But I ask my mother to order for me. Choosing something would take me forever—I’m terribly indecisive. She orders sushi,some dumplings, and tiramisu. None of these are really my favorites, but I guess my parents enjoy this kind of food, so I let it be.
Just two days ago, the thought of sitting in the same room with them terrified me. But now here we are—dining, talking. And not the kind of talk that cuts you down. Real conversation. They actually want to know how I’m adjusting, how married life is treating me.
We finish eating, and they don’t say a word about my weight. Not a single comment. I didn’t even know this version of them existed.
I’ve always believed I was cursed to have them as parents. But maybe… they were just stressed. Maybe they were too burdened to treat me right. And now, if their company is doing well, perhaps that peace is finally trickling down to their hearts, too. Maybe this is too good to be true. But if it is, I just want to hold on for a little while longer.
Back at home, I return to my room, change into something comfortable, and collapse on the bed. Shopping drains me—it’s never been something I enjoy—but today, I spent time with my mother, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. I should probably call Rudraksh. I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday, and I still feel awful about that.
Just as I reach for my phone, it rings. I smile when I see the caller ID. “I was just thinking about you,” I smile into the phone before I can stop myself.
“I hope I didn’t distract you too much then,” he replies, amusement lacing his voice.
So… he isn’t angry anymore.
“How was your day?” I ask, curling into the sheets.
“I don’t know… Fine, I think,” he says, sounding uncertain.
“That’s how you answer that? ‘Fine, I think.’ That’s boring,” I huff as I play with the edge of the sheets. I want to know. I really want to know how his day was—what he did and what he liked or didn’t.
“What should I say then, my love?” he asks, playful again. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“Well,” I say, “tell me the highlight of your day, or something that made you smile. Or maybe something that annoyed you.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “The highlight of my day… is this call. I don’t like anyone or anything else.” He’s hopeless. And adorable. I smile into the phone.
“My day was great,” I share. “I went to the mall, did some shopping, had dinner, and now I’m back in my room.” He hums softly. There’s a pause between us; it's full of warmth.
“Rudraksh… I’m sorry about today,” I murmur back into the phone, my voice low and full of guilt. “You were just worried about me, and I snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that.”
“I was worried. I still am. I always will be,” he replies. “You’re my wife. And I never want to hear an apology from you—even if you think you’re wrong. Got it?”
I nod instinctively, then laugh at myself—he can’t see that. His words always leave me speechless and silly.
“Good night, Rudraksh,” I whisper.
“Good night, Shivani. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.”
I hang up and curl under the covers, sleep washing over me almost instantly. I guess I was more tired than I thought.
Today felt like a dream.
21
SHIVANI
A harsh yank pulls me from sleep. My head hits the floor, and a sharp pain shoots up my back. My blurry vision stills as I wait for the realization to draw in; it doesn’t until I look up... and freeze. It’s her. My mother.
“Mother?” I whisper, my voice small and shaky, confused.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she walks up to me and slaps me—hard. The sting brings tears to my eyes, and I instantly suck in a sharp breath. Last I remember, we were talking, smiling, happy... Was it a dream? It felt so real, every second of it. But this—this feels more real. Slowly, I stand up with my shaky legs against the cold floor.
My father enters the room, his steps loud and firm, just like a thunder strike. There’s a smirk on his face. His eyes travel to my mother, and they share a look, and dread pools in my stomach. I try backing away, but I know it’s useless.
“You see, Shivani,” my father hisses, gripping my jaw with painful force, “you’re married to Rudraksh Malhotra now.”
My mother pulls his arm off me. “Don’t,” she snaps, her voice low and cold. They might not want to leave a mark. He glares at her, but lets me go. I rub my jaw, the ache blooming sharper with every second.
