The living room of the Tyagi house carried a sharp tension that morning, the kind that did not need raised voices to be felt, yet was accompanied by them anyway. Anoop Tyagi stood near the center table, holding a small file in his hand as though it were proof of a crime. His face was tight with irritation, his brows drawn together in a way that made it clear that something minor had already turned into something enormous in his mind.

Geeta stood a few steps away from him, her hands folded loosely in front of her, her eyes lowered in quiet submission. She knew the pattern well. It did not matter how small the issue was; once Anoop had decided it was serious, it would become serious.

“I told you to keep these documents in the drawer,” Anoop said sharply, waving the file in the air. “Why are they on the table? Do I have to repeat myself every single day?”

Geeta spoke softly, almost apologetically.

“I had taken them out to clean the drawer. I was going to put them back.”

“Going to?” he interrupted immediately. “You were going to? That is always your answer. Things in this house never happen on time unless I shout.”

His voice rose slightly, not because the matter demanded it, but because he was used to authority being loud.

“If something important goes missing, who will be responsible? You? Or should I explain to people that my wife cannot manage simple instructions?”

Geeta’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her saree, but her expression did not change. Years of marriage had taught her that silence ended arguments faster than defense ever could. She did not argue that the documents were still in the house. She did not point out that nothing was actually lost. She simply said,

“It will not happen again.”

That sentence always satisfied him more than any explanation.

In the kitchen, Pragya stood near the counter with two servants beside her. She was arranging plates, but her attention was fixed on the living room. Every word that reached her ears tightened something inside her chest. The servants, half-working and half-listening, exchanged subtle glances. One of them suppressed a smile. The other let out a faint, almost amused chuckle, as though the scene outside were a daily drama meant for background entertainment.

Pragya noticed.

Her grip on the serving spoon hardened. The sound of Anoop’s voice scolding Geeta did not disturb her as much as the quiet laughter of the staff. That laughter carried disrespect, and she hated it. She hated that the woman who had managed this house for decades was now reduced to a spectacle for servants.

For a brief moment, she considered stepping out and saying something. She wanted to remind the staff to focus on their work. She wanted to defend her mother-in-law’s dignity. But she stopped herself. She knew the consequences too well. If she interfered, Anoop would not only silence her, he would double his anger on Geeta for “creating a scene in front of outsiders.”

“The most important thing you seem to forget is that your daughter is going to get married too,” Anoop said sharply, his voice filled with irritation. “What will people say when they see her making the same mistakes you do, behaving the same way you behave? In the end, a daughter learns everything from her mother. If you keep showing her all this, she will carry the same habits into her own home.”

He paused for a moment, his tone growing harsher. Anoop’s voice echoed again from the living room.

“Have you decided to ruin my reputation completely? Do you want my name to be dragged through the mud because of you?”

“Learn to pay attention, Geeta. I cannot correct you for every little thing. This is not acceptable….”

Geeta nodded gently.

“I understand.”

Her tone carried neither resentment nor sarcasm, only quiet endurance. She bent slightly, picked up the remaining papers from the table, and walked toward the drawer with steady steps. There was something painfully composed about her movements, as if she had mastered the art of being small in her own house.

In the kitchen, the faint laughter stopped when Pragya finally looked directly at the servants. She did not raise her voice. She did not scold them. But her eyes were firm enough to remind them of their place. The servants immediately lowered their gazes and resumed their work.

Pragya turned back toward the doorway and watched Geeta walk past with the file in her hand. Their eyes met briefly. In that glance, there was apology, helplessness, and a shared understanding that some battles were simply not allowed to be fought.

Anoop sat down on the sofa as though he had resolved a major crisis. The matter was over for him.

Gunjal had heard every word clearly.

Standing quietly near the staircase, pretending to scroll through her phone, she had listened to her father’s sharp voice and her mother’s tired replies. Nothing about the scene was new to her, yet it disturbed her every time it happened. Watching her father turn small matters into serious accusations and seeing her mother accept everything without protest filled her heart with quiet frustration.

