3.TENSE
AAROHI:
The door didn't open, it exploded inward.
I flinched so hard that my knees scraped the cold marble floor. The handle slammed into the wall, the vibration rushing through the room like a crack of thunder. And then he was there.
Veeransh.
Standing in the doorway like a storm. His presence sucked the air straight out of the room. I felt it-my breath shrinking, my spine curling, my pulse tripping over itself.
His eyes were darker than before, sharper, almost violent in the way they scanned the room like I had done something wrong by existing inside it. He didn't move at first. He just looked at me.
Not with interest, Not with curiosity, With a kind of burning, as if he wanted to crush the world in his hand but had decided to start with this room instead. My fingers curled tightly around the blanket.
He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a firm, final click. The light hum of the air conditioner suddenly felt loud compared to the silence between us. "Get up," he said.
His voice wasn't loud. It was worse. Controlled. Like a blade pulled slowly across stone.
I pushed myself up with shaking hands, legs barely supporting me as I backed away instinctively. My back hit the wall beside the bed. He walked toward me with a predator's pace, unhurried, absolutely certain. I had nowhere to run.
The mattress dipped slightly under my hand as I tried to steady myself. His shadow fell over me, and I swallowed hard. "I... I need-" My voice cracked. I forced the words past the lump in my throat.
"Please... I need my phone. I...want to...talk to my...mother. Just for... one minute. She'll be worried, she-"
The temperature in the room dropped. He didn't shout immediately. He stilled. Then his eyes narrowed, slow, deliberate like he was tasting the sentence I'd dared to speak in front of him. "What," he said softly, dangerously, "did you just ask me?"
His tone made my knees shake harder. "M-my phone," I whispered. "Please... let me tell my mother I'm safe." His jaw tightened.
Then, he exploded. "You don't get a phone!" he roared. The weight of his voice made me tremble. I jerked back so quickly that the side of my head hit the wall.
"You don't call anyone!" he continued, stepping closer, his chest rising and falling with barely checked fury.
"You don't talk to anyone. You don't ask for anything." I pressed myself against the wall as far as my body would go, but he kept advancing.
His anger wasn't wild, it was sharp, cutting, precise-like every word was aimed. Like every sentence was a commandment I had already broken.
"You think this is a negotiation?" He laughed once, a cold, humorless sound. "You think just because you signed your name you still have choices?"
"I-I didn't mean-"
"Stop.talking.now"
My mouth shut instantly. He planted one hand against the wall beside my head. Not touching me, just trapping me. His other hand gripped the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the mattress as if squeezing it kept him from squeezing my throat.
"The world is watching me," he said, voice low, trembling with restrained violence. "Reporters. Investors. Enemies. And you" His eyes flicked to my trembling hands.
"You're asking for a phone? To chat?"
My breath hitched at the sudden sharpness in his tone. He leaned closer, his voice a low growl in my ear. "You don't know how many rules you've already broken without even trying."
My heart was hammered. I didn't know what I had done besides breathing.
He stepped back abruptly, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair. The anger wasn't gone, it had simply changed shape. Controlled again. Solid. Dangerous.
"You stay in this room," he said. His voice had returned to that terrifying calm.
"You don't leave. You don't speak unless spoken to. And you don't ask for a phone ever again."
"Please..." I whispered, barely audible. "She'll worry. My mother-" He turned on me so fast I gasped. "Your mother is alive," he snapped. "Because you listened earlier. Don't test the conditions."
My stomach dropped. My breath froze. He had said it so easily. Like life and death were just... decisions. My knees buckled and I sank onto the corner of the bed, covering my face with my hands. I didn't cry, not out loud. My chest hurt too much to let it sound out.
He stood there, watching me. Not moved. Not softened. Just assessing, like I was another problem to manage. He didn't offer comfort. He didn't offer anything.
Except rules. Except fear.Except the reminder that I was trapped here because he wanted me trapped.
He walked to the door, paused, and looked over his shoulder. "You'll sleep there," he said, nodding toward the corner of the bed where I curled up. "Not the middle. Not the other side. There."
I nodded quickly. He didn't wait for more. The door clicked shut behind him.
I stayed exactly where he left me, curled in the corner of the mattress, too afraid to move,to breathe loudly, to the silence that followed.
The room felt colder. Darker. Smaller. And I knew one thing, This wasn't a marriage. This was captivity.
The silence in the room stretched so long it began to feel alive. My knees hugged to my chest, my cheek pressed against the cold headboard. I didn't move, didn't shift, didn't dare change position.
