"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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Shivya lifted the gold bangles from the dressing table, slid them onto her wrist, and studied her hands. She wasn’t feeling like wearing them today. After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped them off and placed them back on the table.
She knew everyone would notice her bare wrists, and at least one of them would surely ask her why she wasn’t wearing them. But still, she listened to her heart.
She adjusted the pleats of her saree and turned toward the door, ready to go downstairs for breakfast, when her gaze snagged on the book lying abandoned on the couch.
Just yesterday afternoon, she had been reading it peacefully when Devi arrived unexpectedly, pulling her away mid-chapter. She had left the book unfinished.
She needed to go downstairs, but the thought of food didn’t stir her appetite. The thought of returning to those pages did.
Two chapters won’t take much time. And what will happen anyway? Dadi or Mummy ji will scold me a little. Thik haina, sunn lungi thoda sa… kya hi ho jayega.
She crossed the room, picked up the book, and curled herself onto the couch, folding her legs beneath her as she began to read.
Vedant entered quietly. His steps faltered when he saw her.
Shivya sat curled in on herself, her face turned inward, as if listening to something only she could hear. Tears slid unchecked down her cheeks.
For a moment, he simply stood there, the sight striking him with a force that made his chest tighten. He crossed the distance between them in two long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.
The man who never lowered his voice before anyone was now sitting on his knees before an ordinary woman.
“Sona,” he said, as though the name itself could gather her back.
She startled at the sound, the book slipping from her fingers, but he caught it before it hit the floor.
“Aap ro kyun rahi hain?” The questions spilled out of him. “Why are you crying? Did someone say something to you? What happened?Please say something.Did I do something?
The pride of the owner of seven villages folded neatly at her feet, begging her desperately to tell him something.
A girl whom destiny had brought into his life as his wife — if his name were erased from hers, society would see her as nothing more than a simple woman. Nothing more. Yet here was someone ready to bow before those six letters.
“Vedant,” she breathed, one hand flying to her chest as she tried to steady herself. “Aapne dara diya mujhe.”
You scared me.
Her voice trembled with the echo of emotions she had not yet shed. He frowned softly. “Aur aapka kya, madam?” he asked gently.
