Typed 11/12/2018 – 23/05/2019
Edited On – 12/06/2019 (3:48 PM)
Chapter One - 'Stubborn'

Khushi's Pov:

'My boyfriend slapped me last night because I hugged my best friend who happens to be a male. He feels I was purposely trying to get all touchy with my friend. I was shocked, my boyfriend was very-well aware of my close relationship with my best friend. He's like a brother I never had. Should I be worried of the growing jealousy my boyfriend is facing? I love him but I just can't forget what he did. I can't leave my best friend who I've known for over fifteen years. What should I do?'

A typical relationship question popped up on my Quora feed. Funny how the anxious and quiet person like me always answers relationship questions as if I'm a pro at it. I'm not. Or maybe I am.

As expected from myself, I stopped at the question, my thumb hovering over the question for too long. Like I'm trying to understand the situation properly before writing away my own answer and judging the faceless man. But I know that feeling very well. I know exactly what this women should do.

'Are you having second thoughts about your relationship?' The question itself was interesting to me, and under the bold question the answer of this girl was even more interesting. I, who hid so much from others liked reading other's real life answers and problems. It gave me this weird satisfaction of knowing I'm not alone. People have it worst then me. At the same exact moment I feel so hopeless because I can't remove the negative from this world.

This world was cruel. I wanted to help. My hands ached to sooth someone's pain away but I can't help anyone. Not when people choose to sit quiet and tolerate their problems. I didn't want anyone else to face what I did in my teens.

Anger. Frustration. Pained. I felt a lot more than that. Sitting sullenly on the bench, away from the people walking around the park, my eyes only give my full attention to the phone screen. Shaking my head, visibly looking super exasperated to the nearby people, I typed on the comment section,

'Love? Do you really think he—your boyfriend—understands the definition of love or does it look like he wants to understand? Men like him don't change. Persuading someone is a complete different topic in comparison of respecting and oblige someone decision.'

I pause. Closing my eyes tightly to force or gulp away the rage growing inside me. My throat swallows hard, dry, and I try not to blame every single living or dead man in this universe for female problems.

I hate how they use their manly body or just the title of being the 'boss' of the house—because he earns—and it's just disgusting. Disgusting how they think raising their hand or forcing themselves onto someone makes you less of a coward. If the opposite sex doesn't listen to you, raising your hand, to look like the dominating guy—as the society wishes you to become—even if you're nowhere near being strong.

I hate it.

I hate the gender male. I hate him.

A cold breeze blows away, and I come back to life, resuming to type away the furious lecture of mine. 'Today he only slapped you, tomorrow he'll hit your weak spot. He'll break you emotionally and physically, is that what you want? No one can change a possessive jealous freak, move on.' In reality I just wanted to say, stay alone.

Typing the message brought my old ugly past in front of my eyes. I could see it replaying, so raw and so fresh. The wound still felt new. Double, no, triple the pain I felt before.

Flash Back - Author's Pov:

"Why was he talking to you huh? Who is he?" Her husband roared gripping her shoulders tightly sitting down on the floor in front of her. She kept her wet eyes on the ground not wanting to see Samar's dark blood shot eyes. It frightened her a lot. She couldn't expect Sam to be normal. Sometimes he'd be super sweet the next moment he's all angry, demanding, jealous and scary.

Her lower lip was cut given by his cruel and painful slap, the fresh metallic tasted red blood coming out of it.

"Answer me Khushi!" He yelled holding her jaw tightly making her wince in pain, tears dripping down her eyes in fear.

"S-s-sorry." She apologised for talking to one of her classmates on the way back home from the supermarket.

"You are not allowed to talk to any man apart from me! Understood?" He shouted tightening his hard grip on her soft jaw. She nodded reluctantly wanting to get out of his hold. "Good girl." He smiled peaking her lips.

Every time he touched her she wanted to burn herself alive like her mother. The blissful feeling she should feel wasn't there. Khushi always felt disgusted from his touch, she never felt safe. Never felt loved. All she felt was, obsession.

Flash back over - Author's Pov:

Khushi opened her moist eyes.

'You're lucky he's not your husband. Don't encourage him to hurt you in anyway. Today he slapped you because you hugged your friend, tomorrow he'll lock you inside his house so other men can't see you. Trust me, leave him. You're better off without him. Friends are for life, boyfriends aren't. Least the ones like him.'

A smile spread on her lips feeling satisfied of giving someone a useful advice which they might use. Perhaps I saved someone today. Her smile didn't last long hearing her friend's voice.

"Boring old Khushi on Quora again. I'm telling you, delete the damn app! It's so depressing." Neha muttered sitting next to Khushi on the park bench. "Half of the answer are heart-breaking. Some talk about death other's about breakup, divorce, rejections and even dark secrets. Why depress yourself even more than you already are?" The heavy blow of air escaping from Neha's mouth had Khushi smile. 

