chapter 2

Tara Gupta

I woke up to the familiar sounds of muffled arguments coming from the dining room. My uncle's gruff voice dominated the conversation, as always, and my aunt's high-pitched interjections punctuated the air like an unwelcome alarm. I sighed, pulling my blanket over my head, trying to steal a few more moments of peace before the chaos of the day began.

Living in my uncle and aunt's house felt like walking a tightrope, constantly on edge, bracing myself for the next cutting remark or impossible demand. My younger sister, Kiara, wasn't much of an ally either. She had been their golden child since the day they took us in, and I had been the burden—a role they never let me forget.

My grandfather, though—he was my anchor. His quiet wisdom and unconditional love were the only things that made this house feel even remotely like home.

Morning Turmoil

"Tara! How long are you going to sleep?" My aunt's shrill voice shattered any hope of a tranquil morning. I quickly got up and made my way to the kitchen, where she stood, arms crossed, her lips pursed in disapproval.

"I was just getting ready," I said, keeping my tone neutral.

"Well, don't forget to wash the dishes before you leave. And remember, Sameer is coming over for dinner tonight. You should look presentable."

Sameer. The very name sent a shiver down my spine. My uncle and aunt had been pushing me to marry him for months now. He was everything I despised—a drunkard, uncouth, and with a reputation for getting into trouble. But to them, he was a perfect match because of some obscure business connection they hoped to benefit from.

"I've told you before, I'm not interested in marrying Sameer," I said firmly.

My uncle, who had been reading the newspaper, looked up and scowled. "You're 28, Tara. Do you think we're going to let you stay here forever? You should be grateful someone is willing to marry you at all."

His words stung, but I refused to let him see how much. "I have work. I'll be late tonight."

"That school job of yours," my aunt sneered. "It's not going to help you settle down. You should focus on your responsibilities here."

Responsibilities. That's all I was to them—a duty, a burden, an unwelcome guest overstaying her welcome.

Work was my sanctuary. As I entered the gates of the prestigious high school where I taught literature, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Here, I wasn't just "Tara Gupta, the orphan niece" or "the ungrateful one" as my aunt liked to call me. Here, I was Ms. Gupta, a respected teacher who had the privilege of shaping young minds.

I walked into my classroom and began preparing for the day's lessons. Teaching was more than a job to me—it was a passion, a way to connect with the world outside my own struggles. My students, though sometimes mischievous, brought me a kind of joy I rarely found elsewhere.

Today, we were discussing To Kill a Mockingbird. I had assigned chapters for homework and was eager to hear their thoughts. As the bell rang, the students filed in, their chatter filling the room.

"Good morning, class," I said, smiling as they settled down.

"Good morning, Ms. Gupta!" they chorused back.

We dove into the themes of justice, morality, and the courage it takes to stand up for what is right. The discussion was lively, and for a while, I forgot about the troubles waiting for me at home.

After class, I had a free period and decided to spend it in the library. The quiet hum of the air conditioner and the faint rustling of pages provided a soothing backdrop as I sat at a corner table, jotting down notes for tomorrow's lesson.

But solitude, though comforting, had a way of bringing my thoughts to darker places. I thought about my life—how it had turned into a series of compromises and unspoken sacrifices. My parents had died when I was sixteen, leaving me and Kiara to the care of our uncle and aunt. At first, they had been kind, or at least pretended to be, but as time went on, their resentment became evident.

They had no obligation to take us in, and they made sure I knew it. But they treated Kiara differently. She was the younger, prettier one, the one they saw potential in. I, on the other hand, was a reminder of their forced charity.

Sometimes, I wondered what my life might have been like if my parents had lived. Would I have had a career by now? A family of my own? Someone to share my life with?

I shook my head, trying to banish the thought. Self-pity wouldn't help.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of lessons and grading assignments. As I was leaving school, I bumped into one of my colleagues, Mr. Sharma.

"Tara, you look a little tired today. Everything okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

I hesitated for a moment. "Just a lot on my plate," I said with a faint smile.

"If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me," he said kindly before walking away.

His words lingered in my mind as I made my way home. I had always been hesitant to share my personal struggles with anyone, but sometimes the weight of it all felt unbearable.

When I returned home, the tension in the air was palpable. Sameer had already arrived, sitting in the living room with a drink in his hand. His greasy smile made my skin crawl.

"Tara, come here," my uncle called out.

I reluctantly approached, my grandfather watching silently from his chair in the corner. His eyes met mine, filled with quiet encouragement, but I could see the worry there too.

Sameer looked me up and down, his gaze making me feel exposed. "You look nice today," he said, his words slurred.

"I have work to do," I said flatly, turning to leave.

"Is this how you talk to a guest?" my aunt snapped. "Sit down and talk to him."

"I don't want to marry him," I said, my voice shaking but firm.

My uncle's face darkened. "Enough of this nonsense, Tara. You don't get to make decisions in this house. We've done enough for you."

I looked at my grandfather, hoping he would intervene. He opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it again, his frailty a stark reminder of how little power he had in this household.

"I said no," I repeated, before retreating to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Sitting on my bed, I felt a wave of loneliness wash over me. The walls of my room, bare and impersonal, seemed to close in. I stared at the photograph of my parents on the bedside table. They looked so happy, so full of life.

"I miss you," I whispered, tears streaming down my face.

But even in my darkest moments, I reminded myself of the things that gave me strength. My work, my students, and the small moments of love my grandfather still offered me.

One day, I promised myself, I would leave this house. I would build a life where I didn't have to answer to anyone, where I could be free to make my own choices. Until then, I would endure.

Because if nothing else, I had learned how to survive.