The Right Kind of Wrong

13. Vulnerability

The evening sky had turned a dusky purple as the Mumbai skyline stretched out before them. Savi and Rajat sat on the steps outside the college library, the usual tension between them oddly absent. Their project was nearly done, and their once-frequent arguments had mellowed into something more like banter. Tonight, though, the atmosphere was different—heavier, quieter.

Savi sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring ahead into the dimming twilight. Rajat sat beside her, leaning back on his elbows, his posture casual but his attention focused on her.

"You're quiet tonight," Rajat remarked, breaking the silence. His voice was softer than usual, a far cry from the sarcasm and teasing that usually defined their conversations.

Savi sighed, her eyes tracing the outlines of the distant buildings. "Just... thinking."

"About?"

She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she really wanted to let him in. The walls she had built to protect herself felt fragile tonight, as though they might crumble at the slightest touch. But something about Rajat—the way he had been lately, the way he listened without judgment—made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could open up. Even if just a little.

"My family," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rajat sat up slightly, his gaze sharpening. "What about them?"

Savi didn't look at him. She kept her eyes on the horizon, where the sun had just disappeared beneath the city skyline. "I don't talk about it much."

"You don't talk about a lot of things," Rajat said, though there was no bite to his words. He was just stating a fact.

She glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. "Neither do you."

Rajat chuckled softly, acknowledging the truth in her words. "Touché. But I'm asking about you right now."

Savi bit her lip, her mind racing. It had been a long time since she had really talked to anyone about her family, about everything that had happened. Most people didn't ask—or didn't care enough to push beyond her guarded responses. But Rajat was asking. And for some reason, she felt like she owed him the truth.

She took a deep breath and began, "My mom... she's a doctor. Or, she was. She raised me mostly on her own before I knew my dad. I met my dad after 8 years I was born"

Rajat's expression softened, and though he didn't say anything, his silence was encouraging, as though he knew she needed to let the words come at her own pace.

Savi continued her voice steady but laced with emotion, "My dad was an IPS Officer. He was my hero, you know? I spent little time with him after I met him at age 8. Both my mom and dad passed away in a plane blast while saving people from terrorists. It happened so suddenly, and I was left with only fragments of memories and stories others told me about them."

Rajat shifted slightly, but still said nothing. He was letting her speak, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

"My Badi Aaji—Bhavani Chavan—she... blames my mom for his death. She always has," Savi said, bitterness creeping into her voice. Savi's fists clenched, her emotions bubbling closer to the surface. "After my mom and dad died, Badi Aaji tried to take control of everything. Me, my studies, my future. She never wanted me to study, never wanted me to be anything more than some perfect little housewife."

Rajat's brows furrowed, his voice quiet but firm. "That's why you're fighting so hard, isn't it? To prove her wrong."

Savi nodded, blinking back tears that she refused to let fall. "Yeah. That's part of it. She arranged my marriage—to some guy I barely knew, just to control me even more. I was supposed to spend the rest of my life living in someone else's shadow. But I couldn't... I couldn't do it."