Prologue
Meera
Bangalore
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I stare at the blank laptop screen, biting my lip. I know the email is there. I saw the notification on my phone, but I still cannot bring myself to open it. I must have turned the laptop on and off at least a dozen times in the last half hour, caught in this ridiculous tug-of-war between hoping it’s the news I’ve been waiting for and dreading that it isn’t.
My gaze flicks to the AC on the wall opposite my bed. The temperature is set low, yet the cool air does nothing to stop the sweat gathering on my forehead. Sweat that has nothing to do with the afternoon heat spilling through the pale pink curtains and everything to do with the nerves twisting inside me.
I know it’s just an email. One answer. But what makes my heart pound against my ribs is the fact that my whole life is hanging on those words.
My index finger hovers over the power button before I finally turn on the laptop.
The notification pops up immediately:The Indian Institute of Journalism and Media Studies.
And my heart jumps. Again.
My dream. One that I’ve carried since I was fifteen, the day I saw a young woman on television, fearlessly confronting a corrupt politician whose son was involved in the murder of a schoolgirl. I was completely in awe of how she brought justice to the girl’s family. The police did their job, yes… but it was throughhervoice that the truth reached the public, and that public support had made all the difference.
And that’s when I thought, ‘This is what I want. To be a journalist. A voice that raises awareness and makes a difference.’
Smiling, I think of my parents, who understood how important it was for me to follow my heart, and have supported my dreams in their own caring ways ever since. They still do.
My dad, Pratap Sinha, with his quiet wisdom and steady guidance, has a way of making every challenge feel manageable. No matter how busy he is, he always finds time to sit with me and talk through my plans. And my mom, Savita Sinha, with her endless warmth and the little sticky-note messages of encouragement she leaves around my room, makes me never want to give up.
Together, they remind me, again and again, that I’m capable of far more than I ever allow myself to believe. Even now, I can almost hear Dad’s voice from this morning as he left for work.
“Don’t stress too much, beta.” He smiled at me from the doorway and adjusted his glasses, looking every bit the bank manager he is in his pressed shirt and perfectly straight tie. “You’re the best, and the good news will come to you,” he continued in that calm, practical tone he uses when he’s trying to hide that he’s just as nervous as I’m.
“I know you’ll get in, and we’ll celebrate that tonight, princess,” Mom added from beside him with a gentle smile on her face. She was dressed in a simple pastel salwar for her grocery shopping, yet even in her simple attire, I couldn’t stop being in awe—she looked every bit the perfect, graceful housewife.
With their words still echoing in my mind, I cross my fingers and summon the courage to open the email. But before I can even click on it, my phone rings through the silence, making me jump. I glance at it and can’t help but shake my head with a smile.
Samarth Khanna.
Of course it’s him. He had applied too, and by now, he must have received the mail, just like me.
I swipe to answer. “You have the worst timing, you know that?”
His laugh comes through instantly. “How could I not call? It’s the biggest day of your life!”
“You make it sound like I’m about to walk down the aisle.”
“Well, in a way, you are. Down the aisle of your dreams.”
I groan. “Stop teasing me, will you?”
He chuckles again. “Fine, fine. So, did you read it?”
“Not yet,” I admit, glancing at the screen. “It’s right there in front of me, but I just can’t bring myself to open it yet.”
“You’re killing me, Meera! What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know,” I say, flopping back onto my bed and staring at the ceiling. “Maybe for my heart to stop trying to jump out of my chest.”
“That’s just your nerves talking. You’ve got this. You’re the smartest person I know. If anyone deserves to get in, it’s you.”
I smile softly at his words. “You’re only saying that because you’re my friend. And the way you sound so awfully confident tells me you must have gotten through.”
