Shorts: An IPKKND Collection

A Moment of Unravelling: Part 1

Khushi

Khushi's legs protested as she stirred. She blinked and squinted into the light, wondering if she'd forgotten to close the curtains last night.

Her heart pounded in her ears as her bleary thoughts caught up with what her eyes were showing her. She was not at home – not in her childhood bedroom in Lucknow nor in the small room at Bua-ji's. She was in his bedroom, and with that realisation came the memories of the day before.

His smile as he stood on Bua-ji's veranda, the amusement in his eyes as he posed as a waiter, and his gentle flirtation that had culminated in that moment next to the mirror. Shyam. The terrace. Her panic and desperation to find Arnav-ji. His unyielding anger as everything unravelled, his demands and her tearful acquiescence, the questions and accusations, and then his refusal to give her the answers she desperately needed.

She'd waited for him to return, leaning against this green sofa as hour after hour had trickled by, and had fallen asleep waiting. A quick glance at the untouched bed told her that he hadn't returned.

Suddenly, her heart ached for him.

Stop it, Khushi. You should hate him.

But she didn't, not even now. He'd hurt her, destroyed her yet again, but she craved the comfort of his touch in the same irrational way that she had on Diwali. He'd done everything but rip her still-beating heart from her chest and crush it under his heel that night, but as he'd walked away, she'd wanted to beg him to soothe her even though he'd caused the pain in the first place.

Khushi wiped her tears on her dupatta before glancing at the clock.

Everyone will be at the morning pooja. I can ... Jiji and Anjali-ji and Nani-ji will have to listen to me. I'll tell them ... I'll ...

But she didn't know what to say. She couldn't reveal that her marriage was a sham, a compromise, a six-month contract he'd compelled her to agree to by holding Jiji's marriage hostage. She couldn't reveal that she wasn't his wife, not really, that he'd refused to be her husband, that she wasn't their daughter-in-law.

Ignoring the protest of her muscles as she stood, Khushi distracted herself with practical details. She needed to shower, brush her teeth, and tidy herself up before venturing downstairs. She glanced at the closed door of his bathroom but quickly dismissed the idea. Using his bathroom seemed like a breach, a gross overstep into his personal space.

Why should you care? He forced you to elope with him. He's put you in this position.

But he also said that he would never grant me the status of his wife.

Remembering the upstairs guest room that Lavanya-ji had lived in during her stay, Khushi decided to shower there. It was still inside his home, but wasn't his personal, private, intimate space. But as she opened the French doors that led to the corridor, Khushi realised that her intended journey would take her across the first floor: past Anjali-ji's room, past Nani-ji's room, past Mami-ji and Mama-ji's wing and – here she blushed slightly – past Jiji and Jija-ji's room. The risk of exposure was too high.

She shut the door with a sigh and contemplated her options. She didn't have many. Attending the pooja without proper ablutions was out of the question and skipping it altogether would send the wrong message. His family was angry, yes, at both her and Arnav-ji, but she couldn't fail their expectations of her as a proper bahu. There was no other choice.

Her heart hammered as she approached the bathroom, glancing back every few seconds in case he returned and caught her.

Please protect me, Devi Maiyya.