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Meera: Silence, too, can kill
In a house built on discipline, silence, and performance, Meera has always obeyed.
Now, her stillness unnerves. Her silence grows louder.
And when questions rise, so do the shadows she’s folded into perfection — grief unspoken, love unmet, rage stitched into silence.
This is not a story of noise.
It is a psychological reckoning — of control, inheritance, and the quiet ruin of a woman
trained to smile through her undoing.
Because not all storms make noise.
Some sit straight-backed in silk, look you in the eye — and never blink.
Now, her stillness unnerves. Her silence grows louder.
And when questions rise, so do the shadows she’s folded into perfection — grief unspoken, love unmet, rage stitched into silence.
This is not a story of noise.
It is a psychological reckoning — of control, inheritance, and the quiet ruin of a woman
trained to smile through her undoing.
Because not all storms make noise.
Some sit straight-backed in silk, look you in the eye — and never blink.
462 pages, Paperback
Published June 3, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
June 14, 2025
I am 58 years old now. I have lived through times when women had no say, and even now, I see that not much has changed. Meera brought back memories not of events, but of feelings we were taught to hide.
This is not a book for thrills. It’s for sitting quietly and remembering the girls we once were. The ones who were told to lower their voices. The ones who kept secrets for the sake of “family honour.”
Meera reminded me of many girls I have seen. Always obedient. Always graceful. And still, never enough in the eyes of those closest to her. That hit me the hardest.
The story was painful in parts. My daughter told me some scenes before I read them, and I still cried when I reached them. Not because they were shocking but because they were possible. Very possible.
This book may be fiction, but the silence in it that’s real. As a mother, I only hope the next generation doesn’t carry what we did.
To the author thank you for writing Meera. I saw pieces of myself, and of my daughter, in her.
This is not a book for thrills. It’s for sitting quietly and remembering the girls we once were. The ones who were told to lower their voices. The ones who kept secrets for the sake of “family honour.”
Meera reminded me of many girls I have seen. Always obedient. Always graceful. And still, never enough in the eyes of those closest to her. That hit me the hardest.
The story was painful in parts. My daughter told me some scenes before I read them, and I still cried when I reached them. Not because they were shocking but because they were possible. Very possible.
This book may be fiction, but the silence in it that’s real. As a mother, I only hope the next generation doesn’t carry what we did.
To the author thank you for writing Meera. I saw pieces of myself, and of my daughter, in her.
July 16, 2025
*Grief with Teeth*The beauty of *Meera* lies in how it handles grief—not as something delicate, but something sharp. When her parents die, you expect tears, breakdowns, regret. But what you get is silence. Stillness. And it’s not because she didn’t care. It’s because she’d already lost them long before they were gone.
That’s what shook me. Meera’s grief isn’t clean. It’s messy in a quiet way. The kind of sorrow that makes you stare at a wall for hours. The kind that builds over years of trying to be someone you're not. The urns aren’t just symbolic—they’re reminders of two people who taught her love came only when she was perfect.
And yet, she carries it. Doesn’t shatter. Doesn’t scream—not until the fire. That delayed scream was a masterstroke. I think this book understands something many don’t—that grief often begins after the funeral ends. And Meera... she carries that grief like armor. Unapologetically
That’s what shook me. Meera’s grief isn’t clean. It’s messy in a quiet way. The kind of sorrow that makes you stare at a wall for hours. The kind that builds over years of trying to be someone you're not. The urns aren’t just symbolic—they’re reminders of two people who taught her love came only when she was perfect.
And yet, she carries it. Doesn’t shatter. Doesn’t scream—not until the fire. That delayed scream was a masterstroke. I think this book understands something many don’t—that grief often begins after the funeral ends. And Meera... she carries that grief like armor. Unapologetically
July 15, 2025
There’s a moment in *Meera* that still lingers in my head like the smell of smoke—when she lights the fire in the backyard. For a while, I just stared at the page. It wasn’t just a symbolic act. It was rage, grief, helplessness, and freedom packed into one explosion. I think I held my breath through that whole chapter. I’ve never had to set anything on fire to find peace, but I’ve had my own versions of burning bridges, and this scene captured that emotional exhaustion so perfectly.
What made this powerful wasn’t the fire—it was what led to it. A lifetime of being told to be graceful, obedient, perfect. And Meera just couldn’t carry it anymore. The way she screamed into the flames felt like a voice I didn’t know I needed to hear. It made me realize how often we suppress real feelings to keep the peace.
This wasn’t just fiction. It was something deeper—a truth I think many women live.
What made this powerful wasn’t the fire—it was what led to it. A lifetime of being told to be graceful, obedient, perfect. And Meera just couldn’t carry it anymore. The way she screamed into the flames felt like a voice I didn’t know I needed to hear. It made me realize how often we suppress real feelings to keep the peace.
This wasn’t just fiction. It was something deeper—a truth I think many women live.
