She was called the pride of the family—a beacon of tradition and honor. Yet, in the quiet corners of her life, Meher often wondered if pride was just another word for obligation. From the moment she could understand the world, she felt the invisible weight pressing down on her shoulders, a weight that grew heavier with every passing year.

In her parents’ home, Meher was seen as a gift, but one wrapped in fragility. Decisions were made for her, not with her. Her voice, soft yet resolute, often drowned in the cacophony of “what will people say?” She learned early that being a daughter meant learning the art of silence. When injustice came her way, she was told to endure. “A daughter must adjust,” they’d say, as though sacrifice was stitched into her very being.

When friends and relatives crossed lines, her parents avoided........

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