Every evening at exactly 7:30, Aira’s phone would buzz.
Not with a message from a friend. Not with a notification she was excited to see.
It was her mother.
“Where are you ?”
“Who are you with ?”
“When will you come home ?”
At first, it felt normal. Caring, even.
But slowly… it began to feel like something else.
Aira wasn’t a reckless girl.
She didn’t sneak out, didn’t lie,
didn’t do anything that would make her parents worry at least, that’s what she believed.
Yet, every step she took outside the house felt like it was being watched.
“Don’t stay out too late.”
“Don’t talk to strangers.”
“Don’t trust anyone.”
“Girls like you should be careful.”
Girls like you.
She never understood what that meant.
One day, after college, her friends planned to go for coffee.
It was nothing big, just laughter, stories, and a break from routine.
Aira hesitated before calling home.
“Ammi… I’ll be a little late today. We’re just going for coffee.”
Silence.
Then came the familiar tone.
“Why do you need to go ?”
“Can’t you come home directly ?”
“What’s the necessity ?”
Aira stared at the road ahead, her friends already walking away, waiting for her answer.
“I just… want to go,” she said softly.
Another silence.
“Come home early,” her mother replied,
but her voice carried something heavy, something between concern and disapproval.
Aira hung up, but the excitement was gone.
That night, lying on her bed, she stared at the ceiling.
Why me ? she thought.
Why does everything feel like a question ?
Why does every small happiness feel like a permission I have to earn ?
She wasn’t angry. Not completely.
Just… confused.
Days passed.
The questions didn’t stop.
If she smiled at her phone, “Who are you talking to ?”
If she dressed nicely, “Where are you going ?”
If she stayed quiet, “What’s wrong with you ?”
It felt like there was no right way to exist.
One evening, it became too much.
“Ammi…” Aira finally said, her voice trembling, “Why don’t you trust me ?”
Her mother froze.
The question hung in the air, heavier than any argument.
“What do you mean ?” her mother asked slowly.
“I mean… every time I step out, every time I do something… it feels like you’re scared of me doing something wrong. Like I’m already guilty of something I haven’t even done.”
Her mother didn’t reply immediately.
Instead, she sat down beside her.
“You think this is about not trusting you ?” her mother asked quietly.
Aira looked at her, eyes filled with frustration and hurt.
“Then what is it ?”
Her mother took a deep breath.
“It’s about not trusting the world.”
The words felt unfamiliar.
Her mother continued, her voice softer now.
“When you were little, you held my hand to cross the road.
I didn’t think the road was safe, but I also didn’t think you were careless.
I just… wanted to protect you.”
Aira stayed silent.
“This world…” her mother paused,
choosing her words carefully, “it’s not always kind to girls.
We hear stories every day. Things that make us… afraid.
And that fear doesn’t know how to express itself properly.
So it comes out as a question. As restrictions.”
Aira swallowed.
“So it’s fear ?” she asked.
Her mother nodded slowly. “Fear… and love. Sometimes they look the same.”
That night, Aira didn’t feel completely at peace.
But something inside her shifted.
Maybe it wasn’t about control.
Maybe it wasn’t about lack of trust.
Maybe it was about parents who didn’t know how to love without being afraid.
The next evening, when her phone buzzed at 7:30, she picked it up before it rang again.
“Ammi,” she said gently, “I’m at the library. I’ll be home by 8:30.”
There was a pause.
Then, softer this time
“Okay. Come safely.”
Aira smiled faintly.
She still had questions.
She still didn’t have all the answers.
But for the first time, she stopped asking
Why me ?
And started understanding
Maybe… it was never just about me.
