I entered the dining room to see my mother already sitting there. She was the most angelic, yet bossy personality in our home.

“I’m running late!” I almost shouted while fixing the strap of my watch.

“Can’t you speak politely?” she asked, more as a request than a complaint.

“I can, Mum! But I don’t have time for it. Where’s my breakfast?”

She turned towards me, her face showing concern. “Listen, dear. I’m not feeling well today. That’s why I took the day off from school. With difficulty I managed to send Saim to school, now you’ll have to make breakfast for yourself. I know you can do it.”

Then she gently touched my hand. “You’re my eldest daughter, the most responsible one,” she murmured in a sleepy voice.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll handle it.” Those were the words I always said after being called responsible.

I rushed to the bus stop with a slice of bread in my mouth, a water bottle and phone in my left hand, a book in my right and the weight of my bag on one shoulder. But believe me, this weight was far lighter than the burden of being called the “responsible daughter” on every occasion.

The bus stopped. I got in and everyone laughed at me. But did that matter? No, it didn’t. After all, I’m the eldest daughter.

My gaze remained fixed on the floor as I took my seat. Since childhood, I had been raised to be the burdened, responsible and dependable eldest sister.

As soon as I entered the university premises, I saw Zainab enthusiastically waving at me, her sparkling eyes making it obvious that she had something wonderful to tell me.

I hurried over to her.

“What happened? You look so excited.”

“If I tell you, you’ll start dancing too!” she said joyfully.

“Really? Hurry up! Spill the tea,” I said, curiosity bubbling inside me.

“Today is poetry night!” she exclaimed.

“Finally! I can present my work. You know I’ve been preparing for this event for the last two months,” my voice rose with excitement. At that moment, it felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders and I could finally breathe fresh air after such a difficult morning.

My fourth lecture was underway. My head was spinning, yet my eyes remained focused. I couldn’t let my grades slip, not as the eldest daughter.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Annoyed, I quietly slipped out of the classroom and answered it. It was my father.

“How is your day going?” he asked politely.

“Quite okay,” I replied.

“Are you in a hurry?”

I always understood the tone of my parents. I had grown up noticing what they never said aloud.

“Well… yes. You remember I gave you the cash last night to put in the locker?” he asked tensely.

“Yes, and I did as you said,” I replied calmly, but my stomach tightened and my heart began to race.

“I can’t find the keys now,” he finally confessed.

“Dad, I placed the keys on your desk. If they’re not there, ask Mum. Otherwise, I’ll help you once I get home,” I replied, trying to stay calm.

“How could you do this? You left my keys in plain sight, where anyone could have taken them. I thought I could rely on you, but this is unbelievable.”

His words were so cruel that they pierced my heart. My hands trembled, and it felt as though an entire building had collapsed on top of me.

Don’t I do enough as the eldest child? Carrying this painful standard of responsibility on my shoulders, why am I still not responsible in his eyes? I tried, tried and tried… maybe it was never enough.

In a muffled voice, with a lump in my throat and tears filling my eyes, I still wanted to explain myself. “I’m sorry,” I managed to calmly say, but it was too late. He had already hung up.

I stood there with a blank expression, wiping away my tears because I’m the eldest daughter, an iron lady, strong enough… maybe, or maybe not. I never got the answer.

It was 4 pm when I reached home. My home. I was the third pillar of this house, perhaps too young to be one.

I sank onto the couch, exhausted after a gruelling day, while trying to think of a way to ask for permission to attend poetry night without making it sound like a betrayal of my responsibilities.

As I rehearsed the words in my mind, my mum sat beside me. I was comforted by her warmth and finally hugged her, holding back all the pain buried deep inside my heart.

“I’m sorry about this morning. I hope you managed everything,” she said softly. I could hear the guilt in her voice. I didn’t want her to blame herself.

“I did, Mum,” I replied quietly.

She patted my head and continued, “Your dad and I are going to a formal dinner. Sajjad has gone to a birthday party at his friend’s house, and Saim is sick. So I was wondering if you could babysit him.”

Another suffocating request. Not again! Not tonight! My heart tightened. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell her about poetry night, about how much it meant to me. But my words remained trapped behind the lump in my throat. I remembered my role in the family. I had spent years putting everyone else’s needs before my own, so how could it different this time?

“Okay,” I whispered.

Before the tears could fall, I rushed to my room and locked the door. As I sat quietly by the window, I thought about the poems I would never get to share that night.

For a moment, I wondered what it would feel like to be seen not as the responsible daughter, but simply as myself.

Published in Dawn, Young World, July 4th, 2026