“What?” She asks, her voice booming.
“You’re jealous of me,” I repeat. I look at her—she’s blurry through my tears. “I’m beautiful. You’re not.”
Slowly, I stand up with aching knees. “I am beautiful. You’re not. Beauty isn’t just about looks. It’s also about the heart.” I take a step toward her, gathering all the courage I can. “Your heart is black. You’re not beautiful from within.”
I stare into her eyes as my heart thuds in my ears. She looks at me with her mouth agape, speechless and shocked. I’ve never spoken to her like this. Never dared to stand up to her. But the way she was talking about me—about Rudra—it ignited something in me. Something strong and defiant.
“You?” She scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“I’m jealous of you?” She laughs maniacally, throwing her head back. “You’ve become arrogant, huh?” She glares at me as he raises her hand to slap me, but I stop it. I catch her hand before she can even hit me.
I’m not going to back down. Rudra would be proud of me if he knew.
“Why are you so afraid of me telling anything to Rudra?” I ask instead. Her face goes pale at my question, and I push her hand away.
“He took away your shares. If he wants, he’ll take the company too,” I say, moving toward her, my voice coming out dangerously low. “Don’t touch me again. I’ll tell him everything otherwise.”
Then, I meet her eyes and find her face is red—anger or embarrassment, I don’t know. But she doesn’t say anything further. She storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
A shaky breath exhales through my mouth as I sit on the bed, my heart racing and my breathing uneven. I can still feel the adrenaline coursing through me, making my hands tremble. I can’t believe I just stood up to her.
I close my eyes and try to calm myself. I take deep breaths, and I rub my chest. Slowly, my heartbeat slows down. My breathing steadies. I feel a sense of accomplishment. A new sense of confidence. But it is soon replaced by panic.
What have I done?
Oh no. She’s going to tell Father everything. And no matter what—I can’t fight him. I know what he’s capable of. He has no remorse. He might as well kill me.
Oh my God. What have I done?
The thought of what he might do to me makes my blood run cold. Images of all the worst-case scenarios flood my brain. My heart races again. Dread settles in my stomach. I have to think of something. Some way out. The door bursts open before I can move.
It’s my father. He’s angry—the angriest I’ve ever seen him. My blood runs cold, and a lump forms in my throat. I am afraid. That’s an understatement. He walks in with his thundering steps, and my breath ceases. My mother is just behind him. She closes the door behind her, a triumphant smirk on her face.
“Take off her clothes,” he says to my mother, and she smirks at me. My eyes widen, and tears fall freely. No. I haven’t been given that punishment since I was twelve.
“No. No, Father, please—” But he sits on the chair, lighting his cigarette. My mother walks toward me.
“Don’t worry. It’s not what you think,” she says, still smiling. How can she enjoy this—being a woman? She unzips my anarkali; it pools around me on the ground. They stare at me.
“You’ve gained weight,” my mother comments. I can’t think of anything to retort back but cry.
“Ugly pig,” my father taunts, taking off his belt.
My eyes widen. Not the belt. Please. He hands it to my mother, and she whips it across my back. I stumble with thesharp impact and fall to the ground. The piercing pain stretches out on my back, and a wince escapes from my mouth.
“Count,” she commands through her gritted teeth as she does it again, and I scream.
“Count—or this goes on forever,” she warns, before pulling back the belt again.
“One,” I whisper, broken. Humiliation engulfs me, and I don't dare raise my eyes from the ground. From the peripheral vision I catch my father watching, entertained. He looks at me like a hungry predator. What a horrible man he is!
I wince every time she hits me; tears spring to my eyes as burning pain spreads out across my back.
It goes on for a while, and I’m in pain—unbearable pain.
“That’s it, Meera,” my father finally reminds my mother. “We have to return her tomorrow.” My mother backs away, then bends and forcefully lifts my chin.
“You know how to hide these scars, don’t you?” She asks, there's a triumphant shine in her eyes as she looks at me, and I sob. What kind of monster is she?
