That night, Y/N barely slept.
The silence of the house was deafening. The ticking of the wall clock felt like a countdown. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, every thump a reminder: He knows. Or he will, soon.
The next morning, her mother didn't say a word during breakfast. But her eyes—sharp, narrow—never left Y/N's face.
It was a warning.
By mid-morning, the house was abuzz with preparations for a distant cousin’s arrival. Relatives. Judgement in silk sarees. Tongues sharper than knives.
Y/N was told to dress nicely.
“She’s a married woman, not some spinster,” her mother muttered to the maid, loud enough for her to hear.
The bruise on Y/N’s arm pulsed beneath her kurta sleeve.
She wore peach. Soft, forgettable. Just like they liked her to be.
But today, she wouldn’t be forgettable.
---
By noon, she was sent on another errand.
“Get sweets from Sharma’s,” her bhabi said. “And don’t dilly-dally this time.”
Y/N nodded—again. Silent. Obedient. But her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her bag.
This time, the driver didn't come.
She was told to walk. A punishment, maybe. Or just control.
But Y/N didn’t mind.
Because she needed to walk. She needed the space to think, to breathe, to feel like she wasn’t drowning.
The sun beat down mercilessly as she passed the temple steps, her shadow long and tired. The sweet shop was just ahead—but she turned right instead.
A different turn this time.
A different alley.
And at the very end of it, near a shuttered medical store, stood a man in a charcoal grey shirt. Sleeves rolled up. Eyes watching.
Him.
He didn’t smile this time.
Neither did she.
She just walked up to him and stopped a few feet away.
“Is it safe?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t answer.
He glanced at her arms, at the way she flinched when a scooter horn blared nearby.
“Y/N…” His voice softened. “You don’t have to come if it’s getting risky.”
“I have to,” she whispered. “You don’t understand.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then said, gently, “He asked about you.”
Her breath caught.
“The baby?”
He nodded. “Yesterday. He said, ‘Where did Mumma go?’”
Tears blurred her vision again, just like they had in the market. “Does he… Does he remember me?”
The man—Ravi—nodded. “He remembers your lullabies. He still cries for you some nights.”
Y/N nearly collapsed.
But she couldn’t.
She couldn’t cry here. Couldn’t break—not yet.
“Just one more time,” she said. “I need to see him. I have to.*”
Ravi hesitated. Then pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “There’s a kids’ park near my sister’s house. Tomorrow. 11 AM. He’ll be there. You don’t have to come close. Just watch.”
Y/N took the note with trembling fingers, eyes filled with a hunger only a mother could know.
Then—without another word—she turned and walked back toward the street.
---
That evening, the house smelled of jasmine and deceit. Relatives sat on sofas, sipping chai and gossiping about divorces, scandals, and daughters who forgot their "place."
Y/N served everyone. Smiled. Nodded.
Until one of the aunties said, “Your girl looks different these days. Healthier. Glowing even.”
Her mother froze.
“Oh, she just has more time on her hands now,” she replied with a tight smile. “Nothing else to do but powder her nose.”
Everyone laughed.
Except Y/N.
And except her brother, who caught her eyes across the room.
His look wasn’t amused.
It was suspicious.
Later that night, her phone buzzed. No caller ID.
She stepped into the veranda, palms clammy.
Taehyung.
“Y/N,” his voice crackled, “you’re meeting someone.”
Her throat closed up.
“I don’t know who. But I’ll find out.”
Click.
The call ended.
She stared at her reflection in the dark glass of the window—half her face lit by moonlight, the other swallowed in shadow.
She wasn’t safe anymore.
Tomorrow could be the last time she’d see her child.
But she would go anyway.
Even if it cost her everything.
YOU ARE READING
FORCED MARRIAGE WITH BROTHER IN LAW
Fanfictionstory about famous idol who marries with her sister in law
