Hidden Marriage

CHAPTER 14: ISHA

Isha's pov

I was sitting on the balcony of my room, gazing at the night sky. The waxing gibbous moon peeked shyly from behind a veil of clouds, casting a soft glow over the world. The scene was serene, yet my mind was far from quiet. My wedding is just two days away, and surprisingly, I am not feeling the wave of emotions that novels, dramas, and movies often describe. There's no sadness, no panic, no fear about leaving my family behind. Instead, I feel something completely unexpected-relief. I'm genuinely happy about stepping out of this house to start a new chapter of my life with him.

I don't know him very well yet, but I know enough to feel reassured. He seems like a good person, and his family is warm and kind. I've met Ajay Uncle several times, and we get along well. Sakshi, too, has become a friend. The thought of being part of their family makes me smile, though I didn't even realize it at first.

Two days-just 48 hours-and my life will change. It feels so close and yet unreal. Looking back, I realize why I don't feel the same attachment to my family that so many girls talk about. My parents were never really...parents to me. Toxic-that's the word that fits them best. They always wanted a son, but life had other plans, and I was born, shattering their expectations.

When I was two, Rohan, my younger brother, came into our lives. He became the center of their world, while I was quietly moved into my grandmother's room. My grandmother and I shared a bond that was pure and unbreakable. She, along with my bua, Dhwani, became my true family. Bua got married when I was five and moved to Germany with her husband, a kind and caring man named Emmerich. They had a daughter, Akshara, who is the only cousin I've kept in touch with over the years.

When I was twelve, my grandmother passed away, leaving me utterly alone. Her absence pulled me into a deep depression. She had been my only shield against the harshness of my father and grandfather. My father wasn't as cruel as my grandfather, but he was far from supportive. As for my grandfather, he eventually moved in with my bua when he was diagnosed with blood cancer. Bua wanted to ensure he received the best treatment possible, but I know there was another reason-she wanted to keep me safe from him.

My parents always favored Rohan. They celebrated his smallest achievements while dismissing mine as insignificant. When I topped my class, won a gold medal in badminton, and led my basketball team to victory in the state championship, they barely acknowledged it. Even when I achieved the second-highest rank in my board exams, their response was lukewarm at best. Yet, if Rohan so much as expressed a passing interest in something, they would shower him with praise and encouragement.

I dreamed of becoming a psychiatrist, a profession that fascinated me and aligned with my strengths. But my parents had other ideas. They forced me to choose mathematics over psychology, claiming it was a waste of time. Their justification? I was a girl, destined to marry and leave the house, so investing in my dreams wasn't worthwhile. When Rohan announced he wanted to be a photographer, however, they supported him wholeheartedly. "He's a boy," they said. "He has plenty of time to figure things out."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I recalled these memories-the countless times I felt invisible, unimportant, and unloved in my own home. My childhood was a series of battles I fought alone, and while those scars remain, they also shaped me into who I am today.

As I sit here, the cool breeze gently brushing against my face, I feel a strange mix of emotions. Sadness for the childhood I never had, gratitude for the few who truly cared for me, and hope-hope that my life with him will be different. That it will be filled with the love and respect I've always longed for.

Two days isn't a long time. It's a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. But it feels like an eternity when you're on the cusp of something new. For the first time in a long while, I feel a sense of anticipation-not for the wedding itself, but for the life that lies ahead.