Some wounds don't bleed.

They don't leave scars on the skin.

They simply settle somewhere deep inside the heart and quietly grow with every unanswered question.

For Shree Lakshmi Murthy, that wound had a name.

Her father.

She had never wanted expensive clothes.

She had never asked for fancy toys.

She had never complained about studying in a government school while her younger brother went to a private one.

She had never even been jealous when her sister received praise for being the topper.

There was only one thing Shree Lakshmi wanted.

Something so simple that she couldn't understand why it was so difficult to get.

Her father's love.

His attention.

His pride.

Just once, she wanted him to look at her and say-

"Mujhe tum par garv hai, Shree."

But for years, those words remained only a dream.

---

TIRUPATI

The morning bells of the temple echoed through the streets of Tirupati.

The city was slowly waking up.

Small shops were opening their shutters.

The smell of fresh coffee and breakfast floated through the narrow streets.

Among the many modest homes stood a small two-bedroom house belonging to the Murthy family.

It wasn't grand.

It wasn't luxurious.

But it was warm.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Near the living room window sat an old sewing machine.

Behind it was Prasanna Murthy, a simple and kind-hearted woman who worked as a tailor.

Her fingers moved quickly over the fabric as the sewing machine hummed.

She had spent most of her life taking care of her family.

She didn't have much.

But whatever she had, she shared.

Her husband, Srinivas Murthy, owned a small kiraana shop a few streets away.

He was a hardworking man.

But he was also stubborn.

Traditional.

And deeply attached to one belief.

A belief that had been passed down through generations.

A son was the family's future.

A daughter was someone who would eventually leave.

"Beta toh budhape ka sahara hota hai," he often said.

"Betiyan toh shaadi ke baad apne ghar chali jaati hain."

Prasanna never liked hearing it.

But she knew her husband.

So she remained quiet.

Because sometimes, in a middle-class household, peace was more valuable than winning an argument.

---

THE THREE CHILDREN

The eldest was Shree Lakshmi.

She was beautiful in a quiet way.

She had a soft dusky complexion, expressive eyes and wore spectacles because of her poor eyesight.

She preferred simple traditional clothes.

She loved devotional songs.

She liked going to temples with her mother.

She was gentle.

Reserved.

And rarely complained.

But there was one thing she struggled with.

Studies.

No matter how hard she tried, academics never came easily to her.

Lessons took longer to understand.

Numbers confused her.

She often forgot what she had memorized the previous night.

But she wasn't lazy.

She tried.

Again and again.

Her younger sister, Saraswati, was her complete opposite.

Saraswati was beautiful, with an olive complexion and a bright, lively personality.

She was trendy.

Bubbly.

Confident.

Talkative.

And brilliant in studies.

She was always among the toppers.

Teachers admired her.

Classmates liked her.

Everyone seemed to notice Saraswati.

And then there was their youngest brother-

Sai.

Their only son.

The child who had unknowingly received the privilege of being born a boy.

For Srinivas, Sai was special.

Not because he was better than his sisters.

But because he was his son.

And that difference became obvious as the children grew older.

Shree and Saraswati were sent to a government school.

Sai was sent to a private school.

Sai received new uniforms.

New shoes.

New books.

Private tuition whenever necessary.

If Sai wanted something, Srinivas tried to provide it.

If the girls asked for something, he often questioned whether they really needed it.

Prasanna noticed every difference.

And every difference broke her heart a little.

---

THE ACCIDENT

Before the kiraana shop...

Srinivas had a government job.

He worked as a bus conductor.

It wasn't a prestigious job, but it was stable.

A regular salary.

Security for his family.

He was proud of it.

Then one day...

An accident changed everything.

Srinivas survived.

But his injuries were serious.

He could no longer continue working as a bus conductor.

His government job was gone.

The stable income disappeared.

The family struggled.

Eventually, he opened a small kiraana shop.

It was enough to keep food on the table.

But money became tight.

And somewhere inside Srinivas's mind, bitterness began growing.

Shree had been born before the accident.

She was his first child.

And though he never said it openly...

A part of him began associating the difficult years after the accident with her birth.

It wasn't logical.

It wasn't fair.

And Shree had absolutely nothing to do with it.

She was only a child.

But Srinivas never separated the two.

And slowly...

His disappointment in life became disappointment in his daughter.

---

FIRST STANDARD

"Mr. Srinivas?"

Srinivas looked up from his shop.

His daughter's teacher stood in front of him.

"Ji, madam?"

"Please come to school."

His expression immediately changed.

"Kyun? Kya hua?"

"It's about Shree Lakshmi."

His heart sank.

"Shree ko kya hua?"

The teacher sighed.

"She hasn't passed First Standard."

Srinivas stared at her.

"Kya?"

"She has failed."

For a moment, he couldn't speak.

"Madam... ek baar aur chance de dijiye."

"I'm sorry. We can't promote her."

"Please, madam."

The teacher shook her head.

"She needs more attention in her studies. Please take care of her academics."

