Married My Enemy (#1 Rajput)

87- The 'Do' and the 'Don't'

Started Typing On - 23/03/2019

Chapter 87- The 'Do' and the 'Don't'

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Jaanvi's Pov:

You know that feeling of being trapped? Between those white-or sometimes pink walls if you don't have good taste on colour preferences.  It felt like that. I was trapped in between that period of time. From being ten till eighteen, for all those years when I didn't talk back to Juhi. Yeah, she wasn't my aunty now, she was just Juhi. She truly was and is the Ravana. (Demon King) But I wouldn't consider myself as Ram. (Indian God) And neither would I prefer calling my father Ram-though his name doesn't start with R and no J in Juhi and my case but at least Ram saved his wife. Nor papa or I could do anything to save her.

But I knew one thing. Out of Ravana and Ram-Ram was the pure one, the kind hearted and the god. Out of Juhi and I-I was the selfless one, the one with the patience the little power to control my anger for all those years. Out of the two J's, I was the better one. But I didn't feel any better than she did. She was probably freaking out about spending her remaining life in prison and I was worried about having this unhappy feeling inside me.

I looked around the room. My bed, the place where I had cried more than sleep. The white pillow which was my shoulder to cry on. The duvet cover was a person for me to hug into my trembling body. And the lamp. The lamp that lit up the dark room filled with sadness.

Author's Pov:

"I hate it there. I hate it. I-it's like i-I can't do anything to stop my heart from beating fast as soon as she locks me up. I don't like it there. I don't." The older Jaanvi remembered her stuttering voice as a little girl-around eleven once she laid on her bed, covering her body from shaking in fear and coldness. Jaanvi touched the bed, her dry fingers touching the cotton bedsheet. Her hand moved around the bed until it touched the pillow. The pillow she loved the most.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate it.

Her fingers tightly held onto the old pillow which somehow still looked new to her. As her head kept spinning, the same sentence-the hurt and painful sentence repeating in her head she threw the cover away of the pillow, shoving it under her head with her foot as she dug her fingers into the pillow. "I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!" She repeated the sentence in sync with her head. Her nails weren't long, but the rage inside her was. Not stopping once, not caring about her nails breaking she furiously let the old pillow rip.

"Why?" She squeezed the soft pillow in her hand as she let her tears roll down her eyes. Her brown empty eyes. The pillow had been with her for the longest time, perhaps she was a kid. She didn't throw it, nor did she give it to anyone. She loved keeping old things, she felt like keeping old things made her feel closer to her childhood-to her life. But the pillow reminded her of her horrible childhood. Yet she couldn't bring herself to rip it apart into tiny pieces.

It was strange but she loved the pillow. It was her personal body to hug, her shoulder to cry on and even her best friend to talk to if she was bored. She use to personally shop for her pillow covers just to be precise. "Why?" The question slipped out of the corner of her mouth with a trembling voice, she took one last look at the pillow before throwing it out of her window. She watched as one important part of her childhood touched the wet ground, slowly damping in water from the rain drops.

The window was harshly shut as she dropped down, hugging her knees crying. She thought throwing away the pillow which reminded her of her tears would help her feel better but it got worst. Her wet lashes and blood-shot eyes glanced up to see her desk. The desk with all her books-notebooks, pens and pencils.