The Clock

Preeti

Preeti fell to the ground, cowering in terror, a drop of blood from her lip trickled out. Her husband stood over her, fuming. "Why must you anger me?" he roared. "Do you enjoy this?" Shaking his head, Vishnu left the room, leaving Preeti on the floor, crying.

She couldn't remember how it got this bad. Couldn't remember when it wasn't like this. It wasn't really his fault though. If she had just remembered that he was staying out late with his friends instead of calling his cell phone like a madwoman, this wouldn't have happened.

Leave him.

She could practically see her sister's disappointed face, begging Preeti to just pack up her things and move out. But Anjali didn't understand. Vishnu was her match and unlike Anjali's, he was still alive. And how could she leave him knowing he was her soulmate? How could she even begin to tell her parents?

Amma and Appa had done what everyone else was supposed to. They married each other because they were each other's soulmates. Because when they found each other the Clock had stopped. That was what you were supposed to do. And didn't Amma always say marriage wasn't perfect? She and Appa had their fair share of fights, but they stuck it out.

How could Preeti turn away from her soulmate? She'd never have another one. She would be like Anjali, back living at home. But unlike Anjali, who lost her husband through death, Preeti would be the shamed woman who couldn't make it work with even her soulmate. Widowers can remarry. No one wants to marry a woman with a failed marriage under her belt.

And who else would love her anyways?

Still, as she began to pick up the broken mug that Vishnu had knocked to the ground, while the bruises and cuts were still raw and the words still ringing in her ears, Preeti couldn't help but wonder if the Clock had been wrongs. She stopped to stare at the Clock, imagining something other than 00:00:00 appearing, the countdown rebooted. But she knew that her silly fantasies were just that. The Clock had made no mistake.

She begun on the dishes after sweeping the floor. The plates were easy to clean and so were the forks. Pots were harder, and she grabbed the metal wire scrub and attacked the stains aggressively. A pair of strong arms slowly wrapped around her waist and Preeti flinched, dropping the pot on the ground, barely missing her own feet. She braced herself for the worst.

Instead Vishnu planted a tender kiss onto his wife's cheek. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice now soft and sweet. Preeti let out a deep breath. This was the Vishnu she could handle, the Vishnu she loved. And though she knew deep down that it really wasn't okay, she needed it to be or else how could she ever be?

"It's okay." She moved to pick up the pot but he stopped her.

"I'll finish the dishes." She nodded and moved to let him finish, but stayed in the kitchen next to him. She knew that if she disappeared he would believe she was mad and that'd only make him angry again. So she stood next to him, watching him, pretending she wasn't afraid of being this close. Pretending she didn't want to get as far away as possible. Pretending it was all okay.