Looking at the time on her phone she glared at her best friend. "You're late Neha. I've been waiting for the past fifteen minutes! It was this app that helped my pass my time or else I would have left without you." Khushi muttered turning her phone off as she stood up walking out the park in a rush.

Neha quickly matched Khushi's steps walking beside her. "It wasn't my fault ok? This old man wanted to deposit some money, he had hearing problem so it took time. I basically had to yell for him to hear me." She laughed remembering the old man's face. "But seriously, delete the app." She presses on, her new shoes graced by the dirty road.

"Why? I'll delete it if you stop watching Crime Patrol." (Indian real life crime anthology series)

Neha huffed rolling her eyes. "It keeps me up to date with life, ok? The show helps me understand what to do in certain situation." She fines a reason to answer back. Khushi sighs, there's no way she could answer back Neha and her love for the show. "What does that app do for you?"

"Least I don't see dead bodies!" Khushi replied walking faster. "It's good for your knowledge, ok? There are millions of users with different opinions, it's so fascinating to read others answers. I like knowing other's real life experiences, sometimes I can even advice other's from my own experiences." Hearing Khushi's voice cracking towards the end Neha quickly changed the topic.

"I'm going to Goa." Seeing Khushi's shocked expression with a hint of anger she quickly added, "You're coming as well! Ajay and I thought it'll be nice having a little break, you know? We've all been working non-stop for the past three years Khushi, a break is needed." Her should fall in exhaustion.

Neha was right, Khushi also needed a break but she knew her father wouldn't agree. He didn't like Khushi going outside alone.

"I can't. You know dad won't agree and mu--"

"Step mum." Neha stressed the word with hatred. Khushi's father remarried when she was six. Since childhood Khushi tried to impress Ruhi, the little girl wanted to feel loved. Of course it didn't happen. Her father and Ruhi welcomed their daughter Isha when Khushi was only six years and couple of months old. After that even her father's love disappeared day by day. She felt unwanted between the three other family members.

From childhood Ruhi has always treated Khushi differently. Taunts were always given to her for every little work she did.

Khushi didn't hate her though. She understood why she was treated differently. Because she wasn't Ruhi's real daughter. Loving someone else's child like your own can be hard, she could understand everything properly now. She didn't hold any grudges, life was too little for it, right? Her father was happy, Ruhi was happy, even Isha. Khushi didn't want to come in between.

"She's still my mum, Neha. Not my real but, for the name at least. I can't go, I'm s-saving some money up for future. The trip could be expensive and I know dad wouldn't give me any money, he doesn't earn that much for me to waste it anyways." Her friends face starts to fall quickly, Khushi quickly glances to her right and places her hand on Neha's shoulder, assuring her she's fine. "You guys go, maybe next time." She could fake smile in front of everyone, except Neha and Rahul.

The only two people who knew her inside out the most. 

"I'll pay! My parents gave me five thousand rupees extra, it'll help—maybe." Neha's voice shrinks towards the end. Five thousand is nothing for a Goa trip.

"Please come." Neha held her hand like a little kid begging. Sometimes Khushi felt unlucky. Very unlucky. She loved Neha a lot but she couldn't deny the fact how jealous she felt at times. Neha's parents loved her so much. Pampered her, cared about her. Neha was a banker, earned enough yet her parents gave her money for regular expenses every time she left the house. They called it their 'duty' for providing their child with everything that is needed.

Khushi's parents never did the same.

There were times she left home early empty stomach. If Ruhi had been her real mother she'd obviously wake up early in the morning so Khushi doesn't go empty stomach. But Ruhi didn't care. She didn't have a mother to cook for her, a father to drop her to collage or work. The girl smiled every day to hide her pain, her loneliness from others only to feel even worst from inside.

If she was late home, nobody would question here where she was. Sometimes she wanted that extra care from her parents which she never got.

"No Neha, I can't. It's your money, if I come I'll be paying for myself." Khushi muttered crossing the road.

"So you're coming?" Neha question smiling widely, her eyes bright in happiness.

Khushi smiled side hugging her from on the footpath, "No." Neha's exciting smile faded not believing her ears. "It's Goa not Mumbai! Even if I want to come dad would strictly say no. Goa is famous for parties, boys, drugs and alcohol. He wouldn't let me go to such place. Mum's not a fan of Shivam, Ajay and Rahul anyways." She sighed missing out on the trip.

Neha laughed. "I know you too well! I knew you'd use the 'parents card' so I already spoke to uncle on the phone explaining everything. Surprisingly he agreed! So pack your bags, we're leaving in two days Miss! I just wanted to see your reaction before informing you." She jumps on her foot constantly in excitement.

Dad can't agree, he just can't! He'll never agree, I'm sure she's hiding something.

