I give my mother one last glance and walk out of the house.
Out of this prison.
The first person I see is Madhav uncle. I run to him and hug him tight. He gently pats my head. The way a father should. It’s always been him, not that man inside, who has felt like my real parent.
I remember wishing during my wedding that he could have done the kanyadaan instead of my father. Because he deserves to. Because he’s the one who’s actually cared.
A car screeches to a halt behind me. The door slams, and I feel it before I see it.
Rudraksh.
I turn, and there he is—his eyes dark, his jaw clenched, anger radiating off him.
Tears prick my eyes. I don’t know what comes over me. I run to him and throw my arms around him.
He freezes at first. But then I feel it—his hands slowly moving and then resting on my back. He hugs me back.
It hurts. My side aches. My back stings. But I don’t care. The physical pain is nothing compared to the relief of being with him again. I wipe the lone tear that slips out. I don’t want him to see me cry.
Slowly, I step back a little, and he stares at me, eyes full of questions, his voice low and gravelly when he asks, “Are you okay?”
I nod, unable to speak. My throat tightens, and even a small breath feels like a thorn inside. If I speak, I’ll cry again.
“Hello, Mr. Malhotra,” Madhav Uncle says, stepping forward. “I’m Madhav Jha.”
Rudraksh’s head snaps up. He becomes the version of himself the world knows—calm, intimidating. He doesn’t shake Uncle’s extended hand, so I do it instead.
Rudraksh looks at me, annoyed for some reason I can’t figure out.
“I’ve been here since Shivani was ten,” Madhav uncle continues, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If you ever want to hear her embarrassing stories, I’m your guy.”
I gasp. “You can’t tattletale, Uncle! You’re on my side!”
He laughs softly. “Always, bacha.”
I smile. My heart warms at his words. Rudraksh raises an eyebrow at me.
“He’s my best friend,” I say, almost shyly. It’s true. I’ve always gone to Uncle when I needed to vent. He doesn’t know everything about what my parents do—because I wanted to protect him. But once, when I had a handprint on my face, he saw it. I was always careful with my injuries and wounds, but not that day. He wanted to confront them after knowing about how I got it, but I stopped him.
If it weren’t for him, I don’t think I would’ve made it this far. “I’m Rathore sir’s driver,” Uncle adds.
Rudraksh nods in understanding and finally shakes Uncle’s hand.
“Take care of her,” Uncle says gently and opens the car door for Rudraksh. He nods at him and quietly gets in.
Uncle turns to me. “You’ve got a good husband. He won’t hurt you, Shivani. I can finally live in peace now.”
He walks me to the other side of the car, and I hug him tightly, not wanting to let go. “You take care of yourself, too, okay?” he says, patting my head again.
I nod, blinking back tears, and get in the car.
He places my bag in the back seat, and we drive off.
Away from that house. That so-called home.
Away from the prison.
22