July 15, 2025
The scene in her parents’ bedroom—God, that was haunting. The silence in that room was louder than any noise. I’ve walked into spaces that once belonged to people who weren’t kind to me, and I know that chill. Meera standing there, surrounded by her parents’ belongings, brought back emotions I didn’t know I still had. The maroon saree falling from the cupboard, the comb, the empty vanity—it wasn’t about memories. It was about shadows that never really left.
And then the emotional crack—her sobbing, collapsing, stuffing everything into suitcases—it felt like witnessing a breakdown that wasn’t messy, but precise. Like grief had a method. The writing didn’t dramatize it, and that’s why it worked. It just unfolded, and I felt like I was right there.
This chapter broke me, honestly. Because it’s not just about Meera. It’s about all of us who’ve ever carried weight we never chose to hold.
And then the emotional crack—her sobbing, collapsing, stuffing everything into suitcases—it felt like witnessing a breakdown that wasn’t messy, but precise. Like grief had a method. The writing didn’t dramatize it, and that’s why it worked. It just unfolded, and I felt like I was right there.
This chapter broke me, honestly. Because it’s not just about Meera. It’s about all of us who’ve ever carried weight we never chose to hold.
July 15, 2025
The introduction of Dr. Sivaraman was unexpected, and yet... so necessary. He’s not your typical therapist character. He doesn’t push, prod, or preach. He just sits. Observes. Waits. And I think that’s why Meera responded to him—even if silently.
There’s something so human about that scene where he asks, “Can I sit here with you in silence?” I think I felt a tear slip down my face at that point. It reminded me of a time when someone sat beside me without expecting me to explain. That kind of presence is rare.
The beauty of this moment is that it doesn’t scream “recovery.” It’s subtle. But I felt something change in Meera then. Not a full shift—but a crack in the armor. That’s the thing with grief and trauma—it’s not a switch. It’s a slow melting. This book gets that. It respects it.
Sivaraman didn’t fix her. He simply offered a chair. And sometimes, that’s enough to start over.
There’s something so human about that scene where he asks, “Can I sit here with you in silence?” I think I felt a tear slip down my face at that point. It reminded me of a time when someone sat beside me without expecting me to explain. That kind of presence is rare.
The beauty of this moment is that it doesn’t scream “recovery.” It’s subtle. But I felt something change in Meera then. Not a full shift—but a crack in the armor. That’s the thing with grief and trauma—it’s not a switch. It’s a slow melting. This book gets that. It respects it.
Sivaraman didn’t fix her. He simply offered a chair. And sometimes, that’s enough to start over.
July 16, 2025
That tulip scene made me clench my fists. I hated how familiar it felt—the way someone from your past shows up acting like nothing happened. Like you owe them your attention just because they once had it. When Varun held Meera’s wrist and tried to hand her tulips, I felt my chest tighten.
The flashbacks that followed—him grabbing her, yelling, humiliating her—made my blood boil. I’ve known people like Varun. People who wrap manipulation in charm. What shocked me was Meera’s reaction. She didn’t yell. She didn’t crumble. She stood. Cold, composed, fiery. And for the first time, Varun flinched. That was so satisfying.
But it wasn’t revenge. It was her refusal to let him hold space in her life anymore. Her silence wasn’t passive—it was loud, deliberate, and final.
This scene felt like closure, but not the kind you ask for. The kind you give to yourself when no one else ever did.
The flashbacks that followed—him grabbing her, yelling, humiliating her—made my blood boil. I’ve known people like Varun. People who wrap manipulation in charm. What shocked me was Meera’s reaction. She didn’t yell. She didn’t crumble. She stood. Cold, composed, fiery. And for the first time, Varun flinched. That was so satisfying.
But it wasn’t revenge. It was her refusal to let him hold space in her life anymore. Her silence wasn’t passive—it was loud, deliberate, and final.
This scene felt like closure, but not the kind you ask for. The kind you give to yourself when no one else ever did.
June 12, 2025
Finished reading this book a few days ago and I am still thinking about Meera. Its not the usual kind of psychological drama. Its quieter, heavier, and strangely intimate.
There were moments I had to pause, not because the plot shocked me, but because it understood something I have felt and never said out loud.
Spoke to the author briefly after reading, and she just smiled and said write what you felt. So here it is.
Give it a go. you won't regret it.
There were moments I had to pause, not because the plot shocked me, but because it understood something I have felt and never said out loud.
Spoke to the author briefly after reading, and she just smiled and said write what you felt. So here it is.
Give it a go. you won't regret it.
June 14, 2025
The character Meera is written with restraint. Some parts were intense and difficult to digest. it was not exaggerated but they should have been.
The final part stayed with me long after I finished and I couldn't close the book. it is incomplete beautifully in it's own way.
My best wishes.
The final part stayed with me long after I finished and I couldn't close the book. it is incomplete beautifully in it's own way.
My best wishes.
June 25, 2025
If you’ve ever smiled while breaking inside, if you’ve ever kept quiet just to keep the peace, Meera will feel like a mirror. This is not just a read—it’s a reckoning.
Let it sit with you. Let it sting. Let it speak.
Let it sit with you. Let it sting. Let it speak.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews