🌙 Aanya’s POV
One week into marriage.
And I’d mastered the art of smiling through suffocation.
The house echoed with laughs, poojas, samosas, and overly interested aunties with zero boundaries.
Everyone loved me… at least to my face.
But there’s always one.
One person in every family gathering who exists just to throw taunts like they’re confetti at a toxic wedding.
For me, that person was Kabir’s Chachi — Rajshree Rathore.
---
Today was another ritual.
“Post-wedding blessings,” they said.
More like publicly test the new bride’s patience ceremony.
I wore a plain yellow kurta, no makeup, just a tiny bindi to keep the “log kya kahenge” brigade at bay.
> “Thak gayi hogi. Aakhir itni bigdi sheher wali ladki ke liye toh yeh sab naye hai,” Chachi’s voice sliced through the room like a bad ringtone.
I turned my head slowly, pretending not to hear.
> “Na ghar ke kaam ki aadat, na sanskaaron ka pata. Bas attitude lekar aa gayi hai…”
I looked up.
> “Excuse me?” I asked, tone calm but eyes blazing.
She smiled — fake and shiny.
> “Arey beta, mazaak kar rahi hoon.”
> “Haan. Toh hassi toh tab aani chahiye na?”
The room tensed.
Kabir was across the hall, watching. Not reacting.
Of course.
---
The rituals continued. Sweets were passed, blessings showered, photos clicked.
Chachi, meanwhile, kept sprinkling her venom.
> “Kabir ke layak ladki toh kisi gaon ki seedhi-saadhi hoti. Par kya karein… Kabir bhi zidd pe aa gaya.”
I felt my hands curl into fists.
---
😤 Kabir’s POV
I had heard every word.
I had watched Aanya swallow insult after insult — not because she was weak, but because she was trying.
She was trying to be civil in a home full of well-dressed daggers.
And that’s when Chachi said it —
> “Iss ladki ki toh aukaat hi nahi Kabir ke ghar mein shaadi karne ki.”
The air shifted.
My mother’s spoon froze mid-air. Tanya stopped scrolling.
Aanya turned, her expression unreadable — not anger… pain. Quiet, gutting pain.
I stood.
> “Bas. Bohot ho gaya.”
The room fell silent.
> “Chachi,” I said, walking over. “Aapko lagta hai kisi ki aukaat aap define karti hain?”
> “Beta, main toh—”
> “Nahi. Aap bolti hain, baar baar. Niche le jaati hain. Kisi aurat ke self-respect ko roz taana maarna ‘mazaak’ nahi hota.”
Her face paled.
> “Aur Aanya… meri patni hai. Agar aapko problem hai, toh aapko problem mujhse hai.”
Aanya blinked.
The room? Dead silent.
---
> “Yeh ghar har kisi ka hai. Par iss ghar mein tameez sabse pehle aati hai.”
I turned to Aanya.
> “Let’s go.”
She didn’t move for a second.
Then stood and walked out with me.
Heads turned. Mouths shut.
For once — she wasn’t alone in the room.
---
🌑 Later That Night — Shared Room
Aanya sat quietly by the window. No sarcasm. No sighs.
Just… silence.
> “You didn’t have to do that,” she said finally.
> “Yes, I did.”
> “It’ll create drama.”
> “It already was drama. I just rewrote the ending.”
I walked to my side of the bed and sat down.
She looked at me for a long time.
> “Why now?”
I shrugged.
> “Maybe I got tired of watching you fight alone.”
Pause.
> “Maybe I don’t like bullies.”
She gave a dry chuckle.
> “Or maybe you're not as grumpy as you act.”
> “Careful,” I smirked. “You’ll ruin my image.”
> “I already have. Married you, remember?”
We both laughed.
Genuinely.
---
Later, lights off, both of us lying in bed — no pillow wall tonight.
> “Kabir…” she said softly.
> “Hmm?”
> “Thank you. Really.”
> “Mat sochna. Bas accept kar lo.”
She turned to me.
For a second, just one — the enemies disappeared.
All that remained were two people… trying.
---
That night, I woke up thirsty and headed to the kitchen. On my way back, I saw Aanya near the hallway cabinet.
She was holding the envelope again.
The one with her name.
I froze.
> “Kabir…” she whispered. “Why is this hidden?”
> “Please don’t open it,” I said, firmer than I intended.
> “Why?”
> “Because… it’ll change things.”
She looked into my eyes.
> “They’ve already changed.”
---
🌧️ Closing Scene — Storm Brews
Rain lashed against the windows. The wind howled like a warning.
Aanya stood near the window, drenched in thought.
And I knew…
It had begun.
Not just our marriage.
Not just her rebellion.
But the unraveling.
Of secrets.
Of lies.
Of something that should’ve stayed buried — but now had Aanya’s name written on it
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