Chapter 1: The Beginning
This is a short story—one that I hope keeps you hooked until the very end.
Before we begin, let me clarify: the places mentioned in this story are inspired by real locations I’ve visited. Their names may sound familiar, but their descriptions may not always match reality. The workplaces may share names, but everything else is fictional. Most importantly, every character in this story is purely imaginary.
The day my flight took off from Delhi, my mind was a storm of thoughts. I wasn’t just travelling—I was trying to escape. Escape from people, from expectations, from everything that had slowly become too heavy to carry.
The official reason was a training program. But in truth, it was my way out. I had decided that in this new city, I would find a job, build a life, and never return to the one I was leaving behind. I didn’t want to depend on anyone anymore.
The scorching summer heat outside mirrored the turmoil inside me. My heart burnt with questions I had no answers to. I had never wished harm upon anyone, never done anything wrong intentionally—so why did life keep testing me? Why did everything I wanted slip away, while everything I tried to avoid found its way to me?
Maybe the answer was simple—I never learnt how to say 'NO'.
That silent struggle, so common among many Indian women, had led me here. To a point where I didn’t want to care anymore. I just wanted to leave quietly, without telling anyone—because if someone asked me to stay, I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to refuse.
This two-month training camp, organised by the NCC, became my perfect excuse. A certified ANO programme — it sounded professional and purposeful. But for me, it was a much-needed break from the chaos of my life.
The night before my departure, I stayed awake, talking to my younger brother, Karan. Conversations with him were always special. We never got enough time together, but whenever we did, we spoke freely—heart to heart.
Being the eldest, I had responsibilities. Being the youngest, Karan had innocence. Somewhere in between, we connected deeply. Our other brother, Dhruv, had always been more of a guardian figure—someone we respected, but never quite opened up to.
So, our secrets remained between us.
Early the next morning, Karan drove me to the Delhi airport from Karnal. As we stood there, something felt off—like a quiet goodbye that carried more weight than it should.
I hugged him tightly, holding on a little longer than usual. Raksha Bandhan was still forty days away, but I handed him his Rakhi in advance.
I didn’t say much. I didn’t need to. I knew he would understand why I was leaving and why I might not come back the same.
At the airport, I met Priya—the woman who would be travelling with me for the same training. She was 41 and recommended by her organisation. We had only spoken over the phone and met briefly once before.
As I stood in the check-in queue, she walked in wearing a loose orange t-shirt and black capris—completely different from the traditional attire I had seen her in earlier.
The first time we met, I had quietly judged her. I assumed we had nothing in common, that her company would bore me.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
That journey would soon teach me the meaning of “Don’t judge a book by its cover". Priya was about to become my unexpected companion—my partner in crime. Through her, I would witness different shades of life and human nature I had never imagined.
And unknowingly, this trip was about to change everything.
“Hi, you are Priya?” I asked.
“Yes… and you must be Suman,” she smiled.
We were both carrying far more luggage than allowed. At the check-in counter, an airport staff member pointed it out.
“You may have to pay extra for this,” he said, “or transfer some items to your hand luggage.”
Determined to avoid extra charges, we quickly started rearranging things—stuffing items into handbags, polybags, and even Priya’s purse.
"For the first time", I laughed, “I think I should start carrying a big handbag like everyone else."
I had always preferred small sling bags. Large purses were never my style.
I managed to slip through boarding without my hand baggage being weighed—but Priya wasn’t as lucky. Somehow, she still convinced the staff to let her pass.
I had done an online check-in and secured a window seat—right behind the emergency exit, with extra leg space. It was perfect.
But when Priya asked if she could sit by the window, I did what I always did.
I smiled and gave it up.
Once we settled in, struggling with our overloaded bags, Priya tried to fit hers under the seat. An air hostess approached us.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Since you are seated near the emergency exit, this bag cannot be kept here.”
Priya, slightly irritated, responded, “Then where should I take it? I can’t send it back home.”
I gently held her hand, signalling her to stay calm. After all, we knew we were bending the rules.
The air hostess offered to keep the bag safely and return it after landing. We agreed without hesitation.
And then, finally, the plane took off.
As the ground beneath me disappeared, so did the life I was trying to leave behind.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and made a quiet promise to myself:
From this moment on, I would live on my own terms.
No expectations. No obligations. No fear.
Just me—and my choices.
Right or wrong, they would be mine.
