She said “I do” to a man she barely knew because everyone around her whispered it first, without ever saying the words.
Meera heard it everywhere. Not commands - Love, Care & concerns.
Her aunt adjusted her dupatta: “You’re not getting younger, beta.”
Her mother smiled softly at the biodata: “Good family. But of course, it’s your life.”
Her uncle leaned in, voice low: “A girl unmarried after 25… It’s unsafe. Not that you can’t manage.”
No one pushed. They just built a fear-shaped hallway with only two doors:
Marry him or suffer a risk.
Meera chose the “safe” door and convinced herself it was freedom from the pressure of people around her.
The wedding lights were bright, the photos perfect. Everyone exhaled with relief.
“We only want your happiness,” they said - like a blessing.
Inside the marriage, Meera felt like a guest in her own life. Polite conversations. Quiet dinners. A bed that felt miles wide. When she finally confessed, “I feel lonely,” her mother’s face tightened.
“How can you say that? We never forced you. It was your choice.”
The words landed like a slap wrapped in satin: plausible deniability. Meera bled in a place no one could see.
In therapy, the question came gently: “Whose voice scares you when you imagine leaving?”
Meera closed her eyes. It wasn’t hers.
Next time the hints came, she asked plainly: “When you say it’s unsafe… are you telling me I’m not safe unless I’m married?”
Silence. Then avoidance. But the spell cracked.
Leaving was messy. Labels followed - selfish, ungrateful. Meera carried them anyway, like old bangles that no longer fit. She rented a small place, grew a balcony garden, and breathed without permission.
Moral:
If love speaks in whispers that trap you, it is NOT love.
Real love is transparent, accountable, and respects your choice.






