Fifteen.

Born in 2010.

Old enough to understand everything—

and young enough to be told she understands nothing.

The middle child.

Not the first to be trusted.

Not the last to be protected.

Just… somewhere in between.

An older sister who did everything right.

A younger brother who could do no wrong.

And Myra?

She learned early how to exist without asking for too much.

Her life has always been… structured.

What to wear.

Who to talk to.

Where to go.

When to come back.

Every decision—filtered, approved, controlled.

Her parents don’t call it control.

They call it care.

But Myra learned the difference a long time ago.

So she stopped explaining herself.

Stopped asking.

Stopped expecting to be understood.

And instead—

She became private.

Closed off in ways no one noticed.

Careful with what she said, and even more careful with what she felt.

She isn’t loud.

She isn’t quiet either.

Myra Sharma is… composed.

Straight posture.

Steady voice.

Expressions that rarely give anything away.

The kind of girl teachers think is “sorted.”

The kind of daughter parents assume is “fine.”

But that calm?

It’s built.

Layer by layer—

over stubbornness that refuses to bend,

over moods that shift without warning,

over emotions that run deeper than she’ll ever admit.

Because Myra isn’t soft.

She’s fierce.

Quick to react when pushed.

Sharp with her words when she’s had enough.

Not the type to stay quiet just to keep the peace.

She doesn’t start fights.

But she finishes them.

She feels everything.

Too much.

Too intensely.

Too personally.

And she hates it.

There are very few people who have seen past that version of her.

Exactly one, to be precise.

Aarvi.

Her best friend.

Her safe place.

The only person who knows how quickly Myra can go

from calm…

to completely overwhelmed.

With Aarvi, she laughs louder.

Talks more.

Lets her guard slip—just a little.

But with everyone else?

She keeps it together.

Always.

A month before her board exams—

she made a mistake.

Not in a classroom.

Not on paper.

Online.

It started small.

Late-night messages.

Conversations that felt easy.

Someone who listened without interrupting.

Someone who understood without asking too many questions.

It felt… safe.

Too safe.

He was everything she didn’t have space for in real life.

Consistent.

Attentive.

There.

And slowly—

She let her guard down.

Until the cracks started showing.

Things didn’t add up.

Stories didn’t match.

The person on the other side of the screen—

wasn’t real.

Not completely.

Not honestly.

And Myra?

She didn’t break.

She burned.

The last conversation wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t soft.

She called him out.

Every lie. Every inconsistency. Every fake detail.

No hesitation.

No second guessing.

Just anger—clean, sharp, deserved.

Then she blocked him.

Cut him off like he never existed.

No waiting.

No looking back.

No regret about him—

only about herself.

And then—

her board exams began.

No time to process.

No time to feel.

Just chapters to finish,

notes to revise,

and expectations already slipping through her fingers.

Coffee replaced sleep.

Water replaced meals.

Silence replaced everything else.

The night before each exam—

she gave it everything she had left.

Even when there was barely anything left to give.

Seventy-Nine percent.

Not failure.

But not enough.

Now, in Class 11—

Myra Sharma doesn’t want balance.

She wants out.

Out of control.

Out of expectations.

Out of a house that never really felt like hers.

Her goal is simple.

Do better.

Score higher.

Leave.

Far enough that no one can decide her life for her.

No distractions.

No attachments.

No repeating the same mistakes.

Because this time—

She won’t fall for anything fake.

She won’t lose control.

And she won’t stay somewhere that keeps trying to shrink her.