Chapter 5: Karaoke and Courage

Downstairs from the hostel, I spot Priya saying goodbye to a boy, hand in hand.

They stand under the gulmohar tree, shadows dancing over their faces. She sees me and hesitates, then walks over.

“Ananya... that’s Karan from the computer science department, we...” Her cheeks flush.

I remember all the warnings from Ma about ‘bad company’ and ‘distractions’. “Congratulations,” I say sincerely.

At the same time, I realise: if my mother knew I was even talking to a boy, she’d cut off my living expenses.

Priya lowers her voice. “Actually... we all admire you.”

“Admire me?”

“With your mom like that... I would have gone mad long ago.”

She laughs awkwardly. “But you still insist on doing your own thing. That day I saw you at the literature club...”

I’m stunned. So my ‘underground activities’ weren’t as secret as I thought.

I suddenly feel exposed, but also oddly proud.

“Um...” Priya hesitates.

“It’s my birthday next week. My boyfriend booked a karaoke room. Can you come? Of course, if your mom—”

“I’ll go.” I cut her off, this time without hesitation.

“No matter what my mom says.”

The moment I say it, I feel something inside me shatter—not fear, but the shackles that have bound me for years.

It feels like finally gulping air after being underwater for too long.

That night, my mother calls as usual.

I answer her questions calmly, while writing a new line in my notebook: “Family UPI records can be faked.”

I underline it twice, feeling bold. The girl in the tower finally understands: the witch’s power comes from her fear.

And the mirror will show the witch her twisted face.

That Friday night, the hostel was buzzing. On Priya’s birthday, I pace outside the karaoke room for ten minutes before finally pushing the door open.

Inside, coloured lights spin, seven or eight classmates sway to the music, and a cake covered in candles sits on the table.

The room buzzes with cheap perfume, cake, and the thump of Bollywood beats. “Ananya! You really came!”

Priya rushes over and grabs my hand, her face flushed with excitement and drink.

I smile stiffly, my palms already sweating—my phone vibrates in my pocket: my mother’s 38th missed call.

I try not to think about her, for once. “I picked a song for you!”

Priya drags me to the karaoke machine. The screen shows the backing track for “Wild Son.”

“When you hummed this in the hostel, it sounded so good.”

As the music intro plays, my finger hovers over my phone for a second. Then I decisively turn it off.

Just this once, just tonight, I want to be the real Ananya Sharma.

The disco lights flicker on my dupatta as I take the mic. When I sing, “I want to bury it deep in my heart, but still summon up that little bit of courage,” my voice cracks.

My classmates look at me in surprise. Priya hugs my shoulders tightly.

For the first time in years, I feel a warm sense of belonging.

I close my eyes and let the music wash over me, thinking, Maybe this is what freedom feels like.

When I return to the hostel, it’s already 1 a.m.

I tiptoe down the corridor, past sleeping girls and the guard’s snoring. I hide in the bathroom to turn on my phone. Thirty-eight missed calls, and a screen full of WhatsApp messages flood in.

[Starting tomorrow, your Family UPI daily limit is now ₹60.]

Sixty rupees isn’t enough for a decent lunch in the college canteen.

That’s my mother’s last message.

Ma, do you really have to win this game?

Fine. I’ll let you win…

A strange calm settles over me, like the hush before a summer storm. And so, I find myself once again staring at the receipt for the special packaging service from the 24-hour chemist. My heart hammers so hard, I feel almost empty.

Right on time, my phone vibrates.

“What did you buy?” Her voice is icy, slicing through the silence.

I watch the delivery app’s blue dot. “Um... just a late-night snack, Ma.”

From the earpiece comes the sharp sound of a teacup shattering. “Return it.”

I steady myself against the doorknob and laugh softly.

The laugh is short, defiant. “Too late.”

“He’s knocking on my door.”

From the earpiece, I hear my mother’s furious roar.

Outside, a stray dog barks, but inside, I finally feel a quiet strength blooming. This time, I won’t let her break me.

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*Family UPI: A payment arrangement in some Indian banking and e-wallet apps that allows a parent to monitor, control, and approve all expenditures on a child’s account in real time.