EHSAAS - A Collection Of Short Stories

3

Meera's Pov

"How did your anniversary go?" I probed, curiosity simmering like the chai brewing on the stove.

Silence hung heavy on the call for two seconds before a giggle tickled my ears. "It was perfect," she chirped. "Candlelit dinner, presents... he really pulled out all the stops."

"He loves you, doesn't he?"

Another pause, longer this time. A sigh escaped her lips. "Yes, Meera. Yes, he does."

A warmth bloomed in my chest. I was truly happy for her. Her life seemed like a fairytale: a dream career, a perfect partner, a harmonious balance most girls could only dream of.

I always dreamt of being like her. The perfect daughter, the exemplary sister, the loving wife. Perfect Heer.

My parents used to call me her chhaya because of my constant attempt to mirror her every step since childhood. I felt like I had a roadmap and if I followed that, everyone will love me and if not perfect then I can at least be close to that.

Then, one call shattered the illusion.

"He is not the man I loved Meera. He is not a saint. I hate him".Her voice, raw and choked, echoed in my ears.
The exact words my uncle and aunt found written in the note she left behind.

I HATE HIM

Before I could ask anything, the line went dead. She never picked up again.

And, now I am married to that man. And all I can hear is her voice in my ears whispering,"He is not a saint Meera. I hate him"

"I hate him"

"I hate him"

I woke up, heart pounding in my chest. " This dream," I whispered, the taste of fear still sour on my tongue.

Sometimes I wonder would she be mad if she found out that, now her lovely sister is married to him. Will she ever forgive me for that?

The empty space beside me in bed sent a shiver down my spine. Has Virat even been in this room? The sheets, undisturbed, whispered the answer. Yet, I was inexplicably tucked in, a blanket cocooned around me like a silent promise.

Confusion swirled in my mind as I got up, took a shower and went out of the room. I looked for him but he was nowhere to be found. I looked at study.

He must be there I guess. I went to knock but then I heard "Mam! Doctor sahab had already left for the hospital" A servant's voice shattered my thoughts.

He left? A pang of disappointment settled in my stomach. It was the day after our wedding and I for some reason thought we could at least have breakfast. After all, he is the man I am married to and he is the man I am gonna spend my life with. Is this too much to expect? Perhaps.

"Breakfast is ready, mam. Shall I serve you?" the servant inquired, his voice jarring me from my thoughts.

Breakfast? Now this word tastes like ashes in my mouth.

"No, I am not hungry!",I forcedly smiled at him and then left for my room. This house, this room feels like a foreign cage to me. I can never be comfortable here and can never fly from here.

I remember my mom told me the night before the wedding,"Marriage is like a dance, Meera. One step at a time. You learn the rhythm, adjust your moves, and gracefully navigate each turn together. Your dad and I weren't always perfect either, we made mistakes and faced tough times, but we never gave up. We learned to understand each other, celebrate our dreams together, and look! After all these years, our dance is still alive, just like a rainbow you can only see after a good storm.

Life isn't about running away from problems, it's about facing them head-on, even when it's tough. Be brave, dance through the rain, and paint your own beautiful sky with your strength. And remember, no matter what, I'll always be here for you, like a steady beat in your heart, reminding you that you're never alone."

She was right. I'd never seen them argue, never raised their voices at each other. Their love, built on understanding and compromise, was a testament to the beauty of a true partnership. Maybe, just maybe, that was what I needed to learn here. Thanks to them I know what a healthy relationship looks like.

I took a deep breath and said to myself,"I won't give up mom. I will try to make it work. One step at a time. I promise."

The only thing I enjoyed besides studying was cooking. I find it therapeutic. That day I cooked dinner for him. I didn't know what he liked but everybody enjoys eating South Indian food, don't they?

So, I cooked a full South Indian meal for him. The spice-laden aromas filling the air with warmth. Maybe, just maybe, it would bridge the gap between us.

It was around 9:30 pm and I was waiting for him. The clock was ticking. but, he didn't come. Soon it was 10:00 pm - no sign of him.

I placed dinner on the dining table, decorated it with flowers and sat in the living room and started watching TV.

And soon it was 11:00pm then 11:00pm turned to 12:00 am. It was midnight. Yet there was no sign of him.

Is he always this late?" I finally asked a passing maid.

"Sometimes, mam," she mumbled, offering no solace.

Fine. I'd wait. But sleep, lured by exhaustion, eventually claimed me. Around two a.m., a click at the door sent me bolting upright. There he stood, eyes heavy with fatigue, the shadows beneath them mirroring the hollowness in my own heart.

His shoulders, usually squared with confidence, now slouched under the weight of enervation. The lines etched on his face spoke volumes of the countless hours spent attending to patients.

"What are you doing here so late?" His voice, rough and weary, startled me.

"I...I was waiting for you."I stammered, feeling the heat crawl up my neck. Every syllable felt clumsy, betraying my nerves.

He raised an eyebrow, a question hanging in the air. I immediately responded with,"I thought... maybe we can have... ahm.. dinner to-gether."
My internal critic screamed,"FOR GOD SAKE, MEERA, STOP STUTTERING!"

He had looked up, a flicker of surprise in his storm-cloud eyes, then away, his voice a cold knife slicing through the fragile hope I'd built,"I already ate outside" Each word carried a weight that threatened to crush me.

Then he moved towards his study and I again found myself like a misplaced doll in a child's forgotten playhouse.

"And, do not wait for me from now on",his voice echoed from the doorway.

I don't know where I have gotten this courage from but I spoke,"I always had dinner with my family," I choked out, my voice gaining strength with each word. "I've always seen Mumma waiting for Papa, so they could have dinner together. Papa always made it a point to come early..."

He stopped, his back rigid, turning his head just enough to cut me off. "My profession doesn't wait for romantic dinners, Meera." His words were sharp, like shards of glass slicing through my hopes.

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. Okay! Virat, I won't wait for you. I won't.

Mumma, I tried. His words pushed me back, but I wouldn't crumble.

One step at a time?
But what if I don't know the steps?
But what if he changed the music?
What if I stumble and fall?

♡

I am such a dramatic person. (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)
Thank you for waiting patiently.
I will upload the new chapter on 13th of January.

if you're enjoying the story so far, let me know! A vote or a comment goes a long way to fuel my caffeine-powered storytelling engine.

Until next time, happy reading! ✨

P.S. Remember, even the most dramatic dances need a supportive audience. So don't be shy, share your thoughts and feelings about the story! I'm all ears (and eyes!).

〜 Aastha