When the stars align

Michigan Blues

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, its warmth spilling over San’s face. She stirred sluggishly, her body heavy from the restless night. A soft knock on the door barely registered, and a moment later, her mother’s voice carried through the wood, gentle but firm.

"San, breakfast is ready. Come down soon."

San groaned softly, rubbing her eyes. She had overslept, a rare occurrence, and already felt the weight of the day pressing down on her chest. As she sat up in bed, the events of yesterday crashed over her like a wave—her parents' disappointed faces, her sister’s fiery defense, and the sharp words of Aakash’s family echoing in her mind.

Her heart clenched. How was she supposed to face the world today? How was she supposed to act as if the whispers, the judgment, and the pity wouldn’t tear her apart?

She took a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair as she whispered to herself, "You’re stronger than this. You have to be."

Her mother’s voice called again, sharper this time. "San, come down! The tea is getting cold."

San dragged herself out of bed, tying her hair back hastily. The soft clinking of utensils and the murmur of voices reached her ears as she descended the stairs. She paused at the dining room entrance, steeling herself before stepping inside.

Her father sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he sipped his tea. Her mother moved briskly between the kitchen and the table, setting down plates of steaming parathas. Neither of them looked at her immediately, their silence unnerving.

"Sit," her mother said, gesturing to the chair across from her father.

San obeyed quietly, the knot in her stomach tightening as she picked at the food on her plate. The paratha tasted like ash in her mouth, her appetite long gone.

"How are you feeling now?" her father asked after a long silence.
San froze, her fingers tightening around her fork. "I’m okay," she said softly.

Her parents didn’t respond further. The air between them was heavy with unspoken words, all three uncertain of how to comfort one another.

The news of San’s broken engagement to Aakash had spread like wildfire.

Of course, it had. In a family and community as tightly knit as theirs, it was impossible to keep such things private. San could already picture the calls and messages flooding in, each one dripping with fake concern and veiled judgment.

Her father cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the table. "San, if anyone says anything, just tell them it was his fault. It’s his fault alone. Never look down on yourself."
San nodded, her throat tight. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
But the questions came, as she had feared.

It started small—a few calls from distant relatives, their voices dripping with syrupy concern as they asked, "What happened, beta? We thought everything was finalized!" The questions quickly turned sharper, more pointed, laced with unspoken accusations.

"Did you have a fight with Aakash?"
"Was it something you said?"

"You know, beta, sometimes these things happen because the girl doesn’t try hard enough. You know we women have to compromise in this society."

San’s stomach churned as she listened to her mother field the calls, her voice growing more clipped with each conversation. But the real storm arrived after breakfast, when a group of relatives showed up unannounced.

Her mother tried to intercept them, urging San to stay upstairs, but it didn’t take long before a few of the older women insisted on seeing her.

"She must be feeling so low," one of them said loudly enough for San to hear. "We should comfort her."
San knew better. Comfort was rarely the motive in these situations.