goldy

I missed my sister’s wedding for a job that viewed me as nothing more than a staff member. It was November, and I was twenty-three years old, working my first teaching job at a small school near Shimla—seventy kilometers and an entire world away from home.
A month in advance, I had asked theprincipal for two days of leave. My cousin sister’s mehndi was on November 20th, and the wedding was the following day. "Yes, take it," she had promised.
But on November 18th, when I went to remind her, the promise vanished.
"Tomorrow there is an inspection," she said flatly. "How can you take leave now?
But Ma'am, you promised," I pleaded, desperately trying to explain the timeline. "The mehndi is on the 20th. The wedding is on the 21st."
"The inspection is more important," she replied. "You can go after the 22nd. If you leave now, your salary will be cut."
As a new teacher making only ₹9,000 a month, that threat froze me. I needed every single rupee just to pay my room rent.
That night, I called my mother. "Beta, it’s okay," she said, her voice trying to sound strong. "Work is important." But beneath her words, I could hear the heavy weight of her sadness.
On the night of the mehndi, I sat entirely alone. My roommate was asleep, and the small heater in our room was broken, leaving the space bitterly cold. At 11:00 PM, I huddled under my blankets, watching Instagram stories. My cousins were dancing, laughing, and applying beautiful henna designs. My sister had even bought a special suit for me, which was now sitting empty at home. Iwatched them through a glowing screen, crying silently into the dark so my roommate wouldn't hear me.
The next morning at school, I had to swallow my grief. I put on a bright, fake smile to greet the inspector. "Good morning, sir. Welcome to our school," I said. Inside, I was burning with anger.
I checked my phone all day. A notification popped up from my sister—a photo of her wearing the suit she had bought for me. “You left it, so I am wearing it,” the caption read. I laughed and cried at the exact same time.
When the wedding finally arrived, I tried to join via video call. But the network coverage in the Himachal hills was abysmal. My face kept freezing on their screens. Through the glitching, blurry feed, I could hear them shouting, "We can't hear you!"
I watched my family dance from a million miles away on a pixelated screen.
That turned out to be the coldest night of the winter, but it taught me a lesson I will never forget. To the school, I was