Eva was from India, Mumbai— fiery, bold, and impossibly bossy. She didn't care about rules, opinions, or what anyone thought. She lived life entirely on her own terms, fearless and untamed. But there was one problem: her arrogance knew no bounds. She could lash out, even hit anyone who dared cross her, and still walk away without a second thought.
Her parents watched helplessly as their daughter stormed through life like a force of nature. Every scolding from teachers, every warning from friends, every tear in her mother's eyes seemed to fuel her rebellion rather than quell it. Their hearts ached daily at her defiance.
Countless attempts by her school to rein her in had failed. Restrictions, warnings, meetings — nothing worked. Finally, the teachers had enough. A Transfer Certificate was issued.
Her father's shoulders sagged under the weight of the decision. He turned to her mother, his voice heavy with sorrow and resolve.
"Enough is enough. She can't stay here. She needs discipline… a place where she'll be forced to face the consequences of her actions. I'll send her to boarding school — in France. She will live there for the rest of her school life if necessary."
Eva heard every word, and something inside her snapped.
She spun toward her parents, anger and heartbreak crashing together in her chest.
"What's wrong with you?" she shouted, her voice cracking. "I don't want to leave! I can't live without you! I—" Her breath trembled. "I thought my parents were the only ones who understood me… but no one understands me. No one. I'm done with this whole world!"
Tears burned down her cheeks as her voice rose, wild with emotion. Her father slammed his fist on the table, his patience finally gone. The sudden sound echoed sharply in the living room.
"Enough!" he roared. "Go and pack your bags. We leave tomorrow. I've made my decision, and no one will question it!"
Eva froze. Her father's words hit harder than any physical punishment she'd ever faced.
Her mother stood in the corner, sobbing quietly. She opened her mouth as if to speak… but no words came. She was too afraid of her husband's anger, too afraid to fight for her daughter.
And just like that, Eva realized—this wasn't a choice. It was happening.
Tomorrow, her life would be ripped away from everything she knew.
Eva didn't wait for another word.
She spun around and bolted up the stairs, her footsteps shaking the whole house. She threw herself into her room and slammed the door so hard the walls trembled.
She slid down against it, breathing hard, anger mixing with a kind of pain she didn't know how to name. The moment she lifted her head, the tears came—hot, unstoppable.
She stumbled toward the window and pushed it open. The night air was cold, but she didn't care. She pressed her forehead against the glass, staring up at the moon hanging quietly in the sky.
It was the only thing that felt still.
The only thing that didn't judge her.
The only thing that didn't try to change her.
Her sobs filled the room, soft at first, then breaking into deeper cries she couldn't hold back anymore. She cried until her throat hurt, until her fists unclenched, until all the anger drained out of her and left only exhaustion behind.
At some point, her eyes grew heavy. She curled up beside the window, the moonlight washing over her like a cold blanket, and slowly—still sniffling, still shaking—Eva fell asleep right there on the floor.
The next morning, the house was quiet, heavy with the tension of what was about to happen. Her father was already ready, his expression tight with resolve. Her mother moved silently, packing Eva's bag with trembling hands, folding clothes neatly while stealing glances at her daughter.
Eva stepped out of her room, her eyes red and swollen from a night of crying. She didn't speak, didn't argue — not this morning. She only stared at her parents for a moment, taking in the reality she had tried to deny.
Her father's voice broke the silence.
"Come on. Get ready. Your flight is waiting."
Eva didn't say a word. She just picked up her bag and started moving, determined to leave.
"Eva, wait," her mother called softly.
Eva paused and turned. Her mother held out a small statue of Lord Krishna, delicate and serene.
"We won't be there with you," her mother said, her voice trembling. "If anything goes wrong… talk to him. He'll take care of you."
Eva's eyes filled with tears. She dropped her bag for a moment and ran into her mother's arms, clinging tightly, letting all her emotions pour out. She cried into her mother's shoulder, holding on as if she could somehow carry a piece of home with her.
Her father drove her to the airport in silence. The radio was off, the car quiet, the air heavy with their unspoken pain. When they reached the waiting area, there was still time before the flight, so the two of them sat down side by side.
Eva didn't look at him.
She sat completely still, quiet, her face blank but her eyes swollen from the night before. She didn't fidget, didn't speak, didn't show a single sign of the fire she usually carried.
Her father watched her for a long moment, then finally spoke.
"Eva… I know you hate me right now," he said softly. "I know you're angry. Maybe you even think I'm a bad father."
His voice shook.
Tears filled his eyes, but he kept going.
"Let me tell you something," he continued. "When you were little — very little — you were just as mischievous as you are bold now. One day, you stole someone's pen and brought it home."
He gave a sad smile at the memory.
"That day, I told you it was wrong. I said I wouldn't talk to you for a whole week. The moment you heard that, you cried so much. And then you promised me — with your little hands — that you'd never do something like that again. And from that day… you never stole anything."
Eva stared at the floor, her throat tight.
Her father wiped his eyes.
"Sometimes adults have to be rude, harsh even, for the good of their children… or the people they love. Maybe today I seem rude. Maybe I seem cruel. But, Eva… this is for you."
He took a shaky breath.
"I just want your anger to fade there. I want a new Eva to come back to me someday.
Remember… anger doesn't win anything. Love does. Affection does. Your father will never, ever want anything bad for you."
Eva's eyes filled.
She didn't say a word. Not because she didn't want to — but because the words just wouldn't come out. Her chest felt too full, too heavy.
Her father looked at her silent face, and he understood. She was hurt. She was angry. But she was listening.
When the announcement for boarding echoed through the airport, he stood up.
Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Come," he whispered.
He walked her to the gate, helped her into the line, handed her bag to the staff, and guided her toward the aircraft door.
Eva stepped inside without turning back.
He watched her until she disappeared into the plane.
Only then did he walk away — slowly, quietly — carrying a pain only a father could understand.
Eva found her seat on the plane and carefully placed her bag in the overhead compartment. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached into her pocket and held the small statue of Lord Krishna her mother had given her.
Her eyes, still red and swollen from the tears of the morning, softened as she gazed at the serene figure. She whispered quietly, almost as if only Krishna could hear her:
"Mom said you can do everything… take care of my parents, help me settle there… please."
For a long moment, she just held the statue, letting its presence calm the storm inside her. The hum of the plane, the faint chatter of passengers, and the distant clouds outside seemed to fade away.
Finally, with a deep, shaky breath, Eva leaned back in her seat, clutching Krishna to her chest. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a small measure of peace as the plane began to taxi down the runway.
Somewhere over the clouds, a new chapter of her life was about to begin....