-The Fear Of Not Being Chosen-
✦ ───── AAROHI ───── ✦
The day is beautiful. Which feels slightly unfair, considering I'm already regretting leaving my house.
It's a bright morning in Noida, and my entire family is on the way to a function I've tried my best to avoid. I clearly say no. Twice.
But then Papa looks at me and says, "Aarohi, how will you learn to face the world if you never step outside?" And somehow... like always, his words win.
I'm wearing a sleeveless black kurti with straight-fit jeans. Mumma said it looked nice on me. I spend the entire drive wishing I'd picked something with sleeves instead. Every time I catch a glimpse of myself, all I can think is that the sleeveless design makes me look even fatter.
Mumma notices. "You look beautiful," she says with a smile. "Stop worrying so much and just be confident." I wish it were that easy.
A few minutes later, we reach the hotel. The first thing I do isn't admire the decorations or look around. It's checking whether my tummy looks too visible. Then my double chin. Then the way I'm walking. It's exhausting. Sometimes I wonder how people walk into places without thinking about any of these things.
Then I finally look around. The hall is full of people. Most of them are relatives or family friends I haven't seen in years. The thought of walking up to them, smiling, and pretending I know how to hold a conversation suddenly feels exhausting.
Every single time I have to go somewhere, these thoughts take over my mind. Then I come back home, sit on the couch, watch TV, and promise myself that tomorrow I'll start taking care of my health.
Tomorrow.
My younger sister, Tanya, is the complete opposite of me. She smiles, and somehow everyone around her smiles back. When I smile, I always feel like people are wondering whether I'm actually angry.
Within five minutes of reaching the function, Tanya has already made a new friend and disappeared to explore the entire hotel. Of course she has.
Papa is busy talking to his friends. Watching him laugh so freely always makes me smile a little. People who meet him today probably think he's always had an easy life. They'll never guess that he started working when he was still young because life didn't give him much of a choice.
My grandfather never really cared about his family. As far as I know, he mostly cared about himself. Everything Papa builds comes from years of hard work. Our small business, our home, our life... none of it comes easily. He earns every bit of it.
Maybe that's why I find it so difficult to refuse him. If he asks me to do something, I usually do it. Not because I'm scared of him. Because somewhere deep down, I know he's spent his entire life putting us before himself.
And Mumma... well, Mumma stays with me. Not because she has to. Because she knows I won't know what to do without her.
We walk around greeting relatives. Most of the conversations are exactly the same.
"How are you?"
"You've grown up so much."
"What are you studying now?"
Then an elderly woman walks up to Mumma, places a hand on her head, and smiles. "May God bless you with a son."
Mumma smiles politely. "I don't want a son," she says gently. "Just bless my daughters to become successful."
I don't think she even realizes what those words mean to me.
In that moment, I silently make myself a promise. One day... I want people to look at my parents and say, "I wish I had a daughter like yours." Not, "I wish I had a son."
That's my dream. And I know dreams don't come true on their own. I'll have to earn mine.
By the time we reach home, I'm exhausted. Actually... more than exhausted, I'm annoyed. Why do I even go to these things? People are probably thinking, She's become even fatter than the last time we saw her. I don't even know if they're actually thinking that. But my brain definitely is. Sometimes I seriously wonder why my own mind is against me all the time.
The moment I step inside the house, I look at Mumma. "Why didn't you tell Papa that Tanya and I weren't coming?"
She doesn't even react. She simply looks at me and says, "I already told you. If you don't want to go somewhere, say it yourself. I'm not going to speak on your behalf every single time."
And honestly... she's right. I know she is. But that's another one of my flaws. If things don't go the way I expect, I get irritated. I'm trying to improve.
After our little argument, we both go to bed. Nothing new. It's almost a routine at this point.
I've never been someone who falls asleep easily.When I was around eleven or twelve, I used to stay awake for almost the entire night. And because I couldn't sleep... I made sure my parents didn't sleep either. Poor people. I was a menace.
So, as usual, I lie there staring at the ceiling, letting my thoughts wander wherever they want. And somehow... They find their way back to the old lady. "May God bless you with a son." People say things like that so casually. Maybe they don't even realize how much a single sentence can stay with someone.
Maybe that's why I want to become so successful that one day people stop saying, "I wish I had a son," and start saying, "I wish I had a daughter like yours."
It isn't the first time I've felt like being a daughter isn't enough.
* * *
I still remember something that happened when I was fifteen. We were travelling with one of Papa's friends and his family. I don't even remember where we were going. I only remember the conversation.
Everyone was laughing, talking about random things, when one of the uncles suddenly looked at Papa.
"You know," he said, "your younger daughter is better than your elder one."
I frowned. Better? Papa laughed.
"Of course she is," he replied. "She has gone on me."
Everyone burst into laughter. I tried to laugh too. I couldn't. I know Papa hadn't meant anything by it. He had just been joking.
But then the uncle spoke again.
"I mean smarter," he said. "If one day a boy comes to see your elder daughter and your younger daughter is also there..."
He chuckled.
"...he'll probably choose your younger daughter."
Silence. The laughter disappeared. I looked at Papa. His smile was gone. For a second, it looked like he regretted letting the conversation reach that point.
But he didn't say anything. Somehow... that silence hurt more than the joke.
I turned towards the window before anyone could see my eyes filling with tears.
Mumma looked at me. She knew. She always knew. I kept blinking, hoping the tears would disappear before anyone noticed. I was fifteen. People think teenagers forget these things.
We don't.
That day, for the first time, I felt like I was competing with my own sister.
The worst part? I wasn't angry at Tanya. I never was. She had never tried to outshine me. She never made me feel like I was less. She was simply being herself. It was everyone else who kept turning us into a comparison.
But that day... I hated myself for feeling jealous. Because she was my sister. She deserved every compliment she received.
I just wished someone would look at me the same way. Maybe that's when a fear quietly settled inside me. The fear of not being chosen.
That day, while pretending everything was perfectly normal, I made myself a promise.
One day... I'd marry someone who chose me. Not because I was better than someone else. Not because I had won some invisible competition.
Just... because I was me.
Even if Deepika Padukone happened to be standing right beside me....
Okay. Maybe that was a little unrealistic. But I was fifteen. Give me a break.