Every time I even considered stretching my legs, the memory of his voice , sharp, commanding, furious echoed behind my ribs. "You'll sleep there." My body obeyed even hours later. Time didn't move normally inside that room. It thickened. Slowed. Turned into something heavy and suffocating.
My stomach growled for the first time around... whatever time it was. There was no clock here. No phone. No window wide enough to tell anything except that the sky had grown darker.
The hunger wasn't small. It was sharp and twisted, biting me from the inside. I had eaten nothing since morning, maybe earlier. Everything had happened too fast, too violently, for me to keep track.
My throat felt dry. The room felt colder. And the echo of his shouting still clung to the walls like smoke.
I tried not to think about my mother. Every time I did, panic surged like a wave threatening to drag me under.
Is she safe? Is she scared? Is she looking for me?
I shut my eyes tightly, pressing my forehead against my knees. I couldn't cry. I couldn't do anything.
I couldn't even step off the bed because what if he walked in again and saw me where I wasn't supposed to be? So I stayed still. Still and hungry. The hours crawled by.
My stomach twisted again, louder this time. I pressed my hand to it, embarrassed even though no one was here. Then, a soft knock. Not loud. Not aggressive. The opposite of him.
My head jerked up. Another small, hesitant knock. I stayed frozen for a second, unsure if this was a test he had set, some trap to see if I would break another unknown rule.
Then a gentle voice whispered through the door, "Madam... may I come in?" The title felt wrong. I swallowed.
"Yes," I whispered. The door opened slowly, just enough for a woman to step inside. Her dress was simple, her hair in a neat bun, her eyes soft in a way no one else's in this house seemed capable of being.
She carried a silver tray with both hands. I could smell the food before she even crossed the threshold. My mouth watered painfully. She closed the door behind her and approached cautiously, as if afraid to startle me.
"I'm sorry," she said immediately, guilt written into every line of her face. "I'm very late. I should've come sooner."
"You're fine," I whispered back, pulling my legs closer so she could set the tray down on the bed. "No, madam, I'm not." She shook her head nervously.
"Our whole staff knows. Without Mr. Sarkar's permission, we cannot bring you food. We cannot talk to you. We cannot knock. We cannot-"
She bit her lip hard, as if realizing she had said too much. I stared at her, my voice small. ".....h...he .. said that?
She hesitated. Then nodded. Slowly.
"He controls everything in this house," she whispered, glancing around as if the walls themselves might report her. "And today... he was quite angry. Very angry, actually. The news upset him."
"The... news?" My voice was barely audible.
She set the tray down gently and straightened the utensils.
"About your marriage. It's everywhere now." My stomach clenched, not from hunger. Her eyes softened.
"Everyone is scared today. Staff aren't allowed in this wing at all right now." I frowned. "Then why are you here?" Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I couldn't leave you hungry," she whispered. "No one should be left hungry, madam. Especially not on their first night."
Her kindness cracked something in my chest. I blinked rapidly, trying to pull myself together.
"Thank you," I murmured, hands shaking as I reached for the roti. I ate fast, too fast, and the maid gently touched my wrist to slow me. "Easy, easy. No one will take it away from you."
But that wasn't true. Everything in this house could be taken away. Everything depended on his anger.
The maid stepped back once she saw I was eating, keeping her hands clasped in front of her, posture tense.
"Madam," she said softly, "if anyone asks, tonight's food was delivered exactly at nine. Not a minute earlier."
I paused mid-bite. "Why?" Her eyes darted to the door. Then to my face. Then down.
"Because... Mr. Sarkar gave permission at eight fifty-nine," she whispered. "Not before." The roti nearly slipped from my fingers. He had waited. On purpose.
Not because he forgot. Not because he was busy. Because timing was part of punishment. He wanted me hungry. He wanted me waiting. He wanted me to learn obedience through emptiness.
My throat tightened. The maid gave me one last apologetic look.
"If you need anything... I'm sorry, madam." She corrected herself with a sad smile. "I have to pretend I don't hear." The words carved into me.
"Goodnight," she whispered. And then she slipped out, closing the door quietly. The room returned to silence. My plate rested on my lap. My heartbeat thudded in my ears.
I finished the meal in small, shaking bites. Then curled myself back into the corner of the bed. The same spot. The place he told me to be. The only place I felt slightly safer because it was the place he ordered.
The night stretched endlessly ahead. And I lay there in the corner, hugging myself, desperate not for sleep, but for the simple freedom to breathe without permission.