26.PACKING
AAROHI:
Morning comes softly today. Not with pain screaming through my body or fear sitting heavy on my chest, but with sunlight slipping through the curtains, warm and quiet, like it's asking permission before touching me. I open my eyes slowly.
For a moment, I don't remember where I am. Then the room settles into focus, the high ceiling, the pale walls, the faint smell of medicine still lingering in the air, and reality returns, steady and unavoidable.
Sarkar mansion. My room. His house. But something is different. I move my foot cautiously, bracing myself for pain. It hurts, but less. Much less.
The wound is healing. That realization makes my chest feel light in a way I'm not used to. I sit up carefully, testing my balance. My head doesn't spin today. My throat feels tight, but not locked. I swallow slowly. I can walk.
That thought alone feels like a small victory. After bathing, I stand in front of the mirror longer than usual. My skin looks healthier than it did days ago. The dark circles haven't vanished, but they're lighter. My voice, still fragile, comes out when I test it.
Soft. Shaky. But there. I change into a simple salwar suit, tie my hair loosely, and for the first time in days, I don't feel like I might collapse any second. The room feels too quiet. I step outside.
The corridor is empty, sunlight pouring through tall windows.
Somewhere downstairs, I hear faint voices, staff moving about, the house waking into its rhythm.
I remember what the maid said last night.
Sir is not going to office tomorrow. That thought stays with me as I walk slowly toward the garden.
The air outside is fresh, cool, carrying the scent of flowers I don't know the names of.
I breathe it in deeply, carefully, like I'm afraid it might disappear.
Someone is already there. Suhana. She's sitting on the low stone bench near the fountain, legs crossed, phone in hand, clearly bored out of her mind.
She looks up the moment she sees me. "Oh," she says, brightening. "You're walking today." I nod, smiling slightly. "Yes." She eyes my foot. "Pain?" "A little," I admit. "But better."
She pats the space beside her. "Come, sit." I do. For a few moments, neither of us speaks. The water trickles softly from the fountain. Birds chirp somewhere above us. Then Suhana sighs dramatically.
"God, it's so boring here," she says. "Sitting at home all day." I glance at her. "You don't go out?" She shrugs. "Usually, yes. But brother is not in a light mood these days." I don't ask why.
She turns toward me suddenly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's go out." I blink. "Out?" "Yes. Movie. Mall. Something normal." She grins. "It'll be fun." My heart jumps, and then sinks.
"I can't," I say instinctively. She frowns.
"Why not?" I hesitate, fingers twisting together in my lap.
"I mean... he doesn't." I stop, inhale. "He won't like it.
" Suhana rolls her eyes. "Brother doesn't like anything.
" That almost makes me smile. She stands abruptly.
"I'm going to get ready." I look up, startled. "Ready?"
"Yes," she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"You go ask him. If he says yes, we go." My breath catches.
"Me?" She nods confidently. "He won't say no to you.
" The words land heavier than she probably intends.
I stand slowly. "Are you sure?" She waves a hand dismissively.
"Of course. Just ask. I'll be back." And just like that, she's gone.
I remain standing in the garden, heart pounding. Ask him. The idea alone tightens my chest. I haven't gone to him without being called in days. Weeks. Every time I step into his space uninvited, something goes wrong.
But Suhana is already halfway up the stairs. I tell myself this is small. Just a movie. Just a question. I turn back inside. The mansion feels quieter now, heavier. My footsteps echo faintly as I walk toward his study.
The closer I get, the more my courage thins. What if he's angry. What if he thinks I'm asking too much. What if. I stop in front of the door. It's closed. My hand lifts automatically, then freezes. I can hear his voice inside. Low. Controlled. Sharp. On the phone. I don't knock. I don't know why.
I push the door open slowly and stay standing near the frame, half hidden, like I might disappear if I don't step fully inside. He's standing behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear, brows drawn together. Papers are scattered across the table. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up.
He looks tense. I take one step inside. The floor creaks softly.
His eyes flick up instantly. They land on me.
The call ends. "Why are you hanging around?
" he asks, voice clipped. I flinch, but force myself to stay still.
He studies me for a moment, gaze dropping to my foot. "Is your wound fine?" he adds.
"Yes," I say softly. "Better." "Then why are you here?" My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. He exhales sharply. "Speak clearly." "Suhana," I begin. His eyes narrow. "What about Suhana?" I swallow. My palms are damp. "Suhana said... that we go out." Silence stretches between us.
I rush to clarify. "I didn't tell her I'm going.
She said to ask you." He leans back against the desk, arms crossing slowly.
"For what?" "Movie," I say. "Just for sometime.
" He watches me without blinking. "You want to go out?
" he asks. The way he says it makes it sound like a test. I nod. "With her." His jaw tightens slightly.
"And whose idea was this?" "Hers." "And you agreed.
" "I." I hesitate, then speak honestly. "I just wanted to ask.
" The room feels smaller suddenly. He pushes off the desk and walks toward me.
Each step is measured. Controlled. I don't move.
He stops a few feet away. "You didn't think to ask me first," he says quietly.
"I am asking," I reply, voice trembling.
His gaze lingers on my face, my throat, my hands.
"How long?" he asks. "Just a movie." "With how many people?
" "Just us." He looks away for a moment, jaw clenched, then back at me.
"You're still recovering." "I feel fine," I say quickly.
"I walked here." "That doesn't mean you're fine. " I lower my eyes.
He's silent for so long I start to think he won't answer at all. Then. "Sit," he says suddenly. I hesitate. "Sit," he repeats. I move to the chair near the desk and sit carefully.
