𝐕𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐚𝐧 𝐑𝐚𝐣𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐗 𝐉𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧.
In a world that screams, I stand in despair,
My voice drowned out, lost in the air.
Chains of tradition tighten each day,
I long to escape, but I'm forced to stay.
Each breath I take feels...
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J H A N V I
The maid’s voice echoed in the silence of my room.
"Madam, Abhay Sir has called you downstairs."
My body stiffened, the words ringing in my ears like a death sentence. My fingers clenched the bedsheet beneath me as I forced my muscles to move. Pain flared through me, sharp and unforgiving, but I bit my lip and swallowed it down. Pain had become my companion. My shadow.
I took slow, careful steps towards the door, each movement a reminder of last night’s horrors. My legs trembled, but I couldn’t afford to fall. Weakness only invited more suffering.
As I reached the staircase, I gripped the railing, my knuckles turning white. The descent felt endless, my vision blurring for a moment. But I pushed through, because I had to. Because there was no other choice.
When I reached the bottom, my eyes landed on him.
Abhay sat in the living area, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. He looked untouched by the cruelty he had inflicted upon me, like the past five years of torment had never happened.
Next to him sat his parents.
My mother-in-law’s gaze was the first to pierce through me—sharp, cold, filled with the kind of disdain that had long since ceased to surprise me. I had stopped expecting kindness from her the day she watched her son destroy me and turned away, as if I were nothing but an inconvenience.
And then, there was him.
My father-in-law.
He rarely came home, but when he did, it wasn’t for trivial reasons. He wasn’t blind to what went on in this house. He simply chose not to interfere. Maybe because, deep down, he was no different from his son.
I stood silently, my hands gripping the edges of my dupatta, my eyes lowered. I knew better than to speak. I had learned my place.
A long moment passed before Abhay finally broke the silence.
"Get ready," he said, his tone void of emotion. "We have to attend a business party tonight.”
A normal wife would have asked why. A normal wife would have had the freedom to refuse. But I was not a wife—I was a possession, a shadow trapped within these walls.
My fingers curled into the soft fabric of my dupatta as I lowered my gaze, nodding once. That was all they required of me. Submission. Obedience.