ARJUN- The Monster [BOOK 1]

4. Nitya

"Ma, I'm alright. The documents are signed, and we're officially married now. How's everything there? Is Uncle Raj causing any trouble because of me leaving?" I paced back and forth in my room, periodically glancing at the clock, eager for breakfast but not wanting to be late.

"He's not causing much trouble. He's hungry for power, but when I mentioned that it's connected to Mumbai, he went quiet. It seems your husband wields enough influence to make even Raj think twice." I couldn't help but smile, relieved that my husband's stature could deter my scheming uncle.

"How are the kids?"

"They're missing you terribly. Diya had an art project and cried because you weren't there to help her draw." A pang of guilt pierced my chest; I missed my siblings deeply, especially with our father gone – he was the glue holding us together.

"I'll try to visit soon. I just don't want to seem too demanding early on. He might see me as a complaining wife and jeopardize the deal keeping our house safe from Uncle Raj's schemes."

After a brief chat with my mother, I realized it was time for breakfast. I hung up and descended the stairs slowly, feeling a sense of emptiness. Today, I kept my attire minimal, opting for a midnight blue saree, reflecting my husband's preference for dark colors. With braided hair and lined eyes, I greeted Remya in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Remya," I said, assisting her despite her protests.

As we set the table, I hoped my husband would join me for breakfast, but Remya's words shattered that hope. "Saheb left early. He said you can have breakfast alone."

I had never eaten breakfast alone before, and the loneliness was palpable. The food, though delicious, tasted bland without the usual banter of family. Yet, I knew I had to adapt to this new reality, even if it meant facing breakfast alone more often. Still, a single tear escaped, a silent acknowledgment of the void left by my family's absence.

After what felt like an eternity struggling to finish my breakfast, I finally gathered my plate and made my way to the sink, only to be intercepted by Remya.

"Madam, as the mistress of the house, it is not your duty to do the dishes."

I almost chuckled at the absurdity of it all. What kind of world had we entered?

"At home, I used to wash my own plate," I replied, instantly grasping the gravity of the situation. This was not my home; there were rules to abide by. Remya seemed to sense this unspoken realization, and without further ado, I surrendered the plate to her capable hands, silently acknowledging my place in this new environment.

With no objection, I relinquished the plate to Remya, who proceeded to wash it with a deliberate slowness. As I waited for her next directive, it dawned on me that communication with my husband now flowed through Remya.

When she turned to me, I remained in place, perhaps unsettling her with my presence. Yet, I had no choice but to shadow her in this unfamiliar domain.

"What would you like me to do now?" She advanced, her saree draped loosely around her, revealing signs of age beyond her forties, older than my own mother. Her graying hair and few wrinkles hinted at a life lived, devoid of smiles, consumed by mechanical motions. Throughout this estate, I noticed a similar lack of emotion in its inhabitants.

"You could explore the garden if you wish. Saheb hasn't assigned any tasks for you today, Madam. Lunch is at 1. Would you prefer it served in your room or here?"

"In my room, please." It hardly mattered; dining alone in solitude was preferable to the emptiness of the vast dining table.

Turning away, I contemplated the garden Remya had mentioned. Despite the estate's age, its upkeep was impeccable. A driveway lined with meticulously tended creepers led to the entrance, leaving me to wonder about the perfection awaiting within the garden.

My mother had a fondness for gardening, evident in the mini garden we tended at home, where she nurtured an array of roses.

As I reached the backyard, a breathtaking scene unfolded before me.

A majestic fountain, crafted from weathered marbles adorned with intricate carvings of animals and flora, stood at the center. Its gentle flow of water created a soothing melody as it cascaded into the basin below, refreshing me with a few droplets upon my wrist.

Surrounding the fountain, a meticulously landscaped garden flourished with verdant grass, vibrant flowers, and towering trees. Stone pathways meandered through the lush foliage, leading to serene alcoves beneath the trees, perfect for contemplation.

Unlike our modest garden at home, this sanctuary exuded tranquility and elegance.

Drawn to the roses, I approached a bed of crimson blooms, reminiscent of my father's favorite variety. Memories flooded my mind, recalling the time my brother, Aksh, carelessly crashed his bicycle into a similar bush, earning him a stern rebuke from our parents.

Running my fingers over the velvety petals of a freshly bloomed rose, I basked in the nostalgia, a wistful smile gracing my lips. Unbeknownst to me, I was being observed, the feeling of being watched lingering. I looked around to find a figure swiftly retreating from a second-floor window, drawing the curtain closed.

Curious.

I didn't pry into it more.

After spending an hour amidst the serenity of the garden and connecting with my family via video call, I retreated to my room as the sun grew intense. The unexpected heat in Mumbai at this time of year caught me off guard, contrasting sharply with my expectations of rainy weather.

When Remya arrived with lunch, I seized the opportunity to address the burning question that had plagued me since my arrival.

"Could you please tell me my husband's name?" I ventured, sensing the weight of my ignorance pressing down upon me. Remya's expression morphed into a mixture of horror and pity, confirming my own sense of inadequacy. With a visible effort to regain her composure, she finally spoke in a hushed tone.

"Arjun," she whispered, as if afraid to utter the name aloud. "Arjun Mishra."