Nashmiya Khan was the eldest daughter of the Betani family, a title that carried more weight than she cared to acknowledge. Being the firstborn in a family of expectations was both a burden and a blessing, but to Nashmiya, it was simply another chapter in her ongoing struggle for individuality.
At 16, she was already in 11th grade at a co-college in Islamabad, and yet, she felt like she didn't belong. Her family expected nothing less than perfection from her, and for them, that meant becoming a doctor. But Nashmiya had other plans—plans that didn't involve life under a microscope, or the pressure of white coats and stethoscopes.
Living with her parents, siblings, and extended family was no easy feat. The Betani household was a crowded, chaotic place, where tensions ran high, but appearances had to remain flawless. Nashmiya's family were masters of sugar-coating their words, often hiding their true feelings behind smiles that never reached their eyes.
Her parents were the prime example.
Hasrat-ullah Khan, her father, had always been supportive—but with a caveat. His support came with manipulation, the unspoken pressure to uphold the family's name and status. Nashmiya could always sense it, that he wanted her to be the perfect Betani girl. And her mother, Shazia Bibi, was the opposite: strict, unwavering, and cold. She believed in discipline and wouldn't hesitate to physically discipline her children if they stepped out of line. Nashmiya was no stranger to this, having faced more than one slap when her mother thought she was misbehaving.
Then there was Amir Sahzada, her beloved grandfather. He spoiled her, but in a way that felt like a sweet trap, where love was always attached to high expectations. He adored her like the sun adores the sky, but she could never forget how his eyes would light up when she followed the "perfect" path he had envisioned for her. He always called her "Beta," his little gem, though she could see the unspoken hope in his gaze whenever they talked about her future.
Her grandmother, Kamal Bibi, was kind, but her gentle words often masked her deep-rooted traditional views. She believed in women staying within the lines of social propriety, and Nashmiya could never quite live up to that mold.
And then there was the extended family.
Summer Bibi, her widowed aunt, was like a snake in the grass. Sweet in public, but with a venomous tongue in private. Her eldest son, Asad, was a year younger than Nashmiya and often teased her for being so different from the rest of the family. He was nothing like her. Where Nashmiya was rebellious and free-spirited, Asad was all about playing by the rules, trying to make his mother proud by excelling at whatever she expected of him.
Fahad, the second son, was more of a follower, trailing behind Asad, trying to mirror him. And Haider, the youngest, was still a child, often trying to gain attention through mischief, never really understanding the complexities that Nashmiya faced daily.
Despite all this, Nashmiya remained unapologetically herself.
Her friends at college knew her as the girl who didn't care about what others thought. She was a black flag in the sea of conformity, a symbol of rebellion against the suffocating expectations that surrounded her. Teachers judged her, labeling her as lazy or uninterested, simply because she didn't conform to the typical "good student" mold. But they didn't know the real Nashmiya—the one who, deep inside, cared deeply about what she wanted out of life, but had yet to find the courage to break free from the chains of familial duty.
At school, she had a reputation. Not a good one, but one she had cultivated over time. She didn't give in to the love affairs that ran rampant in the halls. Her friends, like Sehar, were in relationships, but Nashmiya couldn't understand the appeal. It all felt so fake, so forced. When the boys flirted with her, she didn't shy away from making them regret it. A few well-placed punches or sharp words and they backed off, muttering their apologies.
In the chaos of her family, Nashmiya found solace in the few things that made her feel like herself. She would often retreat to her room, locking the door and letting the silence wash over her. It was in these quiet moments that she could hear her own thoughts—thoughts that had nothing to do with being a doctor, nothing to do with the high expectations of the Betani name, and everything to do with figuring out who she really was.
But with the summer heat came the inevitable family drama. Summer Bibi's constant manipulation of her sons, her soft whispers of gossip, and the passive-aggressive remarks aimed at Nashmiya made her wish she could escape. The tension in the house grew thicker with each passing day, as if everyone was waiting for the right moment to pounce.
In the midst of all this, Nashmiya couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a moment when she could live her life for herself—free from the chains of family expectations, free from the judgments of her teachers, and free from the suffocating love of relatives who only loved her conditionally.
As the days dragged on, one thing became clear: Nashmiya Khan was not going to follow the path they had set for her. She would find her own way, even if it meant going against the tide.