For a moment, she felt like walking into the living room and shouting at him. She wanted to tell him that he always found faults in her mother, that he never missed a chance to scold her over the smallest things, and that he had slowly reduced her position in the house to something even lower than that of the servants. She wanted to remind him that people now felt free to laugh at her mother because she was never allowed to defend herself.

All those words formed clearly in her mind. They pressed against her chest, demanding to be spoken. Yet she remained silent. Because along with anger, there was fear.

A strange, invisible fear that had lived inside her since childhood. A fear that told her that raising her voice would only bring more trouble. A fear that warned her that speaking honestly would never change anything; it would only make matters worse. Over the years, she had learned that in her house, silence was safer than truth.

Her hands began to tremble slightly. To steady herself, she pulled out her phone and stared at the screen without really seeing anything. After a moment, her fingers moved automatically, opening the gallery until Poorav’s photograph appeared.

He was smiling gently in the picture, standing in soft sunlight, looking confident and calm. The sight of his face eased something inside her. She held the phone closer and whispered quietly, as if he could hear her,

“We will never become like this, will we?”

Her voice was filled with hope and uncertainty.

“You will listen to me, won’t you?” she continued softly. “You will try to understand me when I speak. You will not shout. You will not make me feel small.”

Her eyes grew moist as she spoke.

“I do not want wealth,” she murmured. “I do not want luxury. I only want respect. I only want you to take my words seriously. I only want to feel that my feelings matter.”

She pressed the phone against her chest and closed her eyes for a few seconds, as if trying to memorize the comfort that thought gave her. For her, Poorav represented everything she believed her future could be: peaceful, supportive, and free from fear. He was the reason she dared to imagine a life where love meant understanding and where marriage did not require silence as a form of survival.

Standing there in the quiet corner of her hall, Gunjal held onto that belief with complete innocence, trusting that her dreams would one day become her reality.

Gunjal looked at her father once again, hoping that he would say something more to her mother, hoping that his anger would fade, hoping that he would soften even slightly. But Anoop remained silent, his face rigid, his attention already shifting elsewhere. The only reason he did not continue was because her wedding was approaching. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that creating another scene in front of her would not look good. That was the only restraint holding him back.

Gunjal felt the urge to run.

She wanted to escape to her room, close the door, and hide herself from everything. Her heart was heavy, her throat tight, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. Yet she stayed where she was. She knew that if she walked away now, the anger that was meant for her might turn entirely toward her mother. And that thought stopped her more effectively than any command ever could.

So she stood still. She waited. She endured.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Anoop’s phone rang. He answered it immediately and began talking in his usual authoritative tone. While speaking, he walked out of the living room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until they disappeared completely.

Only then did the tension ease.

Geeta, who had been standing near the table, pretending to arrange and clean things that were already spotless, slowly straightened herself. She took a deep breath and watched her husband’s retreating figure with tired eyes. There was no anger in her gaze anymore. Not even disappointment. Only emptiness, as if she no longer expected anything from him.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to feel that exhaustion. Then, as always, she hid it.

She gently placed the last plate aside, lifted her face, and brought a wide smile to her lips. Turning around, she looked toward her daughter with warmth and affection, as if nothing painful had happened.

Gunjal had been standing quietly, lost in her thoughts, staring at her mother without realizing it. When she saw that familiar smile, something inside her relaxed instantly. Her own lips curved into a soft smile in response, and without thinking, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her mother.

Geeta embraced her back immediately, holding her close, as if trying to shield her from the entire world.

She knew her innocent daughter was still afraid of raised voices. She knew loud arguments unsettled her. She knew that scenes like these left invisible scars on her heart. Yet Geeta never knew how to explain that she did not need to be afraid. She never knew how to tell her that strength did not always come from fighting back.

Because every time life tried to hurt her daughter, Geeta chose to become her shield.

And she would continue to do so.

No matter the cost.