She hid her tears behind a veil of strength; he masked his concern behind a wall of indifference.
The evening air was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a distant bird. I sat on the balcony of my room in the Murthy Mansion, the cool marble beneath me a sharp contrast to the warmth of my palms, adorned with intricate mehndi designs. I couldn't deny that my hands looked beautiful, but every time I glanced at them, the weight of what they symbolized grew heavier.
Tomorrow. The day I’d officially become engaged. The word alone sent a shiver down my spine. Not out of joy or excitement, but a gnawing sense of dread that refused to leave me.
I looked up at the sky, the vast canvas speckled with stars, and let out a long sigh. The last few weeks flashed in my mind—a blur of awkward moments with Manik, endless teasing from his friends whenever they stopped by the office, and the constant, looming pressure of this engagement. It was as if every step I took was under a magnifying glass, scrutinized by everyone around me.
“Why me, God?” I muttered, staring at the stars, my vision blurring with unshed tears. “Why can’t things ever be simple for me?”
The tears came then, hot and unrelenting. They spilled down my cheeks as I let out a broken sob. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. All I had ever wanted was to live life on my own terms, to be free of expectations and the suffocating weight of pleasing others. But here I was, trapped in a situation I couldn’t escape, pretending to be okay when I wasn’t.
I clutched my knees to my chest, trying to muffle my cries. My voice came out shaky, filled with the raw vulnerability of a child as I complained to the heavens. “Why can’t I be happy? Why can’t I just be me? I’m so tired, God. So tired of pretending, of faking smiles, of being what everyone wants me to be. Why me?”
The quiet of the night absorbed my words, offering no solace, no answers.
I stayed like that for what felt like hours, my tears soaking into the fabric of my clothes. My chest ached from crying, and my head felt heavy. I was about to head inside when my phone buzzed, startling me. I sniffled, wiping at my face hastily, careful not to ruin the mehndi.
The name on the screen made my heart skip a beat.
Mr. Malhotra.
Why was he calling me now? At this hour? My brows furrowed in confusion, but I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before answering.
“Hello,” I said softly, my voice still heavy from crying.
“You’re not sleeping?” came his deep, steady voice.
I hesitated, unsure of what to say. “No… I wasn’t.”
“Hmm,” he replied, a thoughtful pause following. “I called to ask about the emails you sent earlier. Which one is from the Canadian delegate?”
Emails? Right, work. I scrambled to compose myself, pushing aside my emotions. “It’s the one with the subject line starting with Proposal Review. You’ll find it flagged in the inbox.”
“Got it,” he said. His tone was casual, but then it shifted softer, more questioning. “Are you okay?”
My breath hitched. Did he notice? I quickly cleared my throat and tried to sound normal. “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”
“You don’t sound fine,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of concern.
I clenched my jaw, determined not to break down over the phone. “I am. Really. Is there anything else?”
YOU ARE READING
Tangled Beliefs
General FictionManik: "Life doesn't come with choices; it comes with responsibilities. You live it on your terms or get buried under someone else's." Nandini: "Love is a word people use too lightly, a hollow promise made to be broken. I've never believed in it, an...