Srinivas lowered his eyes.

He felt humiliated.

Parents were walking around him.

Other teachers were watching.

And all he could think about was one thing-

His daughter had failed.

When he returned home, Shree ran toward him.

"Papa!"

He didn't answer.

Her smile slowly disappeared.

Prasanna looked up from her sewing machine.

"Srinivas? Kya hua?"

He placed the report card on the table.

"Apni beti se poochho."

Prasanna picked it up.

Her face fell.

"Shree..."

Shree stood quietly.

Srinivas looked at her.

"Do you even want to study?"

Shree's eyes filled with tears.

"Ji, Papa."

"Toh phir fail kyun hui?"

"I don't know..."

His frustration grew.

"Har baar teacher mujhe school kyun bulaati hain?"

Shree lowered her head.

"Sorry, Papa."

He walked away.

Shree remained standing there.

Her small heart didn't understand why failing an exam had suddenly made her father's voice so cold.

---

SECOND STANDARD

Shree tried harder the following year.

Prasanna sat beside her.

She helped her revise.

She stayed awake late at night when Shree studied.

But despite everything...

It happened again.

Shree failed Second Standard.

Srinivas received the news from the teacher.

And this time, his patience disappeared completely.

That evening, he entered the house angrily.

"Phir fail!"

Prasanna immediately looked up.

"Srinivas..."

"Har saal same problem!"

Shree stood near the doorway.

She already knew.

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

Srinivas looked at her.

"Is ladki ki wajah se mujhe baar-baar school mein sunna padta hai!"

Prasanna stood up.

"Woh bachchi hai."

"Bachchi hai toh padhai kyun nahi karti?"

Shree's lips trembled.

"Papa... main koshish karti hoon."

"Toh result kyun nahi aata?"

She didn't know what to say.

She was trying.

She really was.

But how could a child explain something she herself didn't understand?

Srinivas took a deep breath.

Then asked her directly-

"Padna hai ya nahi?"

Shree immediately nodded.

"Padna hai, Papa."

Prasanna stepped forward.

"Suniye..."

Srinivas looked at her.

"Is saal Saraswati bhi usi class mein hogi."

He glanced at his younger daughter.

Prasanna continued.

"Saraswati topper hai. Woh Shree ki help karegi."

Saraswati immediately nodded.

"Main karungi, Amma."

Prasanna smiled faintly.

"Main bhi uske saath baithungi. Aap chinta mat kijiye."

Srinivas remained silent for several seconds.

Finally-

"Theek hai."

Then he looked at Prasanna.

"Lekin ab se Shree ki padhai tum sambhalo."

Prasanna nodded.

"Ji."

"Main iske studies ke beech mein nahi padunga."

Shree looked up.

Srinivas continued coldly-

"Har baar teachers ke saamne mujhe sharminda hona padta hai. Mujhe aur beizzati nahi chahiye."

Prasanna's heart sank.

"Theek hai. Main sambhal lungi."

Srinivas walked away.

Shree watched him.

She didn't fully understand what had just happened.

But she understood enough.

Her father had decided that her studies were no longer his concern.

And somehow...

That hurt more than failing.

---

THREE YEARS APART

Shree and Saraswati had a three-year age difference.

But because Shree repeated First and Second Standard, they eventually entered Third Standard together.

From that day onward, the sisters became inseparable.

They were opposites in almost everything.

Saraswati loved trendy clothes.

Shree preferred traditional dresses.

Saraswati loved talking.

Shree preferred listening.

Saraswati was confident.

Shree was shy.

Saraswati understood lessons quickly.

Shree needed them explained several times.

But their differences never came between them.

Instead...

They completed each other.

---

One evening, Shree sat beside Saraswati with her mathematics notebook.

"Saru..."

"Hmm?"

"Yeh question samajh nahi aa raha."

Saraswati looked at the notebook.

"Shree! Maine abhi samjhaya."

"Ek baar aur samjha do."

Saraswati stared at her.

"Kitni baar?"

Shree gave her a small smile.

"Please?"

Saraswati sighed.

"Accha baba. Idhar do."

She pulled the notebook closer.

"Ab dhyan se suno."

Shree nodded.

Saraswati explained it again.

Then once more.

Finally, Shree's face lit up.

"Samajh aa gaya!"

Saraswati laughed.

"Finally!"

Shree smiled.

"Thank you."

Saraswati nudged her.

"Pagal. Main hoon na."

Those words became Shree's comfort.

Main hoon na.

Whenever the world made her feel like she wasn't enough...

Saraswati reminded her that she wasn't alone.

---

THE GIRL EVERYONE TEASED

At school, Saraswati was admired.

Shree was compared.

"Saraswati is such a brilliant student."

"Look at her marks."

"Why can't Shree study like her sister?"

Some children teased Shree.

"Four-eyes!"

"Why are you so slow?"

"Your sister is a topper and you're not even good at studies."

Shree rarely responded.

She simply adjusted her spectacles and walked away.

