The Crying Girl

I saw a girl crying.

Her parents wanted her to do something she didn’t want to do. She was trying her best to disagree, to explain why she didn’t want this. She probably had a hundred reasons not to go through with it.

Maybe it didn’t feel right from her perspective.

Maybe she wanted to stay where she felt safe instead of being somewhere unfamiliar.

Maybe she was still learning, still figuring things out, and the thought of stepping into something unknown scared her.

Maybe she just wanted the freedom to decide what to do with her own time, her own life.

There could be endless reasons why she didn’t want to go.

But maybe, from her parents’ point of view, this was the right decision. Even if she didn’t agree. They decided for her without asking for consent, believing they didn’t need one. And maybe they weren’t entirely wrong. They only wanted what they thought was best for their daughter. They wanted her to grow. To learn. To become responsible. To be “ready” for life.

They believed that once she stepped into it, she would understand. That fear would fade. That habit would replace resistance. That eventually, she would get used to it.

But she didn’t agree and kept on resisting.

She was afraid of what waited on the other side. She wasn’t ready to face it. But readiness wasn’t part of the discussion; nothing was.

In the clash of voices, authority won. With certainty, power, and raised voices, the decision was made. She had to go.

What she couldn’t explain was the feeling. The one that sat in her chest long after the reasons ran out. A quiet knowing that something was being taken from her, even if no one could name it.

So she agreed to take the baggage she didn’t want to carry.

It felt heavier than her own body. Not because of one decision, but because of what it represented. Expectations. Timelines. A life planned by someone else.

For a moment, it felt permanent. Like something tied to her. Like freedom was no longer about choosing, but about learning how to carry what you were given. Like this was something she might never be able to put down.

She wiped her tears. Took a deep breath. Walked forward.

No one asked if she was ready.

No one waited for her to feel sure.

She stepped ahead.

A man came to receive her. He promised the parents that he would take care of her and that they shouldn't be worried.

With heavy hearts and teary eyes, she walked away from her parents, holding the man’s hand. As she was about to lose sight of them, she turned back, waved, and then stepped into the classroom.

-Vimarsh Shah

Jan 2026, Ahmedabad.