Prataap Singh Choudhary
A determined freedom fighter with a single goal-to see India free and its flag soaring high. But when his parents arrange his marriage to a stranger, his path takes an unexpected turn. Caught in an unwanted union, Prataap is...
It had been two weeks since I entered this house as his wife, yet everything still felt foreign. The walls that lined our home, the creaking floorboards, and the silence that hung between him and me it all felt strange, like I had stepped into a life that wasn't truly mine.
Prataap ji... I still couldn't decipher him. He was distant, reserved. We exchanged few words, mostly through our eyes. There was something unspoken in our glances, a connection deeper than words, yet, we never seemed to bridge that silence. There were moments where I'd catch him looking at me, and though his eyes would hold an intensity I didn't fully understand, they were always warm but warmth and words were different things, weren't they? I craved to hear him speak to me, to know his thoughts. I never said it out loud, of course, it seemed too bold to ask for something so intimate.
I went towards the kitchen, his mother was already there. I looked at her and smiled. She's just like my mother. Sweet, loving, kind.
We both got into our works when she suddenly said,
"Aadrika, beta, I forgot to tell you something"
(Daughter)
"Jii?" I said in a low voice, looking at her.
"Prataap's relatives are coming today," she said, her voice as warm as her smile. "They haven't met you yet. Just a casual visit, nothing to worry about. They're curious to see the new bride." She said softly.
I nodded, my heart tightening.
New bride.
The title still clung to me awkwardly. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to feel joy, pride, or dread.
"Prataap will also be here till evening, he has gotten some important work" She said and I again nodded.
I focused on cooking the food. I'm not ready to meet anyone, what if they ask something and I'm not able to answer it? Won't they think low on me?
I spent the morning preparing for the guests, the food, the house and at last, me. Draping myself in a heavy silk saree, it's of my mother, she looked divine into it but when I looked into the mirror and noticed how the deep green fabric made my eyes appear even larger. Should I wear this? I wanted to but....leave it, I'll wear this only. I fiddled with the pleats, struggling to get everything in place. I hadn't quite gotten used to the rhythm of being someone's wife, of looking perfect all the time, of embodying someone else's expectations.
They soon arrived.
His mother ushered them into the sitting room, an older woman and her husband. The moment I stepped into the room, I could feel their gaze on me. My steps faltered slightly, but I straightened my posture, trying my best to appear poised. I smiled and touched their feet.
"Ah, so this is Aadrika," the woman said, her voice carrying the weight of judgement. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, lingering on my face for longer than I liked.
His father made them sit on the chairs and I went into the kitchen to get tea and snacks.
Choudhary ji is also here.
I stood there, awkward, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. I wasn't sure what to say. The silence between him and me is something breathtaking but this...this was different. The silence here was heavy with anticipation, waiting to be broken.
And then, it happened.
"Isn't her eyes too big? You should have chosen a better bride for our Prataap."
Her words cut through the room like a knife. My heart sank, the air around me suddenly suffocating. I had known it. Deep down, I had always felt it. I was never worthy of him. He was a revolutionary, a man admired and respected by so many. He fought for the country's freedom, carried dreams and hopes that were bigger than anything I could ever understand and I, Aadrika, was just...me.
I tried to hold back the tears, blinking rapidly to keep them from falling but my body betrayed me, and I felt the sting in my eyes. My gaze dropped to the floor, my fingers clutching the end of my saree. The silence that followed the woman's words was unbearable.
His mother didn't respond. His father shifted uncomfortably in his seat even the woman's husband looked embarrassed, but he said nothing.
Then, in the midst of my breaking heart, I heard the sound of his voice.
"You should have chosen better words for my wife, shouldn't you?"
His tone was sharp, almost unfamiliar to me. I lifted my eyes, surprised to hear him speak with such authority, such protectiveness. For the first time, he wasn't quiet. He wasn't distant. He was angry.
I stared at him. His entire posture was tense, his hands clenched by his sides. But it was his eyes that held me in place, those same eyes that had always been warm, now burned with something else. Anger, yes, but something more. Something that made my chest tighten in a way I couldn't quite explain.
The room fell into a deeper silence. No one dared to speak after that. The woman's face turned pale, her eyes shifting uncomfortably. Choudhary ji's parents exchanged quick, nervous glances and I... I could barely breathe.
Then, without another word, he stepped forward and gently took my hand in his. His touch was firm but soft, and it sent a shock through me. My heart skipped a beat.
"Come," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn't look back at the others. He didn't need to. He led me out of the room, his grip on my hand steady, protective. My mind was spinning. I followed him, my steps light, as if I was floating.
When we entered our room, he closed the door softly behind us. The sudden quiet felt like a release, a space where we could finally breathe.
I stood there, uncertain, still reeling from what had just happened. My mind kept replaying the moment, his voice, his anger, the way he had defended me, no one had ever stood up for me like that, not once in my life.
He didn't say anything at first. He simply looked at me, his eyes no longer filled with anger but with something gentler, something softer. I couldn't meet his gaze for long. My cheeks felt hot, and my heart was pounding too fast.
"You should sleep, Aadrika ji" he finally whispered, his voice so low it was almost like a breath. It was a simple word, but the way he said it... I felt something shift inside me.
I couldn't help the small smile that crept onto my face. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. I felt...safe, for the first time in weeks, I felt safe in this house, safe in his presence. My lips trembled as I smiled a bit more, the realization hitting me, he cared. In his own quiet, distant way, he did.
He followed his words, he said that he would take care of me in his own way and he's doing that.
I blushed, feeling the warmth in my cheeks spread as I walked toward the bed, the heavy saree pulling at my shoulders with every step. It was uncomfortable, but I didn't mind, not after what had just happened. I couldn't stop smiling now.
As I reached the bed, I felt his gaze on me. I could feel it, the warmth of his eyes, the way he watched me with a tenderness I had never expected. I turned slightly, and there he was, standing near the door, his eyes locked on me, his expression unreadable but kind.
"You don't have to wear that," he said softly, his voice almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure if he should say it.
I blinked, confused for a moment, then followed his gaze down to the saree. What does he mean with this?
"Wear my clothes," he suggested, his voice still soft but firmer now. "They'll be more comfortable."
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