"He wouldn't agree! What did you say to him Neha? I know your hiding something." The awkward smile was visible on her face trying really hard to hide the truth from Khushi. "Before I get angry tell me!"

Smiling cheekily she bit her lip tightly before speaking, "I j-just t-told a-a little lie. Instead of mentioning G-Goa I said Pune! But he agreed, ok? Now bye!" she ran away quickly to her house before Khushi could hit her hard for lying.

"Oiii!" Khushi yelled "I'm not coming!" She couldn't lie to her father. One day or another he'll find out. Even if he didn't, the guilt of hiding things from him would kill her. Of course she wanted to go but not by lying. She didn't want to deceive him. She'd be breaking his trust if she went without giving him the right details.

Bowing her head down she kept walking to her house preparing herself to tell her father the truth about the trip.

Khushi's Pov:

I was in the living room when I heard Isha's voice. She seemed excited for some reasons. I walked a little closer seeing her hands on dad's leg, almost begging him for something desperately.

"Dad please, my vacations are on what can be a better way to explore the world? Please just one week? I just want one week to myself, can't you give me that?"

I walked in their direction slowly seeing dad's face. He definitely didn't look convinced from her pleading by the look of his strict, cold, annoyed face looking down at the newspaper.

"Dad why are you reading morning's new paper again?" I joked not showing my smile though, my face was flat. I know he was trying to avoid Isha by keeping himself occupied with the newspaper. He was really bad in acting. Everyone in the house knew dad couldn't digest his food until he read the morning newspapers and he'd never read it again.

His eyes rose up meeting my face only to glare at me for my sarcastic comment.

"I'm reading it again to hopefully find a suitable match for you here." He replied taunting me for my previous comment. Isha's eyes were looking at dad and me back and forth when I spoke sighing in humiliation.

"When will you stop hunting? I don't want to get married. Especially after last time. Do you want to see me dead this time?" I raise my voice. I'm not a violent person but my words were a pack of powerful punch thrown towards my father.

"You can't live alone all your life." He reasoned folding the newspaper with a bossy gaze.

"I'm not living alone actually. This," I turned around pointing at my scar on my back. He couldn't see it right now covered with my white shirt but it was enough to remind him. "This is with me. Since eight years. How can I be lonely?" Tears threatening to pool in my eyes but I push it away with one long blink.

I hate having this conversation. Every time I tried to act normal he'll bring up the marriage issue. Why was it important? Couldn't they feed me even though I brought most of the groceries every week?

"I will die one day." He retorted standing up in anger. He didn't like me arguing with him maybe because I stated facts. And he couldn't neglect them beforehand.

"I can live alone! I have a job! I have friends w-"

"Friends who will get busy in their own lives one day!" My father's voice grew with every word he utter in rage. His eyes darkly gazing at me, making me feel small under his anger.

"You really want to push me back into those haunting memories again?" I questioned raising my voice in anger, once again.

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me young lady!" He shouted making Isha flinch. She stood up watching us both with wide eyes. It's really rare when I lose my temper, but dad instigates me. I just can't stop talking when he starts with this 'moving on' shit lecture. I never asked for what I got in the past, then why am I getting thrown into the same mess again?

"Sorry." He looks astonished from the apology, prominently he didn't trust or have enough faith on me to bow down front of him. His face relax, the frown thick lines on his old skin starts to fade away when I decided to deepen it, "I forgot, my words have no effect on you. They never did."

It sometimes hurts a lot arguing with the man who's my only family left now. Biologically he's the only family. The day he dies I'll leave this house, or I'd get thrown out of here before I want to leave by myself. Dad was the reason behind all of us staying together, acting like a perfect family. If only we felt that way. Once he leaves I know mu—step-mum will pretend like I'm no one.

She already thinks I'm a burden

She always did, since the day she took my mother's place.

I went upstairs into my bedroom throwing my purse on the floor in anger. Day by day it was hard for me to control my anger. I was never like this. I wasn't stubborn but now I can't and won't ever apologies if I think and strongly believe I'm right. I would not give up on the debate.

I was the quiet little girl, who followed rules. Loved to obey them, to be precise. I still do but I'm not quiet anymore. I can't stay still with a sealed mouth once someone triggers me. I hate it. Very much. At times I feel I'm being rude, extremely rude but it doesn't stop me from acting otherwise.

What I want to say should be said. You only get one chance right? So I use it.

I may look like a happy girl next door, a feisty bold young adult not scared of anything or anyone but I know I still break every day. I still live in fear that one day he might come back. Seeing the scar still makes me cry, not because I remember the pain. But how heartless he was.

Eight years ago I was a victim.

I still am.

Of his memories. The torture. The horrible words. The physical and mental abuse. It's still here.

The Unwanted Bride