Their words didn't hurt her as much as people thought.

Because Shree had learned to ignore strangers.

The only person's opinion she couldn't ignore...

was her father's.

---

One afternoon, a boy snatched Shree's notebook.

"Let's see what our topper's sister has written."

Everyone laughed.

Shree reached for it.

"Please give it back."

Before he could answer-

"Give it."

Saraswati stood behind him.

He turned.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

He laughed.

"Why are you getting angry?"

Saraswati's expression hardened.

"She's my sister."

"So?"

"So don't mess with her."

The boy reluctantly returned the notebook.

Saraswati took it and handed it to Shree.

"Chalo."

Shree followed her.

After walking a few steps, she whispered-

"Thank you, Saru."

Saraswati smiled.

"Anytime."

---

But Saraswati couldn't always protect her.

Not from teachers.

Not from relatives.

Not from elders.

Whenever an adult scolded Shree for her studies, Saraswati's heart burned.

She wanted to say-

She's trying.

Stop comparing her.

You don't know how hard she works.

But she couldn't.

She was still young.

If she spoke disrespectfully to an elder, the blame would fall on Prasanna.

Someone would say-

"Apni beti ko tameez nahi sikhayi?"

So Saraswati stayed silent.

Her hands clenched beneath the table.

Her eyes filled with anger.

But she said nothing.

She simply remained beside Shree.

---

THE ONE PERSON SHE COULDN'T STOP LOVING

Years passed.

Shree somehow managed to pass one class after another.

Sometimes with good marks.

Sometimes barely.

But she kept going.

Because somewhere inside her was a tiny hope.

Maybe Papa will be proud of me one day.

Every time she received her report card...

She looked for him.

Every time she achieved something...

She wanted to tell him.

But Srinivas rarely asked.

Sai's achievements received excitement.

Saraswati's achievements received praise.

Shree's achievements received silence.

One evening, Shree came home holding her report card.

She had passed.

She smiled and approached her father.

"Papa..."

Srinivas was counting money from the shop.

"Hmm?"

"Main pass ho gayi."

He glanced at the report card.

"Accha."

Shree waited.

Maybe he would ask her marks.

Maybe he'd smile.

Maybe he'd pat her head.

Maybe he'd say-

"Good girl."

But instead he said-

"Jaao, Amma ki help karo."

Her smile slowly disappeared.

"Ji, Papa."

She turned around.

Saraswati had been watching from the doorway.

She saw the disappointment on her sister's face.

She wanted to say something.

But Shree was already walking away.

---

That night, the house was quiet.

Prasanna was asleep after a long day of sewing.

Sai was sleeping peacefully.

Saraswati lay beside Shree.

But Shree couldn't sleep.

"Saru..."

Saraswati opened her eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Papa mujhse naraz hain?"

Saraswati frowned.

"Kyun?"

"Unhe mujhse baat karna pasand nahi."

"Shree..."

"He talks to Sai."

Her voice trembled.

"He smiles at him."

She wiped her eyes.

"Jab tum achhe marks laati ho toh woh khush hote hain."

She swallowed.

"Main pass bhi ho jaun toh unhe farak nahi padta."

Saraswati reached for her hand.

"Don't think like that."

Shree looked at her.

"Toh main kya karun?"

"You don't have to do anything."

Shree shook her head.

"Nahi."

She wiped another tear.

"Main aur achhe marks laungi."

"Shree-"

"Main topper banne ki koshish karungi."

Saraswati stared at her.

"Phir?"

Shree's eyes filled with tears.

"Phir shayad..."

Her voice broke.

"Shayad Papa ko mujh par bhi garv hoga."

Saraswati's heart shattered.

She pulled her sister into a tight embrace.

Shree buried her face against her shoulder.

For the first time that night, she allowed herself to cry.

She didn't want money.

She didn't want expensive clothes.

She didn't want a private school.

She didn't want to be better than Saraswati.

She didn't even want to be her father's favorite.

She wanted something much simpler.

Something every child should receive without asking.

Her father's love.

Shree closed her eyes.

And whispered into the darkness-

"Main ek din achhi beti banungi, Papa..."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Bas ek baar mujhe bhi apni beti samajh lena."

Saraswati held her tighter.

She couldn't promise that their father would change.

She couldn't promise that Shree would suddenly become brilliant.

She couldn't promise that the world would stop comparing them.

But she could promise one thing.

She would never leave her sister alone.

And while Shree eventually fell asleep in her sister's arms...

Srinivas sat in the front room, completely unaware of the silent battle taking place inside his daughter's heart.

He didn't know how many nights she had cried because of him.

He didn't know how many times she had looked at him, hoping for a smile.

He didn't know that his indifference hurt her more than every failure.

And he certainly didn't know...

That the daughter he had spent years overlooking...

Would one day become the person he would be forced to see.

But that day was still far away.

For now...

Shree Lakshmi was only a little girl standing outside the closed door of her father's heart-

waiting for him to let her in.