Aarohi And Dev

CHAPTER 11

Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of self-harm which may be triggering or disturbing to some readers. Please take care of yourself while reading, and consider skipping this chapter if you find such content distressing.

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Aarohi POV

I attempted to suggest that I would walk back home, but Tara insisted on dropping me. Meanwhile, Mayank chimed in, "I'll go with Tara, Rajveer, you go ahead."

Rajveer said sternly, "You came with me, and you're going back with me." "Koi Zabardasti hain?" Mayank exclaimed. "Vo bhi karlenge baad mien" Rajveer replied firmly.
[ Is someone coercing? ]
[ Will do that also, later ]

We all exchanged glances, our eyebrows raised in surprise as we looked at Rajveer.

"Fine, I'll join you guys," Rajveer muttered with irritation evident in his voice.

"No thanks, there's no room for you, and besides, you've got your car, so just drive it back," Mayank said with a hint of swagger.

I noticed Rajveer clenching his teeth, a clear sign that he was struggling to control his temper.

As we all departed, I arrived home to find Mom, Dad, and Dadi in the living room. I couldn't help but wonder if they had been waiting for me.

"What was that all about?" my dad began, his tone stern. "You didn't even bother to find out the truth before slapping me. Why bother listening to it now, Dad?" I said, the pain evident in my voice. Without waiting for his reply, I turned and headed back to my room.

But before I could leave, Dadi stopped me and slapped me, turning what was already a difficult day into the worst day of my life.

"Is this how you speak to your father?" Dadi yelled at me, gripping my hands tightly.

Most of the time, I choose not to respond because I lack the energy to justify myself. Moreover, I sense that no matter how much I explain, they won't trust what I say.

I simply bent my pride a little and apologized to them. My heart ached as my dad's words pierced through me, "She is my greatest disappointment, God only knows how much more patience I'll need with her."

As my tears threatened to spill, a constant chant echoed in my mind: 'Don't cry, Don't cry, Don't cry, Don't cry, Don't cry, Don't cry, Aarohi.' My brain urged me to hold back the tears, while my heart pleaded to release them, to confront Dad, to pour out my emotions, to beg him for love.

As I began ascending the stairs, Dadi's voice echoed in my ears, "Pata nahi, kyu paida huvi ye? Maa ki galti hai maar maar ke sahi thikaane pe lana chahiye tha. Boj bankar baithi hai mere bete ki chhati pe."
[I don't know why this girl was born. It's the mother's fault, She should have brought this girl into the right place by disciplining her. She sits as a burden on my son's chest.]

Yet, once more, I opted to walk away, retreating to my room and locking the door behind me.

I retrieved a utility blade I had stashed on a nearby shelf and took it to the bathroom. With a swift motion, I cut my thigh, watching as blood started to flow. It was a stark reminder that the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional anguish inflicted by my father.

Every drop of blood seeping from my thighs embodies my father's endless expectations, every drop mirroring past sorrows, every drop a marker of my fortitude as I navigate through divine challenges.

Each time my heart is overwhelmed with pain caused by my father, I feel the need to carve another cut into my thigh. I can't fathom why this brings me solace, yet it's the only thing that soothes my shattered heart.