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My legs automatically moved towards the window. I slightly parted the curtains and looked outside; a cold breeze touched my face. The moon was not shining in the sky as usual; it was hidden behind the clouds.
I used to admire the moon a lot. My friends used to call me a psycho selenophile because, instead of spending time with them.
I preferred to spend my time gazing at the moon alone under the sky for hours. Lekin kya pata tha chaand ko dekhate dekhate ek din khud chaand jaisi hi ban jaungi
I don't want to be like the moon, but I understand it's too late to step back. What if the moon is stained, I used to wonder. Even with those stains, it still looks great. However, I neglected to mention that the moon depends on the sun for its light. Even in cloudy skies, one cannot see the moon.
I've since turned into that same moon. I now rely entirely on my husband for everything. Since he is the sun and I am the moon, I will reveal myself in accordance with his will rather than mine.
My throat was getting dry, so I looked around and found a jug filled with water. I carefully took steps not to fall on the floor while wearing the heavy red bridal attire and jewelry, which were completely suffocating me.
I felt a little better when the water went down my throat. I put the glass down, my eyes stopped on my hand, which was covered in henna. The henna pattern, a swirling vine of crimson and black, felt like a brand on my skin. It was a symbol of my new life, a life I didn't want. But the design held a message that whispered a different path, a path which has only thrones.
My reflection stared back at me, a stranger in a crimson veil. The henna on my hand, a stark contrast to the pale skin, felt like a foreign language. It was a reminder of who I was, or perhaps, who I was meant to be.
Today, I got married to a rich man. This is the only thing my step father told me about him, and I only know three things about my husband: the first is that his name is Vedant Singh Raizada, the second is that he is a decade older than me, and the last is that he also came from an orthodox family, like every man in the village.
I wanted to peel my skin off from my body to erase his name from my hand, but I'm helpless. 'I have to accept whatever is going to happen to me because I can't say no to him for anything'.
This is the exact word my mother told me when I hugged her for the last time and cried in her lap before my vidaai.
Now I'm at the same place which snatched my Papa from me, after 20 years, where the air suffocates me. My own father died when I was just two and a half years old; my father's parents kicked my mother out of their house with me.
According to them, I was a bad omen. First, because I was a girl child, and second, my father died saving me . After that, my maternal grandfather married my mom to his friend's son.
I used to live in Guwahati with my mom, step father and brother. My step father never treated me right. When I turned 8, my mother sent me to my masi's house, which was in Bangalore.
