Short Stories collection

Unwanted Marriage(Last Part)

The evening had settled into the quiet hum of the household, the occasional creak of the floorboards as servants moved about, and the distant chatter from the family members still discussing the day's events. Diya sat by the window in their shared bedroom, staring out at the fading orange and pink hues of the sunset. It had been two days to that night, she knew she messed things up but definitely she was not at fault in all these months despite the quiet gestures of kindness, despite the rare moments where their eyes met in mutual understanding, she still felt like a stranger in this house, in this life. He never made her feel like his wife and then those sudden gestures, him being so close she losing her sensual sense. That moment of initiative was too much for her. A rational mind pushed her to say no, she felt that saying truth or brief about her feelings would make her even more physically vulnerable to him, her body already was not listening to her.

She ran her fingers through the soft curtains, her thoughts tangled in the weight of the situation. In these two days she could feel Abhimanyu had been distant—so distant, in fact, that she often felt more like a guest than a wife. The silence between them was suffocating at times, the air thick with unspoken words. She couldn't help but wonder if he regretted those moments, if he felt the same sense of isolation she did.

She was startled from her thoughts when Abhimanyu entered the room, his footsteps measured and quiet. He glanced at her for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, before he walked over to the small desk where a few papers were strewn.

He stood there for a beat, his back to her, as though contemplating whether or not to speak. The tension between them, the unsaid words, seemed to hang heavy in the air. Finally, he turned and walked toward her.

Abhimanyu (softly): "Diya, we need to talk."

Diya turning slightly toward him, her voice tentative, finally he is here at least ready to speak "About what?" She said in as much volume as possible could get out of her throat.

He hesitated, glancing at the floor, before meeting her gaze. There was a certain finality in his demeanor now, something cold in the way he held himself.

Abhimanyu (calm but direct): "About us. About this marriage."

His words felt like a sudden cold wind, cutting through the warmth she had carefully built up. Diya straightened, her breath catching in her throat. She had been dreading this conversation, but she didn't know how to prepare for it.

Diya (with a nervous laugh, trying to hide her unease): "What do you mean? What's there to talk about?"

Abhimanyu (his voice firm but with a trace of weariness): "We're living together under the same roof, but we don't live together, Diya. We don't even speak. We've been married for months, but it feels like we're strangers. I... I don't think this is working."

Diya blinked, her heart skipping a beat as his words struck deeper than she anticipated. She somewhere knew that this is going to happen, she was sure specially after that night, she gulped Was this really happening? He was suggesting—no, 'saying' , that their marriage, her whole world, was a mistake.

She felt the familiar knot of confusion tighten in her chest. The guilt, the uncertainty, the confusion—was he right? Was this all just a grand mistake? She knew she didn't fit into his family, didn't fit into this house. She knew her independence, her outspoken nature, didn't align with the Maheshwari family's ideals. But did that mean they should end it all?

Diya (her voice quiet, trembling slightly): "Is that... what you want, Abhimanyu? To end this marriage?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he just stood there, his face unreadable, staring at the floor.