Nandini

I wake with a start, my neck feeling stiff and a dull ache pounding at the back of my skull. My eyes struggle to adjust, darting over the soft glow of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains.

This is not my room.

The disorientation of my half-asleep state deepens for a moment as I slowly sit up, but then the sharp realization hits me, fully waking me.

I'm married now, and I'm sitting on the recliner in the corner of my husband's room.

A husband who has made it clear that he won't accept me as his wife.

My fingers grip the armrest, steadying myself against the surge of angst threatening to pull me under. I close my eyes, and Vikrant's words from last night slam into me with renewed force.

"I will never accept you as my wife."

I inhale sharply, my chest tightening as though I have been struck. The sharp sting of those words burns anew, making me want to scream, shout, and ask why this keeps happening to me.

Last night, after Vikrant declared our marriage meaning nothing to him, I had felt raw pain first, but then, anger had risen. I'd wanted to confront him the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. My lips had parted, the words sitting heavy on my tongue, but the moment his eyes met mine, something inside me faltered, rendering me unable to utter even one word. The only thing I could do was watch as he slumped on the bed and promptly fell asleep.

For a moment, I was even tempted to leave this house. I didn't want to stay here for a second longer after what Vikrant said to me.

But the harsh reality had quickly followed, dousing that thought.

I had nowhere else to go.

My parents would never take me back after finally getting rid of me, and as for leaving on my own... I had no money, no job, no safety net to catch me.

I tear up when I glance toward the bed, the sight of Vikrant's sleeping form igniting another wave of pain. He sleeps so easily, completely unbothered, while I unravel mere feet away with the cognizance that I have entered another relationship in my life where I'm unwanted as I have always been.

With a shaky exhale, I get down from the recliner and head to the bathroom. The ache in my back and the stiffness over my arms and legs a dull reminder of the restless hours I spent curled up in the recliner last night.

Stepping inside, I close the door with a soft click, sealing myself off from the world outside.

For a brief moment, I stand there, just stand, staring at nothing, doing nothing. And then, I let go.

I slump against the door, sliding down until I'm sitting on the cold tiles. My arms wrap around my knees, and the first sob escapes, a broken sound that cuts through the silence. The tears come fast, hot and relentless, streaking down my cheeks like the release of a dam I've held back for far too long.

Pain pours out of me-pain of being an unwanted wife added to the pain of being an unwanted daughter. The sobs wrack my body, loud cries escaping my mouth, and I bury my face in my hands to muffle to the noise.

Minutes pass, though they feel like hours, and the storm inside me begins to subside. My tears run dry, leaving only the sticky trail of salt on my skin and the hollow ache in my chest. My head feels heavy, a dull throb at my temples.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I uncurl myself and get up from the cold floor.

I stand on unsteady legs and move to the sink. The mirror above it catches my reflection, and I almost don't recognize the woman staring back at me. Her eyes are red and swollen, her face pale and blotchy. She looks fragile, breakable, like a porcelain doll with cracks spreading across its surface.

Turning on the tap, I let the cold water flow over my hands before splashing it onto my face. The chill bites into my skin, sharp and bracing, and I welcome it. I rub my face vigorously, trying to scrub away the remnants of my tears.

And when I finally look up again, the woman in the mirror looks a little less broken and a little more resolute. I grip the edge of the sink, leaning in closer. "You'll not cry anymore, Nandini. You have borne this your whole life. You just have to take one day at a time and keep moving on till you become independent."

As I continue staring at the mirror, the cold water dripping from my chin, the question rises again.

Why did he marry me?

It's a question that has been haunting me since last night.

Why did he marry me if he didn't intend to accept me as his wife?

I want to demand answer to that question from Vikrant, but I know I can't. I've never been good at confrontations. Words, especially in moments like this, twist and tangle in my throat, refusing to come out. I'm an introvert, a silent observer in a world that thrives on noise.

There was only one person I could take to without hesitation. Vivek-my brother, who was my anchor and my protector.

But he's also gone, no longer with me.

The thought tears through me like a blade. My knees buckle, and I clutch the sink to keep myself upright as tears spill over.

I remember my brother-his gentle smile, the quiet strength in his voice when he promised me everything would be okay.

But everything isn't okay. And Vivek is not here to tell me what to do, to help me make sense of this mess.

With a sharp, shaky breath, I grab a towel and scrub my tears away, forcing the grief back into the corners of my heart.

I can't just keep wallowing in my grief. I need to do something to get out of this situation.

Last night, after thinking about what Vikrant said and what I need to do next, I decided to get a job first, continue my studies, and move out of this house after saving enough to afford a new place.

I don't want to continue living under the same roof with a husband who will never accept me as his wife.

Yes. The first step would be to get a job.

That thought steels me and gives me a purpose, sparking a determination within me that refuses to let me crumble under the weight of my circumstances.

*****

Vikrant

Waking up, I get down from the bed, stretching the stiffness from my limbs as I head toward the bathroom. But I stop mid-way when the door opens and Nandini steps out of there.

She seems to be freshly showered, the sight of her giving me a pause. There's something about her in this moment, without the makeup or the heavy jewelries I had seen her wear yesterday. This is just her-bare, simple, and mesmerizing.

My eyes linger on her, noticing details I hadn't before-the soft curve of her lips, the quiet innocence etched into her features, the depth of her hazel eyes, like pools hiding secrets I suddenly feel an inexplicable urge to uncover.

The stray strands of her hair frame her face and I find myself wanting to close the distance between us, to reach out and brush those strands so I can see her face more clearly.

But the, she averts her gaze.

The spell breaks, and with it, my foolish reverie. I grit my teeth, annoyed at myself for staring. For letting her distract me.

After what Myra did to me, I vowed never to let any girl affect me in any way.

Never again.

Balling my hands into fists, I force myself to move, but stop after taking a few steps when a question crosses my mind.

Nandini's silence has been pricking my conscience since last night.

She has not said a word to me. She has not thrown any tantrums, shouted at me, or berated me for ruining her life. She seems to have silently accepted that I'll never accept her as my wife, which has surprised me because I had expected her to demand some answers from me as any other girl would have.

I glance at her, now seated at the dressing table, running a brush through her damp hair. And before I can stop myself, the question tumbles out. "Won't you ask me why I married you when I don't want to accept you as my wife?"

She freezes, just for a second, her hand stilling mid-brush. I see the faintest flicker of something in her face-a shadow, maybe, or the ghost of an emotion she quickly buries. Then, she resumes brushing her hair.

"I wanted to ask you last night, but then I realized it doesn't matter anymore," she replies.

She doesn't even look at me while saying that. Her whole focus is on the mirror as she brushes her hair.

I frown, slightly baffled by her calm demeanor. I had expected tantrums, tears, and anger. Not this calm and even nonchalant attitude.

But then, I shrug, feeling relieved at not having to justify my actions. Not that I would have bothered to give her any reason, but it's relieving that I won't have to deal with her emotions.