Zoya’s P.O.V
My mother's voice echoed in my thoughts, her words a sharp dagger piercing my heart. She had questioned my worth, not just as a homemaker, but as a woman capable of keeping a man faithful and devoted.
Despite having taught me to maintain my virginity until after marriage, when my mom had accused me of being the reason why Ravi had to cheat on me, she hadn't been talking about my ability to serve him through cooking and cleaning. Now that I think about it, she was likely talking about my ability to please Ravi in bed.
Bitch, please. Make it make sense.
The earlier guilt I had felt now vanished and turned into anger.
I had tried to live up to the ideals of being the perfect daughter, the obedient one who abided by tradition and upheld family values. Yet, in the end, it had all been in vain.
But as I took a sip of my coffee, a newfound strength rose within me. I realized that my worth was not defined by societal norms or the opinions of others.
I was more than the expectations placed upon me. I was a woman with the right to choose my own path and seek happiness on my terms.
Gazing out of the kitchen window, I witnessed the beauty of nature unfolding before me.
The gentle breeze carried the whispers of possibility, reminding me that life is filled with complexities and unforeseen twists.
In this moment, I made a silent vow to embrace my own journey, to navigate the uncharted waters of love and desire, guided by my own intuition and experiences, instead of my past and the bitterness of others.
As I set the empty cup aside, a sense of resolution settled within me.
I may have strayed from tradition, but I had also liberated myself from the confines of expectations.
I was no longer bound by the judgment of others or the fear of societal scorn.
Of course, it was still valid if I felt anger toward the injustice of it all. It was only natural that I felt such a thing. Moreover, anger can serve as a motivation to push me as far as I could get.
And so, I let frustration simmer within me, fueling the fire of defiance that burns brightly in my heart.
The weight of societal expectations and double standards bore down on me, leaving me suffocated by the hypocrisy that surrounds me.
Each judgmental stare, each whispered comment, further fueled my determination to break free from these suffocating chains.
My mother had forced upon me the image of the virginal bride, and yet, when Ravi had broken things off and kicked me out, she had blamed me for not being enough for him. And I was sure that she wasn’t the only one who had blamed me. Because Ravi’s mother and my relatives would’ve thought the same. And since words spread like wild fire in our little community in New York, as well as to our relatives back home, I was sure everyone now knew about me and Ravi and Tania and everyone was having a blast gossiping about it.
Yes, there might have been a few people who would sympathize with me, call me the unlucky one and show me some form of mercy. But with my luck, I would be a fool to think that any of them had any form of good intentions for me.
As I reflected on the arbitrary rules and morals imposed upon me since I was young and naive, a surge of anger coursed through my veins.
How dare they demand adherence to a system that perpetuates sexism and inequality, yet readily dismisses my achievements and worth?
It was a maddening paradox, a relentless dance between their expectations and their condemnations.
What exactly did they want me to fucking do? What did they want me to be?
The world seemed painted in shades of black and white, leaving no room for nuance or individuality.
If I dared to embrace my femininity, to wear what made me feel confident and beautiful, I was instantly labeled with derogatory terms, a slut, a whore, a hoe — stripped of my agency.
Yet, if I obediently followed my parents' strict guidelines and failed to meet their predetermined markers of success, I was reduced to a mere disappointment, deemed worthless in their eyes.
It was an endless, exhausting cycle.
And I wanted out of it.
I refused to be defined by their twisted standards. I was weary of this ceaseless cycle of judgment and conformity.
My heart yearned for something more, for a life guided by my own instincts and desires, unencumbered by the suffocating expectations of others.
In the midst of this internal turmoil, I find solace in the memories of my time with Ezra.
Despite the uncertainties and complexities of the supernatural world, there was an undeniable connection between us. Maybe because Ezra was my mate as well? However, with him, I felt an inexplicable sense of rightness, as if our souls were drawn together by a force beyond comprehension.
If being with Ezra was wrong, then why did it feel so right in my bones and in my soul?
I believed, deep within me, that Ezra had the capacity to be different, to offer me the understanding and kindness I so desperately seek.
And if Ezra proves to be that guiding light, I am willing to take the leap, to embrace the unknown and unravel the mysteries of the supernatural world.
This newfound freedom filled me with a sense of empowerment, as I began to embrace the complexities of my own desires and redefine my own path, unburdened by the weight of guilt or regret.