ZOYA had 17,000 in her backpack

No goodbye note. No teary farewell.

Just a half-charged phone, a train ticket to Ranchi, and a one-way flight to Mumbai under a name her parents would never think of.

This wasn’t rebellion.

It was escape.

Escape from rules she didn’t agree with.

From a house where her voice was always "too much," her dreams were "too unrealistic," and her silence was "too disrespectful."

She was only seventeen. But she felt seventy.

For months, she had saved—coin by coin, lie by lie. She skipped snacks, hid pocket money, and said no to birthday treats. All for this. A quiet plan wrapped in fear and folded inside her school notebook.

---

That morning, everything broke.

Her school principal had called her into the office.

For something she didn’t do. Again.

> “You’re always involved in some drama,”

“Girls like you become distractions,”

“Maybe you should stay quiet instead of trying to act smart.”

The words were sharp, but the tone was sharper.

Zoya had stood there — expressionless — as her teacher looked disappointed, and her parents just sat silently, letting her take the blame.

No one asked her side.

No one believed her.

She walked home in silence, pretending she was okay. But inside, something shifted.

Not sadness this time.

Not fear.

But determination.

---

That evening, she opened her notebook, where she had written her plan over and over again in messy handwriting.

> “If they don’t want to understand me, I’ll stop giving them the chance.”

And just like that — it was decided.

---

She was leaving Bokaro, the city that knew her only as a disappointment.

Her train ride to Ranchi was filled with overthinking.

What if someone recognized her?

What if she missed the flight?

What if she was doing the wrong thing?

But then, she'd remember her best friend—Aarfa—the girl who now lived in Mumbai and once whispered,

> “You don’t need permission to survive. You just need a place to breathe.”

Aarfa’s family knew everything. They welcomed her. They understood. And for the first time in her life, Zoya wasn’t being judged.

---

The airport in Ranchi felt bigger than it was.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the boarding pass.

She looked like any other teenage girl in a hoodie and jeans, but inside—she was lightning and loneliness.

Flight 6E-245. Ranchi to Mumbai.

The screen glowed.

She sat alone near Gate 12, staring at the departure list like it might change her fate.

Around her, people laughed, scrolled, sipped coffee. But she was still.

Her whole life was in that bag:

– A scribbled diary

– A playlist titled “one day I’ll be free”

– A torn photo of her and Aarfa, dancing in the rain of Nagpur

She had no plan beyond this.

No college forms yet.

No dreams of being a CEO.

No ambition, really.

Just a need to feel like a person again.

---

The announcement echoed across the terminal:

“Passengers of 6E-245 to Mumbai, please proceed to boarding gate.”

She stood up. Her heart didn't race—it marched.

She was going to Mumbai.

Not for a new life.

But for a real one.

---

And somewhere—on the other side of that city—was a boy she hadn’t met yet.

A boy with quiet eyes and a serious walk.

A boy who everyone feared but who’d one day call her his "Meri jaan."

A boy who had no idea that a storm was about to enter his calm, organized life.

---

This was her beginning.

₹17,000, a shaky heart, and a secret that no one in Bokaro would ever know.

But Mumbai?

Mumbai

was about to meet the girl they never saw coming.

---

💌 To be continued...

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