7. SICK
AAROHI:
My lungs felt too small.
Every breath scraped the inside of my chest like it had to fight for a place inside me.
My fingers shook against the armrest, my vision blurring around the edges. I tried to sit straight, because he was watching me, because I knew he hated weakness, but my spine kept folding on its own.
He didn't move from in front of me. He just watched. His shadow stretched across my knees, long and still, like the shadow of something carved from stone rather than flesh.
I tried again "I... I" The sound broke halfway out of my throat, dissolving into a thin, desperate cough.
His jaw tightened. The door opened. Footsteps rushed in, soft but quick.
"Sir, the doctor is here."
I wanted to smile in relief, but my chest tightened again before I could. The coughing seized my body so violently I had to bend forward, my hands gripping the edge of the chair.
The doctor, a woman in her late forties, knelt beside me immediately. "What happened?" she asked sharply.
"She can't breathe properly," he said from behind me, voice clipped, irritated, not a single hint of concern.
I lowered my head, embarrassed. My hair slid over my face, hiding how red my eyes had gotten. The doctor's hand touched my forehead, then my pulse.
"How long has she been like this?" she asked.
"Five minutes," he replied.
"No," the doctor shook her head gently. "I meant... "How long has she had this breathing issue?" I swallowed hard, tasting something metallic at the back of my throat.
"I... had it... when I was small..." I whispered. "But... it... it... didn't come... this much."
My voice shook so badly the words came out warped, chopped into pieces. The doctor's brows pulled together.
"Does your voice often fail you like this?" I nodded slowly.
"Since... since... childhood."
"And the coughing?" she asked softly. I hesitated. My chest tightened again.
"Wh-when I get... stressed..." I stuttered. "Or... s-scared."
The doctor turned, looking up at him. He didn't react. He didn't blink. His eyes stayed on me, sharp, cold, calculating, as if she were diagnosing an expensive machine instead of a person.
The doctor took a small penlight from her bag and lifted my chin with gentle fingers.
"Look up, dear."
The light stung my eyes, but I forced them open. She watched me carefully, then traced her fingers lightly down my throat, feeling the tension gathered there.
"It's not new," she murmured.
"This isn't a sudden illness. This is a condition she's had for a very long time. Her vocal cords tighten under pressure. Severe stress makes her breathing shallow. If pushed too hard, it can provoke coughing fits." She glanced over her shoulder again.
"At this moment, it's worse."
Worse. I knew. I could feel it.
Every breath tasted like panic instead of air. The doctor pressed her hand against my upper back, helping me lean forward just enough so the airflow eased.
"Deep breath. Slowly. Don't force it."
I tried. My breath shivered, but it came. Then another. Then one more. She waited until the shaking in my chest dulled from violent to weak before she spoke again.
"You need rest," she said quietly. "Not pressure. Not... whatever has caused this episode." I felt his gaze sharpen behind me. The doctor continued.
"She's physically exhausted. Weak. Dehydrated. And her body's reacting to everything at once. Even emotional shock can trigger this."
The doctor's hand rubbed my upper back gently, but her eyes lifted toward him with a seriousness I wasn't supposed to see.
"This is not something you can ignore, sir." He didn't answer. He didn't even breathe differently. The room felt tighter when he was silent, like the walls waited for his reaction.The doctor looked back at me.
"You've been through something recently, haven't you?" The question hit too close. My throat locked, and I nodded before my mind allowed me to reconsider.
She studied my face quietly, her expression softening in a way that made something ache inside my chests, something I had been holding together since the day he forced me to sign that paper.
"Do you want to lie down?" she asked gently.
"No," he cut in before I even opened my mouth. "She stays here until I say otherwise."
The doctor turned slightly, surprised, but said nothing. I lowered my head, fingers curling into the fabric of my clothes. Of course. Of course I couldn't lie down. I didn't get to choose anything here.
Not where I slept. Not when I ate. Not whether I got to speak to my mother. Not whether my lungs belonged to me. The doctor sighed quietly, then sat back.
"I'll give her medication, but stress control is essential. If not, it will get worse. Much worse." I felt his stare burn into the side of my face.
Like my weakness was personally inconveniencing him.Like I was a problem he hadn't expected. The doctor packed her stethoscope away, but before standing, she leaned closer to me and whispered-too softly for him to hear:
"Breathe slowly. Don't try to speak until your chest feels stronger." I nodded faintly. She rose. He stepped aside to let her pass, but his voice stopped her at the door.
"How long until she's functional again?" My breath caught. Not healthy. Not comfortable. Not stable. But Functional, The word stung like a slap. The doctor's jaw tightened. "It's not a machine you're repairing, sir. She's a person."
His silence stretched. Dangerous. Cold. The doctor left without waiting for dismissal. The door closed behind her. And suddenly, the air felt too still. Too quiet. Too tense.
