"Happy Married Life, Shivya Pathak" I weakly smiled seeing my condition, mangalsutra dangling in my neck, vermilion in hair and both hands filled with gold bangles.
"Come out quickly or do you want me to break the gate," my husband knocked again...
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"The student who again came first in the class, like always, is..." The anchor's voice rang through the auditorium, and time seemed to stretch as my heart raced.
"Shivya Pathak!" The applause erupted around me, a wave of sound that filled the room. I felt a rush of pride, but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of expectation.
"Miss Shivya Pathak, please come on the stage," the anchor continued, and as my name echoed in the air, I took a deep breath and started to climb the stairs to the stage.
But just as I reached the top step, a hand clamped around my wrist, pulling me back. Confused and frightened, I turned to see a familiar face twisted in disdain.
"You aren't going to achieve anything. You were, you are, and you will always be a failure. A girl who dreamt of big things but, in the end, belongs in the kitchen." Their words pierced through me like daggers, and I screamed, begging them to let me go.
"Loser, loser, loser!" The crowd, which had cheered for me moments ago, now jeered and laughed. Each taunt felt like a stone thrown at my heart. "You'll have neither love nor success," there was he between all the people laughing loudly at me.
"Shivya Pathak is a los-"
"Nooooooo!" I screamed, my voice rising above the cacophony, a desperate plea that seemed to echo in the silence that followed. Suddenly, the laughter faded, and I was enveloped in darkness.
"Bhabhi, bhabhi!" I awoke with a start, my heart pounding, drenched in sweat.
I blinked rapidly, trying to orient myself, and found Ruh kneeling beside my bed, her expression filled with concern. She spoke, but her words were muffled, as if I were submerged underwater.
In a flurry of movement, she reached for the jug on the side table, filling a glass with water. I watched her, my body heavy and unresponsive, as if I were trapped in a dream.
"Here," she said softly, extending the glass toward me. My hands trembled violently, unable to grasp it.
Without hesitation, she took the glass from my shaking hands and gently helped me drink, her touch steady and reassuring.
As the cool water trickled down my throat, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, slowly grounding me back in reality.
I could see the worry etched on her face, and though I wanted to reassure her, words escaped me.
All I could do was sit there, breathing heavily, as the remnants of my nightmare lingered in the corners of my mind, a haunting reminder of my fears.
"Bad dream?" she asked softly, wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead with the corner of her dupatta. My voice felt trapped in my throat, and I could only nod, trying to regain my composure.