He returns to his side of the desk, fingers drumming against the wood. "You don't go anywhere without permission," he says flatly. I nod. "I know." "You don't make plans without informing me." "I know."
He studies me again. The silence stretches.
Finally, he says, "I'll think about it." My head lifts in surprise.
"You mean?" "I said I'll think about it," he cuts in.
"That's not a yes." "But not a no either," Suhana's voice suddenly chimes from the doorway.
I turn. She's standing there, dressed and grinning like she's already won. He shoots her a warning look.
"Suhana," he says sharply. She raises her hands.
"Okay, okay. I'm leaving." She winks at me before disappearing.
I look back at him. "Go?" I ask softly. He sighs, rubbing his temple.
"Go back to the garden," he says. "I'll tell you later.
" That's it. No explanation. No assurance.
But something inside me feels lighter anyway.
I stand carefully. "Thank you." He doesn't respond. As I turn to leave, his voice stops me. "Aarohi." I pause. "Don't assume freedom," he says quietly. "Everything here comes with conditions."
I nod slowly. "I understand." I leave the room with my heart pounding, but not with fear. With something else. Something fragile. Something that almost feels like hope, but I don't dare name it.
The garden looks different after an hour. Or maybe I do. I sit on the same bench near the fountain, my hands folded in my lap, eyes fixed on the water that keeps flowing like it has nowhere else to be.
Suhana hasn't come back yet. Maybe she's busy. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she already knows the answer. I keep replaying his words in my head. "I'll think about it."
Not yes. Not no. Just a space where anything could happen. The air is cooler now. A faint breeze brushes past my face, lifting a few loose strands of hair. I tuck them back, my fingers trembling slightly.
I shouldn't have asked. That thought keeps circling back, sharp and insistent. Every time I ask for something, something normal, it turns into a reminder of where I stand. Still, I wait.
I don't know why. Maybe because some part of me hopes. Footsteps approach from behind. I don't turn immediately. I already know who it is. The air changes when he's near.
It always does, like the garden itself stiffens, stands straighter. I rise slowly from the bench, careful with my foot. He stops a few steps away. "You asked," he says.
My heart jumps. I turn to face him. "Yes," I reply softly.
"Can I go?" He looks at me the way he does when he's already decided.
"No." The word lands cleanly. Final. My shoulders drop before I can stop them.
"I." I start, then stop myself. He continues, voice controlled. "You don't go outside alone."
"With Suhana." "I said no." Silence stretches between us. I nod slowly, forcing myself to accept it. "But I want." I say, even though it stings more than I expected. He watches me for a moment, then says, "Go to your room." I turn to leave. "Pack your bags." I freeze. Slowly, I turn back. "Pack?"
"We're leaving in the morning," he says calmly.
"Vacation." My breath catches. "Where?" "Kashmir.
" The word feels unreal. Kashmir. Snow. Mountains.
A place I've only seen in pictures on old calendars and television screens in café corners.
"That's sudden," I whisper. "How can I." "You have all night," he interrupts. "Pack."
My mind races. Morning. Leaving the city.
Leaving this house, even temporarily. "Kashmir?
" I repeat, just to be sure. "Yes." I don't know whether to feel excited or afraid.
Probably both. "Didn't you say." I hesitate.
"About travel." He steps closer. "I changed my mind," he says flatly. That's it. No explanation. No reason.
Just his will. I nod, unsure what else to do.
As I turn again, his voice stops me. "Wait.
" A maid brings a medium sized velvet pouch.
Dark red. Heavy. He holds it out to me. "Take it.
" I hesitate before accepting it. The fabric feels rich beneath my fingers.
"Inside," he says, "are things you'll need. " I look up at him, confused.
"Open it." My hands tremble as I loosen the drawstring. Inside. Gold glints softly under the fading sunlight. A dulhan chuda, red and white bangles, pristine, unmistakable.
A mangalsutra, gold beads catching the light. And a small sindoor box, polished, traditional. My throat tightens. He watches my reaction closely. "These are mandatory," he says.
"You are my wife." The words feel heavier than any ornament. "And you will wear them," he continues, "because they are the sign of a newly married bride." My fingers curl around the edge of the pouch.
I don't know what to say. Part of me feels exposed.
Marked. Seen in a way I never asked for.
Another part, quiet, traitorous, feels acknowledged.
"I." I try to speak, but my voice falters.
"You don't need to say anything," he says.
"Just be ready." He turns away before I can respond.
I stand there long after he's gone, the pouch clutched tightly to my chest.
The garden feels too open suddenly. Too many questions. Too many feelings I don't have names for. I walk back to my room slowly. Once inside, I lock the door behind me and sit on the edge of the bed.
I empty the pouch carefully. The bangles clink softly as I place them on the bedspread. The mangalsutra feels cool and solid in my palm. I touch the sindoor box last.
My reflection in the mirror looks different. Not just tired. Changed. I open the cupboard and start packing mechanically, clothes, shawls, sweaters I barely own. The maid knocks and helps silently, efficiently.
Night deepens outside the window. Somewhere in the house, I hear his footsteps moving, commands being given, plans being set into motion. By the time I finish packing, my body aches, but my mind refuses to rest.
Kashmir. Vacation. Together. I sit on the bed, holding the mangalsutra in my hands, fingers tracing the beads. I don't know what this trip means. I don't know what he expects from me. I only know this. Tomorrow, I'll be somewhere new. With him. And nothing about that feels simple.