Beneath The Storm

Chapter-7: A Corner Of Her Own

Inaara sat on her knees in the small garden, her fingers delicately pressing the soil around the marigold plant. The morning sun bathed her in a soft, warm glow, and a cool breeze carried the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers.

She softly hummed an old Lata Mangeshkar song, the melody soothing her restless heart. As her hands worked in the soil, her mind wandered back to a line she had read recently:

“The flower never stops spreading its fragrance wherever it is, whether it is on the forehead of God or in a graveyard. It does not matter where it is, it just does what is the essence of its life.”

Her fingers paused for a moment as the words settled deeper into her thoughts, resonating with a part of her she hadn’t fully acknowledged before.

The marigold’s bright petals seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, spreading their vibrant color and soft fragrance into the air. The flower was simple, yet it fulfilled its purpose—no matter where it bloomed, it gave beauty and fragrance, regardless of the surroundings.

Inaara’s eyes softened as she continued to pat the soil, her heart heavy yet enlightened. She was starting to understand what the line truly meant, how it related to her own life. Just like the marigold, she, too, was planted in a world full of contradictions—sometimes beautiful, sometimes harsh.

She had faced rejection, misunderstandings, and the pressure to conform to others’ expectations.

Atharv’s coldness, his arrogance, had often made her feel like she didn’t belong in his world. But despite the hardships, she had always carried within her the essence of who she was—gentle, kind, and unwavering in her values.

The world around her might try to dictate who she should be—Atharv might expect her to bend to his will, society might judge her for not fitting the mold of what a perfect woman should look like—but like the flower, she had her own fragrance to offer.

She wasn’t meant to be shaped by where she was placed; instead, she had to remain true to her essence, no matter where life planted her.

With a small smile playing on her lips, Inaara let out a soft sigh, her fingers brushing the petals of the marigold tenderly. The flower didn’t question its place or its purpose, and neither should she.

The world would always have its opinions, its demands. But just like the marigold, she would continue to spread her own fragrance—whether in the light of love or the shadows of loneliness.

In that moment, she understood that her strength wasn’t in conforming or bending—it was in being herself, unyielding and true, no matter the circumstances.

Sangeeta stood there for a moment, watching her, a fond smile playing on her lips.

“You have quite a green thumb, Inaara,” she said, approaching her.

Inaara looked up, surprised. She quickly got up, brushing off the dirt from her hands. “Oh, Ma, I’m sorry. I just... needed some time alone. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

Sangeeta shook her head. “Not at all, dear. This garden is for everyone. I’m glad to see you taking an  interest in it. It’s nice to see someone who appreciates the simple things in life.

They both sat down on a nearby bench, and Sangeeta continued, “I know this must be difficult for you, adjusting to everything here. I’ve been where you are—marrying into a family that feels like another world.Inaara,” Sangeeta began, her voice calm but firm, “there’s something we need to discuss.”