I kept my face down, afraid that if I lifted my eyes, I would see disappointment, or anger, waiting for me.
My chest still shook with every slow breath. I wished I could disappear into the chair. I wished I could make myself small enough that he'd forget I existed.
For one moment, just one, I let myself whisper inside my own head,I want to go home.
But the thought stayed trapped behind my teeth. Because the only person who could allow me even that was standing right in front of me, silent and unreadable, a storm with eyes.
The door clicked shut behind the doctor, and the silence she left behind curled around my ribs tighter than the coughing ever had. He didn't speak. Didn't move. Didn't even blink.
Just watched me. Like I was something he had ordered and it had arrived broken. My fingers dug into the edge of the chair. If I made even one sound, if one breath came out rough or shaky, I knew it would get worse. And it already felt unbearable.
Minutes passed. Or maybe seconds. Time didn't behave normally around him. Finally, he exhaled sharply, the kind of breath that sounded like a decision.
"Get up." My legs were still trembling. The room still swayed faintly. But I pushed myself up because I knew what would happen if I hesitated too long. His shadow moved first.
Then he walked out of the study without checking if I could keep up.
I followed him slowly through the hallway, every step sending a dull ache through my chest. My breath came short again, but I bit down on it hard. If he saw, if he even sensed weakness, he would snap.
He didn't slow once. He reached the door of my room and opened it. I stepped inside immediately, expecting him to shut the door and leave. But he followed. And that was worse.He moved to the table in the corner, setting down a thin folder I hadn't noticed he was carrying.
A thick pen clicked. He didn't look at me when he spoke:
"Sit." I sat. "Don't look confused," he added sharply. "You knew this was coming."
No, I didn't. My stomach twisted. He opened the folder and spread the papers out one by one. Long white sheets covered in legal text and stamps Contracts. Declarations. Proofs. His voice cut through the air like a blade.
"These are the final documents required to secure the full inheritance. Your name, your signature, and your cooperation are needed." He slid the first page toward me.
"Sign."
My fingers froze. The pen felt too heavy to lift. I forced myself to swallow.
"W-what... what is... i-it?" His eyes flicked up, sharp, irritated.
"You don't need to understand it," he said. "You just need to sign it." My breath stuttered. My heart was hammered.
"I... I want to... r-read..."
"No." The word landed like a command carved into stone.
"I don't have time for your stuttering or your hesitation. Sign the papers." My fingers trembled harder. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.
"This," he tapped the paper,
"is the only reason you are here. The only reason you are alive. The only reason your mother is alive." My chest tightened again, harder than before. Not from sickness. From fear.
He slid the next page closer. "You will sign each of them. Properly. Clearly. No shaking, no mistakes." His eyes narrowed. "You understand?"
My lips parted, but no words came out. A soft broken sound escaped instead, humiliatingly small. He stepped closer, towering over me. "Aarohi." My name in his voice felt like a warning. "You will not make this difficult."
Something inside me froze entirely. My voice didn't come. My hands didn't move. Only my breath, shaky, uneven, betrayed me. He stared at the trembling pen between my fingers, and something in his expression darkened.
"You're wasting my time." He grabbed the chair back, spinning it slightly so I was fully facing him.
His face was only inches from mine now, too close, too sharp.
"Listen carefully," he said, each word measured and merciless.
"If you refuse to sign these papers, if you delay even one more minute, your mother will not survive the week.
" My lungs stopped. Every sound in the world disappeared. Only his voice remained.
"She stays alive only because I allow it. Because you are cooperating. If that changes, she is gone." The fear hit so hard I felt my whole body turn cold.
"I" My voice cracked. "P-please... don't..."
"Then sign."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The threat itself screamed louder than anything else could. My fingers closed around the pen. He watched every movement. Every breath. Every tremor.
I lowered the pen to the first line. My signature looked shaky, almost like a child's. He didn't comment. He just pushed the next page.
"Again." I signed. "Next." I signed. And again, And again, And again.
My hand cramped halfway through. My chest tightened again. My eyes blurred.
But I didn't stop. Because stopping meant losing the only person I had left in the world. When the last page was signed, he gathered the papers, stacking them neatly, efficiently, like my panic didn't exist.
"Good," he said curtly.
He didn't praise. Didn't soften. Didn't acknowledge the tears I had bitten back so hard my throat burned. He simply took the folder and walked to the door. Before stepping out, he paused, only for a moment.
"You will be called when needed," he said coldly. "Until then, stay where you belong."
Then he shut the door. The click echoed. And I finally let my breath collapse. I lowered my head to my knees, gripping the edge of the bed until my knuckles whitened... trying to breathe past the terror still strangling my chest.
I had married a stranger.
But now...
I belonged to a monster.