02
SHIVANI
“I told you not to eat that pastry yesterday. Now look—this dress is tight.” My mother sighs in disappointment as she glares at my reflection in the mirror.
"You can’t get any fatter, Shivani. You have to impress the groom.” She stops speaking, gives me another glance, and then shakes her head.
“Who’s going to like you if you look like this?” She questions me with disappointment and disgust, and instead of saying something, I stay quiet. I don’t want her to hit me. I’m twenty-two—an adult. But that doesn’t stop her from using force or violence on me.
Earlier, these words used to make me cry. But now… they just settle inside me like a heavy stone. I’m used to it now.
“I don’t know what I did wrong to have a daughter with a body like yours.” She passes another comment, and she says it so casually, like it’s normal. But it’s not. It hurts.
"It was a mistake having you. I wish you were never born." She mutters it under her breath, like she’s talking to herself, but I hear it. My head snaps to where she is standing, pain building in my stomach. Every word lands like a punch.
My eyes travel to my reflection in the mirror—a young woman with a broken spirit. My mother’s constant criticism has chipped away at my self-worth.
Sometimes, I try to see myself differently, to believe I look good... but her voice always creeps in, drowning out every kind thing I try to say to myself. She has taken away my everything.
I’m fat. I have stretch marks. My hair is thinning, and at this rate, I’ll be bald in a year or two. Nothing about me feels good enough; I am not beautiful like others. Maybe she’s right.
Yesterday, I met Rudraksh’s mother. She seemed kind—at least on the surface. I’ve seen what people are like when others are watching. They hide behind their facade. Even my own mother wears a sweet, caring mask in public and becomes a monster behind closed doors.
I just hope, for my own sanity, that my future mother-in-law is truly kind.
Yesterday, when my mom commented in front of her that I’ve "gained a little weight," I wanted the ground to swallow me.
But my to-be mother-in-law stepped in with a smile and said, "She’s absolutely gorgeous.
" Her words, not mine. And her sudden compliment surprised me; not only that, but it also shut my mom up instantly.
For a fleeting moment, I felt something unfamiliar—hope.
But a name puts a full stop on my thoughts.
Rudraksh Malhotra.
I’m not ready to meet Rudraksh yet; I know I have to. But I’m scared. Nervous. Slowly, I caress down the dress I am wearing with my shaky hands.
It’s not like he’ll bite me, but still...
After the engagement was discussed, I googled him. Photos flooded the screen. Rudraksh Malhotra. He’s... handsome. I’ll admit that. Brown eyes that look like they see everything but reveal nothing. Sharp jawline. Chiseled features. Muscular build.
He looks like he was carved from stone. But there’s something in his eyes—cold, distant.
Unapproachable. And I can’t help but wonder what he’s really like beneath that intimidating exterior. Why does he look so cold? Is it just a photo, or is that really him?
Now, in just a few minutes, I’ll be meeting him face-to-face. What if he’s cruel like my mother? What if he sees me and changes his mind? Or worse, agrees just to humiliate me later. My father will kill me if that happens.
I glance at myself in the mirror. Mother made me wear a plain black suit with a matching dupatta embroidered with delicate Chikankari work.
I actually like it. But not the reason she picked it for.
According to her, black makes me look thinner.
And thinner means more attractive. She is doing this so that my soon-to-be husband likes me, but will he really?
Ignoring every thought with a small shake of my head and a deep breath, I began working on my hair. I style my hair the usual way—open, no fancy tricks. Minimal makeup. Just eyeliner, kajal, and a small black bindi.
"You look better,” she says, giving me a once-over. "The driver’s waiting. Go."
Before I can leave, she grabs my arm—tight, harsh, like she always does when she wants something and to make a point. The grip stings, her fingers digging into my flesh. It’ll probably leave a bruise.
“You better behave, Shivani. Don’t mess this up. For your sake.” Her voice dangerously low, threatening me, and I nod. She lets go the next instant, but not without one last warning glare.
I walk out, flexing my arm as I try to soothe the pain. The car is already waiting, so I quickly jog to the car and slide into the back seat. Something I don't really do.
Madhav Uncle, our driver, has always been more like a father to me than my real father.
Since childhood, he’s known how my day was, my likes, my dislikes, and my dreams—more than my parents ever bothered to.
I usually sit up front with him, but today.
.. My mother is still watching me from the terrace. So, I follow the rulebook.
Backseat. Obedient daughter.
"Are you nervous?" Madhav Uncle asks as he pulls the car into gear.
"More than nervous," I admit, biting my nails. I hate the habit. But I can’t stop. I’ve tried. Nervousness gets the worst out of me.
“It’s going to be okay,” he assures, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
“If you don’t like him, just let me know and I’ll help you run away from the marriage. Don’t stress.” He suggests I give him a small smile.
"You know I’d never put you at risk, Uncle."
He looks ahead with a small nod and says firmly, “I want you to be happy and safe, beta. I’ll do anything for that.” Tears sting in the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away.
He’s the only one who’s ever made me feel protected, so I will never do something to put him in the line of fire.
The car screeches to a stop, and a thundering realization settles on my shoulders.
We’ve arrived.
I take a deep breath and glance at Uncle one last time.
You’ve got this, Shivani. He’s not going to kill you. It’s just a conversation. He won't kill you. He won't mock you. It’s just a conversation with a man. I try to pacify my heart, but the dread doesn't stop from freezing my spine.
Slowly, I step out of the car, heart pounding in my ears. I will survive this. I have to. I have survived worse; I can survive this, this too.