Falling Stardust

The city sparkled just beyond the tinted glass-skyscrapers kissed gold by the dying sun, streets below pulsing with a rhythm that once used to drown her. But not anymore.

Inside the campus library, it was a different world. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, pages rustled like whispers, and stress hung over students like storm clouds. Some crammed for exams, others argued softly over presentations. And tucked away in the farthest corner, invisible to the world, sat Raneya Qureshi.

Not hiding.

Surviving.

Her hoodie shadowed her eyes, curls spilling out like rebellion. Ink-stained fingers gripped a cracked pen, her notebook filled with a chaos of footnotes, formulas, and fight. This corner-dusty, dim-had become her sanctuary. A small, silent battlefield where no one asked questions, and no one cared about the ghosts that clung to her.

But they were always there.

A slamming door.

Her mother's voice like a whip: "Dreams don't feed a family, Raneya."

Her sister's laugh, cruel and careless: "Trying to be someone you're not again?"

Home had never felt like home.

In the Qureshi household, tradition wasn't a value-it was a verdict. Her mother, Fazeela, ruled with a smile sharp enough to cut. A woman built from sacrifice, polished by obedience, who believed a daughter's destiny ended at the altar-not at the edge of a degree.

"A woman's worth lies in silence, service, and sacrifice-not in scholarships," she'd say, with eyes that never softened.

And Aanya-her mirror in face, her opposite in every other way-wore privilege like perfume. While Raneya burned through midnight oil, Aanya danced through life, light and unbothered. And when Raneya tried to share her dreams, her wins, her hope-Aanya would simply laugh and shrug: "You're always trying so hard. It's exhausting."

But the deepest wound came from the gentlest voice-her father.

"I'm proud of you, beta. But remember, no medal shines brighter than a good husband."

His love was warm. But chained to tradition.

Raneya had learned to live with that ache. She didn't rebel loudly. She studied. Quietly. Desperately. Every grade was a small act of defiance. Every sleepless night, a protest. Every "A" was a whispered scream: I exist. I matter.

And now-today-it was time to see if the world had finally heard her.

Around her, phones buzzed. Murmurs spread. "The results are in."

Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled as she opened the portal. A second of hesitation. A flick of her thumb.

Raneya Qureshi - Top 1%. Dean's List. Scholarship Renewed.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Still there.

Her chest rose, then fell, slower than before. For one perfect moment, the world outside that corner paused-like it, too, acknowledged her victory.

She had done it.

The girl they'd tried to silence. The dreamer they'd tried to break.