There was only one unbreakable rule in Ria’s life:
Say yes.
Never say no.
It was a rule her parents taught her, though not in so many words. It began with the polite child who greeted guests with a smile, who recited poems at school functions even when her stomach hurt, who came home on time even when the game wasn’t over.
So what happens when her ever-ready “Yes, Ma’am” quietly transforms into a firm, unshaken “No, Ma’am”?
Ria was in college now, in a university nestled deep in the hills on the outskirts of Shimla. The nearest city was 100 kilometres away. Huge gates guarded the campus like silent sentries, and students weren’t allowed to step out unless a fax—yes, a fax—was sent by a parent. Mobile phones were banned. Wi-Fi rarely worked. Disconnection, both digital and emotional, was woven into the infrastructure.
But Ria believed it was the best decision. After all, her parents had chosen it, and they loved her. They knew what was best.
Every evening, after the campus gates shut, the hostel iron doors clanged closed at 8 p.m. The girls would either gossip in their rooms or huddle for ghost stories. That night, just as the shadows grew thick and familiar, the power went out.
And then came the voice.
Loudspeakers, usually used for announcements, crackled alive with a message no one expected:
“Why are women not taught to say No? Why are they not taught to think independently?”
The girls laughed nervously. Some assumed it was a prank. But the voice continued:
“How many of you have ever said No? No, to protect your self-respect? No, to choose your own life?”
Ria froze.
Something inside her cracked open—quietly, almost imperceptibly.
She had said yes to everything.
Yes, to changing her school when she didn’t want to.
Yes, to coming to this isolated college while her friends studied in vibrant cities.
Yes, to every decision that wasn’t hers.
The voice said one last thing before the lights flickered back on:
“From now on, when you want to say yes, say No instead—and see what happens.”
Most girls shrugged it off.
Ria didn’t.
The next morning, it was Misha’s turn—her roommate—to clean their tiny balcony.
“It’s so cold. Can you do it today, please?” Misha asked sweetly.
Without thinking, Ria replied, “No, it’s your turn.”
Misha stared at her, shocked. “You always help me.”
Ria paused, guilt bubbling. But under it—there was something else. Something lighter.
While walking through pine trees to her music class, she still felt the guilt. But layered over it was an unexpected calmness. A strange, feather-like lightness in her chest.
At the white building where music classes were held, the instructor asked, “Would you like to sing classical?”
“No,” Ria replied, almost startling herself. She turned and walked out.
She passed the football ground. A group of girls waved at her.
“Want to join us?”
“No,” she said. The girl raised her eyebrows, surprised.
Ria held her gaze, then added, “No, I don’t want to play casually. I want to take part in the tournament.”
And she did.
She applied.
She played.
They won the regional championship.
One evening, during a scheduled phone call, her parents said, “Beta, why football? It’ll affect your grades. Leave it and focus on studies.”
Ria replied simply, “No.”
And hung up.
In the hostel, another birthday celebration had arrived. Fairyland-themed. Glitter and gowns.
Her roommate Priya said, “Don’t you dare say no again! You have to dress up like a fairytale princess!”
“No way,” Ria said, and left the room with her long hair tied in a messy bun.
Instead, she wandered into the woods with her sketchbook. She sat under a deodar tree and drew a sky filled with cotton-like clouds and a golden sun that dared to shine through a cold morning.
That was her fairy tale.
Later, a warden caught her sitting outside.
“You can’t skip class and wander in the forest. Are you sorry?”
Ria stood tall and said, “No.”
The next day, her parents were called. They arrived red-faced and rigid, sitting in the dean’s office, embarrassed and angry.
As they drove her home, her father shouted, “Aren’t you ashamed of being expelled?”
Ria turned her head slowly and said, “No.”
Back home, silence grew like moss on the walls. Her parents stopped speaking to her, but with the support of her elder sister, who was already working in the US, she was encouraged to apply to a college of her choice.
She applied to another college—one that didn’t require faxes, didn’t lock its students in. A place in Karnataka that allowed students to follow their passions, with one simple rule:
Whatever you pursue on a given day, give it your 100%.
There, she played football.
There, she studied Political Science.
There, she painted under the sun.
There, she breathed.
Slowly, she craved to talk to her dad when she won a tournament. She wanted to hear his words. So, one day she called him—
and to her surprise, she was waiting to say Yes to this answer—
“Beta, do you want to come back home?”
She immediately said yes and during the weekend, took a flight home just for two days as she didn’t want to miss her economics classes, which she discovered as her favourite subject.
At home, she enjoyed a home-cooked meal after a long time, sitting with her parents during dinner. Her father’s stern eyes fixed on her. “We are very disappointed with you. Shouldn’t you have made us feel ashamed after all that we did for you?”
Ria felt a tightness in her chest, her thin, frail body yet strong, wanting to say, “What did I go wrong?”
Instead, she didn’t reply. She went back to her room and took out her canvas to paint. She didn’t talk much and left early on Monday morning for her college in Mangalore called ‘Expressive Arts and Political Science.’ And now, a pang of guilt remained. ‘Why did she leave her first college?’ ‘And what is she doing here?’
Her roommate Mira came to her one night. “Can you share your eco notes? I somehow don’t understand the subject. Need your help as you are the best at it.”
Ria, this time said, “Yes, why not?” leading to late-night coffee sessions with books and some fun too, like making Maggi and laughing over silly jokes.
That is how she found a confidante and, for the first time, shared how she felt guilty of letting down her parents. Mira sat beside her and only hugged her without saying anything, but only asking one question in the end:
“Are you happy now?”
And Ria smiled, her broad jawline accentuating, “Yes, I finally am.”
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