AANYA

"Aanya..." Aarav's voice broke through the silence of the dining table.

I looked at him, unsure if he was going to oppose his parents or ask something of me. His eyes held none of the sharpness from earlier-just a quiet firmness.

"After the reception," he said evenly, "we'll leave from here."

Leave. The word lingered, heavy, as though it carried both mercy and exile.

I nodded. Just once. Because what else could I do?

His mother's hand froze halfway to her glass. "Leave? Beta, so soon?"

His father frowned, cautious. "At least spend a few days with us before going back."

Aarav's jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. "Dad, I'm doing what you want. I agreed for the reception. But after that, I can't take more leaves. I have work to return to."

His sister, Avni, gasped softly. "Bhai, no! Stay for a week at least. We finally got you married-let us enjoy some time with Bhabhi also."

Aarav shook his head, tone final. "No, Avni. I've already stretched myself thin. This is all I can do."

The air grew heavy. His parents exchanged glances, a whole conversation passing in silence. Finally, his father nodded. His mother sighed but didn't press further.

"Fine," she said softly. "We'll respect your decision. After the reception, you can leave."

I sat quietly, watching this family that was new, yet already making room for me in their own way. Their questions weren't cruel, their disappointment wasn't venomous. It was strange. Almost... unfamiliar.

Dinner ended in quiet ripples.

When I returned to the room later, he was already there-pulling a blanket, arranging it across the couch. His tall frame bent awkwardly, as though the furniture mocked him.

He noticed me standing, straightened, and spoke gently. "You don't have to stand there. Come in."

I stepped inside, the silence between us stretching.

His voice, calm and low, filled it. "Look... I'll sleep on the couch. You can take the bed. It'll be easier for you."

I shook my head. "No. Please don't do this. It will only make things... complicated. I'll take the couch. You should sleep comfortably."

He frowned, quiet resistance flickering in his eyes. "You don't need to. You're not here to struggle like that."

I looked at him-at his height, his long limbs-and let out a faint sigh. "You're tall. You won't even fit properly on the couch. Let me take it."

For the first time, a small smile ghosted across his lips, almost amused by my logic. After a beat, he nodded."Alright then. But Aanya..."

My name, again. Quiet. Measured.
"We both know why this marriage happened. So don't... expect anything from it. Or from me."

The words were not cruel. Just true.

I held his gaze for a moment before replying.
"I don't expect anything from you. You shouldn't, either. Let's not weave dreams where none exist."

And there it was-an unspoken pact, drawn not from affection, but from survival.

Later, lying down, I stared at the ceiling and whispered into the silence-not to him, but to the only one who still lived inside me.

Sameer... this house hums with voices, but all I hear is the echo of your silence.
Every smile they give me fades into nothing, because I am still yours.
I will always be yours.
Tonight, he sleeps in his bed, and I on his couch... but even in this distance, it's you I ache for, you I wait for, you I love. Even in this new life, Sameer, I remain yours-wholly, helplessly, forever.

The walls of this house may close around me, but my heart stays with you.

---

Morning came before the night had truly ended. I woke at six, the house wrapped in quiet. Slipping into a simple maroon saree, I stepped out.

The helpers were already busy-sweeping, dusting, the sound of brooms echoing against marble floors. I padded silently to the mandir, lit a diya, and bowed my head. The flame flickered, small but steady-like the only prayer I had left.

From there, I found my way into the kitchen.

"Oh, beta!" his mother entered just then, her surprise soft. "Why are you awake so early?"

"I'm used to it," I said quietly.

She smiled, then her tone turned thoughtful. "Today is your pehli rasoi. Make something sweet. Sheela will prepare the rest of the food."

I nodded, setting to work. My hands moved through sugar, milk, cardamom, stirring slowly, the aroma filling the air. When it was done, I first carried the kheer to the mandir, offering it to the gods. Then I returned to the table, where his family gathered.

One by one, I served them. Finally, I placed the bowl in front of Aarav. He looked at me briefly, then took it without a word.

"Beta, sit with us, eat too," his father said kindly.

I shook my head. "No, no, I'll eat after everyone else."

The room fell quiet at that, his parents exchanging a startled glance. His sister frowned, about to speak-but Aarav had already taken the first bite.

My breath caught. Was the kheer not prepared well?

His mother leaned forward, curious. "How is it, beta?"

His sister chimed in, half-mocking, half-teasing. "Yes, Bhai, how's the kheer? Don't lie."

Aarav looked at them both, then at me. His voice was quiet but steady. "It tastes good."

For a moment, silence again. Then, softly-almost carefully-he added, "Thank you Aanya."

His mother smiled, but shook her head. "Not just thank you, beta. Today was her pehli rasoi. You should give her a gift."

After that, he stood. "Ok. I have some work."

And just like that, he left-like a shadow slipping out of reach.

His father's nod followed him, and soon little velvet boxes appeared in careful hands-gold bangles, a silk dupatta folded with reverence. They were placed before me as though they carried love, blessings, belonging.

I bowed my head in gratitude, my lips murmuring thank you, but my heart-my heart felt strangely weightless and heavy all at once.

Were these gifts truly mine? Or were they just tradition wrapped in silk and shine?
Maybe this is love, Aanya.
No... no, don't fool yourself. This is courtesy, habit. Don't go searching for warmth where there might only be formality.

I lowered my eyes, clutching the dupatta tighter, and that's when his mother's voice came-gentle, almost kind:
"Beta, I will give you the dress and jewellery for reception. Now you take some rest."

Rest. Such a simple word. But how do you rest when the evening feels like a storm waiting behind silk curtains?

As I walked toward the room, my thoughts trailed ahead of me, restless:
Reception. So many faces. So many questions. So many smiles I'll have to stitch onto myself.
Will I fit into their world of crystal glasses and heavy diamonds? Or will I always look like the guest who doesn't belong?

The house itself seemed to whisper of riches-grand, glittering, flawless. And me? I was carrying a suitcase full of borrowed courage.

Yet beneath all the noise of fear, one voice inside me kept whispering, quiet but stubborn:
You are here because you promised to be.
Not because of their gifts.
Not because of their grandeur.
Just because you chose to stay.

And maybe, just maybe-that will have to be enough.