Chapter 3: Plotting Their Fate

Neha was still hesitating about whether to go. I immediately said,

“That headscarf is a limited edition, and he’s got a noble air—he’s definitely a Dubai prince.”

“Sis, a beauty like you would totally win him over if you went.”

She smirked, clearly enjoying the flattery. But then her face darkened and she shot me a glare.

“Ritika, are you trying to set me up?”

I looked at her in disbelief.

She snorted and waved her phone. “The internet’s full of stories lately—Dubai’s a paradise for scammers.”

“You want me to go so I’ll get kidnapped and have my kidneys stolen, right?”

“Come on, admit it!”

So she knew all along.

I sneered inwardly, but forced a smile.

“Sis, you’ve been talking to him for so long—if he was a scammer, wouldn’t he have slipped up by now? You’re so smart, how could you not notice?”

She snorted. “True.”

Before she could change her mind, I immediately suggested buying her a plane ticket. Three tickets, in fact.

She asked why three.

“Dad and Mom can go with you. I’ll stay home,” I explained.

She shot me a cold look. “Why would your dad go? Does he deserve to travel with us?”

“And you? Gaon ki ladki like you? Bas sarkari naukri aur boring life! You think you deserve to go to Dubai?”

“Book me two tickets and prepare three lakh rupees for travel expenses.”

My dad had given everything—his love, his money—to this mother and daughter. But Neha still looked down on him, thinking he had no money or power. She even encouraged my stepmother to divorce him and find a rich man.

It was me, giving my dad ₹10,000 from my ₹20,000 monthly salary, just so he could keep his head up a little.

But even so, I was always the one he blamed.

After every argument, he’d always soften and beg me not to ruin his marriage. He didn’t meet my eyes, just muttered, “Beta, ghar ki izzat tumhare haath mein hai.”

For the sake of father-daughter ties, I endured for years.

But the day I died at the bottom of that hill, I realized I’d never been seen as a real person by any of them—including my father.

So, this time, the whole family can go together. All of you.

Sometimes, the cruelty wasn’t in the words but the silence that followed, the way Neha tossed her hair, her silver jhumka glinting, as if I was invisible. My father’s voice over the phone—tired, cracked—always ended with “Beta, adjust kar le na.” In my heart, resentment built up like black clouds before a storm, and this time, I would not hold up the umbrella for anyone else.