I sat alone in my room, lost in a world that existed only inside my head.
When I looked around, I realized something unsettling — I was already living the life many girls prayed for. Comfort. Security. Silence.
But it wasn't enough.
I wanted more.
I wanted independence. I wanted choice. I wanted a life beyond the usual path carved out for girls like me — school, marriage, children, and quiet obedience.
I wanted to experience life for myself. To make mistakes. To fall. To rise. To become the girl I had always imagined.
But a girl's life was never meant to be loud.
She was expected to be delicate. Calm. Agreeable.
Her dreams were trimmed down to fit tradition.
Marry into a rich family. Have children. Grow old gracefully.
The thought of having kids alone made my head spin. I could barely survive my monthly cramps — how was I expected to endure childbirth without losing myself completely?
"Biebie!"
My mother's unmistakable voice echoed from downstairs, sharp enough to cut through my thoughts and bounce off the walls of the mansion.
"Yes!" I yelled back. "I'm coming."
I had no intention of moving.
I had finally found a comfortable position, and now I was expected to abandon it — as if my comfort had ever mattered.
"Don't let me call you again," she shouted, irritation heavy in her voice this time.
I groaned and forced myself up, dragging my feet toward the door. I didn't bother dressing nicely.
This was my father's house.
Why pretend to be anything else?