As Kajol settled into my kitchen, her story spilled out in a rush. She spoke of the forced arranged marriage, her voice filled with frustration and sadness. "I just couldn't go through with it," she said, her eyes reflecting a mix of relief and uncertainty.
Feeling a surge of compassion, I poured her a cup of coffee and set down a slice of cake in front of her. "You poor thing," I said gently, trying to comfort her. "You deserve to be happy."
After a moment, I decided to offer her my button-up shirt. "Here, put this on. It might be more comfortable than your wedding attire."
She hesitated, but I could see her gratitude in her eyes as she took the shirt. Watching her slip into it was a surreal moment; it hung loosely on her, giving her a relaxed, almost ethereal look.
"You look beautiful," I said, unable to help myself. "Even in my old shirt."
A shy smile crept across her face, and for a moment, the tension of the day melted away. We sat together, sipping coffee and enjoying the cake, sharing a sense of camaraderie amidst the chaos of her situation. It felt like a small sanctuary from the world outside.
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