The Broken Vow

13

Author's note: Thank you for the love on the last chapter. Can we please get this chapter to 90 votes?

Aahana Agnihotri

I had read a poem once about Home. The poet had described it as a sanctuary where hearts grew and rested, where souls found their peace. Standing outside the Agnihotri mansion, I wanted to laugh at the irony. This place was anything but a sanctuary – it was a tomb that tried to bury me in its painful memories.

The cold air rushed out to greet me like an unwelcome embrace as I stepped into the house. The artificial scent of lavender room freshener permeated through the air.
Polished marble floors gleamed under crystal chandeliers, hollow and pretentious. Just like our lives. My footsteps echoed in the quiet hallways. Everything was perfectly arranged, untouched, almost like everything in this house was a museum display. A beautiful and expensive museum. The staff ensured that every inch of the house remained spotless.

My fingers traced the wallpaper in a desperate attempt to find a flaw, find a crack, find anything real in this temple of facades. Instead, my mind wandered traitorously to Adarsh’s house – not as big as mine, and definitely more cluttered, but it felt so alive even for the brief time I was there.

I paused in my stride when I noticed my mother. Kavita Agnihotri sat at the head of our massive table like a queen on her throne. Even for a seemingly lonely night, she was dressed impeccably – her Valentino dress probably cost more than most people's monthly salary, diamonds glinting at her throat. Her wine glass caught the light as she scrolled through her phone. When she saw me, her lips curved into that practiced smile that never quite reached her eyes.

“Darling.” Her voice dripped honey. “Good, you’re home. Join me for dinner.”

A laugh escaped me, sharp and brittle. “What’s the occasion? Another magazine spread about the city’s most devoted mother-daughter duo? Or did you want to chastise me about something?”

“Can’t a mother want to spend time with her daughter?”

The laugh burst out of me again, almost hysterical this time. The staff members who were setting up the table and working around the area glanced our way, their faces carefully blank. I dropped into a chair opposite her, the massive table between us still not feeling like enough distance. “That was a good one.”

Her perfect smile tightened at the corners, little cracks in the porcelain mask. She dismissed the hovering staff with a wave before turning to me. “I’m trying, Aahana.
Unlike some people, I believe in moving forward.”

“Moving forward?” The words tasted sour in my mouth. My fingers curled around the edge of my chair. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Like how you ‘moved forward’ after Inder Parekh?”

“Leave us,” she snapped at the remaining staff, who hurriedly nodded and vanished from our line of sight. “Don’t start this again, Aahana.” Her fingers tightened  around the wine stem and she took a long sip and placed the glass down. “We agreed  to not talk about it.”

“We agreed?” I rose to my feet, sending my chair crashing backward. “When exactly did we agree? When you threatened to send me to boarding school if I didn’t shut up? Or when you paraded me in front of him at parties? Or when you–”

“Lower your voice,” she demanded, taking another sip of her drink.

“Or what?” I grabbed the first plate I could reach. “Afraid that someone might hear?” The china shattered against the wall in a satisfying explosion of white.

“Aahana!” She stood up, outrage warring with fear on her face. “Stop this immediately!”

Another plate followed the first.
“Stop like I begged him to stop? Stop like I begged you to stop him?” Each word was punctuated by a crash of an unsuspecting piece of dinnerware.