ʙᴏᴏᴋ 𝟷 ɪɴ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏ sᴇʀɪᴇs
Tia ᥫ᭡ Saransh
"I like you. Saransh ji, I truly do a lot, but I'm not sure what love is because I've never felt it."
"Then let me show you what love feels like by painting you in the color of my love, sona.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
"S...
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“You look fucking hot, bunny. Look at your skin, damn!" With that, he tore my clothes.
"No, please!”
I screamed, abruptly waking from my sleep, drenched in sweat. My breath was shallow, and tears welled up in my eyes, the remnants of a nightmare that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. My ugly dark past loomed over me like a shadow, refusing to let me forget.
**BEEP! BEEP!**
The morning alarm blared, pulling me further from the depths of my nightmare. I glanced at the clock: 6 o'clock in the morning. Sighing, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and prepared for another day.
As I trudged downstairs, I went through the motions of morning puja. It was a ritual that felt more like a chore than a spiritual exercise, but I did it for my parents. After that, I headed straight to the kitchen, the heart of our home, where I was expected to whip up breakfast for my family.
In my parents' eyes, my place was firmly rooted in the kitchen. They sent me to college, but only to uphold their reputation, a façade to keep up with the neighbors. I often felt invisible, a ghost haunting the hallways of my own home. My brother, Vidyuth, was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong. I was just the shadow, always in the background, trying to be the perfect daughter despite the coldness that surrounded me.
“Tia! Tia!”
My mother’s voice rang out from the living room, sharp and demanding.
“Where’s my morning coffee, idiot? Do you want me to remind you every time? Ha!”
With that, her hand met my cheek—a stinging reminder of my place in this household.
“Go get it right now. What are you looking at, me ‘bitch’? And listen, prepare breakfast soon; your papa and bhai will be here anytime soon.”
“But Mom, I have college; I need to be there by 8 o'clock.”
“No, you are not going to college. Didn’t I tell you last night that some guests were coming?”
“But Mom, I want to—”
Without letting me finish, she grabbed my hair tightly and slapped me again.
“Bitch! Now you’ve started disobeying us? Wait until your papa handles you.”
“No, Mama, please! I’ll do it, Mama, please don’t call Papa.” My heart raced at the thought of his wrath. Whenever he saw me, anger erupted in him like a volcano, and I was the unfortunate target of his fury.
“Shukhara mana, hum tumhe jeene ke liye sab kuch de rahi hai aur tum, Jhake apna kam karo. Sara kaam 1 baje se pehle hona chahiye. And listen, wear some light-colored dress. It may look good on your ugly face. Put some makeup on when they arrive,” she said, her gaze filled with disgust.
“Kahi woh log tumhe dekhkar vaapas na chale jaaye.” She twisted her face in disdain. I just nodded, swallowing the tears that threatened to spill.
“Why me, Mahadev? Kya aapko meri dard nahi dikh rahi hai? Kya mujhe izzat aur pyaar milega is janam mein? Will someone accept me and love me for once? Main bhi ek baar mehsoos karna chahti hoon ki pyaar kya hota hai,” I mumbled, wiping my tears as I lost myself in the chaos of kitchen duties.
“Mom! Mom! My breakfast! I’m getting late!” my brother, Vidyuth, yelled from the dining hall.
I hurriedly went to serve him breakfast. He never acknowledged my presence; it was as if I didn’t exist. We shared no bond, no connection. I was just the invisible daughter, a mere afterthought in his life.
After serving breakfast to my mom and dad, my father dropped a bombshell that shattered whatever little hope I had left.
“Today, the groom’s family is coming to see you, so behave nicely in front of them; otherwise, the consequences will not be good for you.”
“But Papa, my studies are not finished yet!” I protested, only to receive a sharp slap across my left cheek.
“Tum padhkar hamare sir par koi taaj nahi rakhne wali ho. Chup chap kamre jao aur ready hokar neeche aajana.”
I lost my appetite, retreating to my room, which was more of a storage space than a sanctuary. I had a hard mattress and one torn old blanket. Glancing at the broken mirror, I looked at my bruised face and smiled bitterly, traitorous tears escaping my eyes.
Sighing, I opened my metal almirah, searching for something presentable. I found a golden Anarkali that Roohi had gifted me. Roohi—my best friend, my only ally in this world. She was like an older sister to me, always looking out for my needs. Coming from an influential family, she was a billionaire’s only daughter, and her kindness felt like a lifeline.
Let me tell you, I am a brown-skinned girl in a family that worships fair skin. My parents made sure I knew I was the ugly duckling in a family of swans. My brother would often throw nasty comments my way, calling me kaali and badhsurat. It wasn’t my fault I was born brown, but the world had a cruel way of reminding me of my so-called flaws.
At family functions, relatives would make snide remarks, and I learned to keep my head down, to become invisible. But there was one person who made me feel beautiful, even if just for a moment. That person turned into a nightmare, a villain in my not-so-peaceful life.
He introduced my mother to the taste of money, and with that, she tried to sell me to him. When my father found out, he beat my mother mercilessly. That day, my mother took out her anger on me, manipulating the situation to make me the villain in her story. She told my father that I loved that blue-eyed monster, and in his orthodox mentality, he believed her. I was beaten black and blue without a chance to defend myself.
From that day on, my mother blackmailed me, threatening to send me to him if I ever told the truth. Just the thought of it sent shivers down my spine.
Shrugging off the memories, I went to the washroom, splashing water on my face in an attempt to wash away the remnants of last night’s nightmare and the scars of my reality. I took a deep breath, trying to gather the courage to face the day ahead.
As I dressed in the Anarkali, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe the groom’s family would see beyond my skin and my scars. Maybe they would see me for who I truly am—a girl with dreams, a girl who longs for love and acceptance.
But deep down, I knew better. I was just a pawn in my parents’ game, a trophy to be displayed and judged. As I stepped out of my room, I put on a mask of composure, hiding the turmoil within.
“Remember, Tia, behave nicely,” I whispered to myself as I walked downstairs, ready to face whatever was coming my way.
And as I stood in front of the mirror one last time, I made a silent promise to myself: I would not let their words define me. I would find my own way to shine, even if it meant breaking free from the chains that held me down.
For now, I was just a girl in an ugly dress, but someday, I would be a woman with a story worth telling.
