of the lavish living room, the marble flooring glistened under its glow, and the scent of sandalwood and fresh flowers filled the air—nothing as she remembered. The warmth was gone. This wasn't home. Not anymore. The first thing she did after coming back was ask the house help for her grandparets room.

Her grandparents' frail faces were the only familiar comfort. The years had aged them more than she had expected, their eyes carrying a weight that hadn't been there before.

"Aaru..." Sarita Rathore her grandmother's voice wavered as she cupped Aaradhya's face, tears slipping down her wrinkled cheeks. "You came back."

Aaradhya swallowed the lump in her throat and simply nodded, pressing her forehead against her grandmother's shoulder. No words were needed. Their embrace was enough.

Aahan stood beside them, watching his sister with silent relief. The once mischievous and carefree brother now had a sharp edge to his features, a result of the battles he had fought in her absence. Battles she hadn't been here to fight with him.

But before she could say anything, her parents arrived.

The moment Suraj and Aditi Thakur entered the room, the air shifted. Cold. Expectant.

"You finally remembered your family?" Suraj's voice held no warmth, only a calculated sharpness.

Aaradhya lifted her gaze, her expression unreadable. Her voice cold "I came for Dadu and Dadi."

Aditi let out a scoff. "Oh? Not for your parents? Or are we still the villains in your grand little story?"

Aahan clenched his fists. "Ma, don't start."

"Why not?" Aditi turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "She waltzes in after years and suddenly, everything's forgotten? Do you know how much she has disrespected this family?"

Aaradhya remained silent. She had learned long ago that her words meant nothing to them.

"She didn't disrespect the family, Ma," Aahan's voice was firm, unwavering. "She survived it."

---

Aaradhya wanted to leave. She had promised herself she wouldn't come back to this house, not after all the years of neglect and cruelty. But when her parents found out she had no stable income yet, that she was still building herself, they used her grandparents against her.

"You can leave, of course," Suraj had said, his voice deceptively calm. "But your grandparents are old. They don't have the luxury of waiting for you to make something of yourself. We take care of them now. If you leave, who knows what will happen?"

Aditi had chimed in, "You think you can take them with you? With what money? What house? You were always so naive."

Aaradhya had clenched her fists, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. She had known they were manipulative, but this—this was cruel even for them. her grandparents were their parents too but no, the only thing that mattered to them was power, something that made the cruel. they just wanted to use her, to tell the other people how picture perfect their family is, and their family image was what they did not wanted to tarnish. Everything for show.

Now she had nowhere to go, to turn to. She was stuck. Just like before.

And so, she stayed.

Every day in that house felt like she was going back in time. The same taunts, the same indifference, the same loneliness. The only difference was that she was older now. More aware. More exhausted.

She kept her head down, endured the days, knowing she had to hold on until she found a way out. A stable job, enough savings, something—anything that would free her from these walls.

Aahan was the only solace in her suffocating world. He had always been her shield, and even now, he tried to protect her. He would sneak into her room late at night, bringing her food when she refused to come to the dining table, sitting beside her when the silence became too loud.

"You'll get out of here," he promised her one night, his voice determined. "And when you do, you'll never have to look back."

Aaradhya looked at him, her heart aching. "But what about you?"

Aahan smiled, a sad little thing. "Don't worry about me, Aaru. Just save yourself."

---

For two years, she stayed. Two years of being invisible in her own house. Two years of enduring Aditi's jabs, Siya's cold smirks, and Suraj's calculated indifference. But she held on. She worked tirelessly, secured a stable job, and finally—finally—had enough to leave. She was successful now. She build her name herself, not the Thakur's daughter, not a Thakur, but as Aaradhya.

And just when she thought she was free, fate delivered another blow.

Her father summoned her to his study one evening, his expression unreadable.

"There's something you need to know," he said, sliding a file across the table. "It's about your future."

Aaradhya frowned, hesitantly opening the file. The moment her eyes landed on the papers, her breath hitched.

A marriage proposal.

No, not a proposal. A decision. Already made. Already finalized.

She looked up, horror spreading through her chest. "You... you're forcing me to marry someone?"

Suraj leaned back in his chair, unbothered. "It's not forcing, Aaradhya. It's securing your future."

Aditi's voice chimed in from the side. "You should be grateful, really. We found you a match that will actually accept you despite your... past."

Despite your past.

The words echoed in her head, a cruel reminder of how they saw her. A burden. A stain on their perfect family image. A girl who tried to break their family. if only they knew.

She shook her head, stepping back. "No. I won't do this."

Suraj's lips curled into a smirk. "You think you have a choice?"

And in that moment, she realized—she was never meant to be free. Not in their eyes.

But she wasn't that little girl anymore. She wasn't powerless. Not anymore.

Aaradhya straightened her back, her heart pounding but her resolve firm.

"I won't let you control my life anymore."

For the first time in years, she saw something flicker in her father's eyes—something close to amusement. "Then let's see how far you can run."

Aaradhya turned and walked out, her pulse racing. She had spent years trying to survive in this house, but now—now, she was ready to fight for her freedom.

No matter what it took.

And just as she left the study, Siya stood by the doorway, a knowing smirk on her lips.

"Oh, sister," she whispered, her voice dripping with malice. "You have no idea what's coming."

~~~