FORCED
I thought I could slip away unnoticed.
I thought the darkness in the hallway would hide me,
carry me back to Vihaan’s room,
back to the only place that felt even a little safe.
But she saw me. That woman.
Our eyes met for a heartbeat.
And everything changed.
Before I could turn, before my feet could move, my father grabbed me, while he stood only with a towel wrapped around his waist.
I remember shouting.
I remember trying to pull free.
I remember the sound of my own voice — loud, desperate —
echoing against walls that had never once defended us.
I was thirteen.
Thirteen — still a child,
still small enough to believe that adults were supposed to protect you.
That night, something inside me shattered quietly.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not with noise.
But like a thin sheet of glass cracking under pressure.
I won’t remember it in clear pictures.
My mind keeps it blurred,
like a window fogged by breath.
But I remember the feeling.
The fear.
The betrayal.
The sudden understanding that I was not safe. Even around my own father.
The woman ranaway after wearing her dress. Only me and my father was left in that room.
And my own father. My own father assaulted me and threatened me to not say this to anyone or else he would kill Vihaan.
“Are you going to get down or what?”
Adithya’s voice sliced through my thoughts.
I blinked.
The road, the wind, the memories — all of it dissolved. I stepped off the bike slowly, my legs still carrying the weight of places I had just revisited in my mind.
He unlocked the house without another word. The door creaked open, and we stepped inside.
The silence followed us in.
I slid down to the corner of the living room floor, my back against the wall, knees slightly drawn in. My phone felt heavy in my hand, but I unlocked it anyway — scrolling without seeing, reading without understanding.
Adithya walked straight to his room.
For a moment, I just sat there.
Alone with the quiet.
Alone with the memories that never knock before entering.
I dialled Vihaan's number and pressed the phone on my ear as I leaned back on the wall.
He answered on the first ring.
Like he had been waiting.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound normal.
“Hello,” he whispered.
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
“Huh? Nothing,” he replied too quickly.
I closed my eyes. We had grown up reading between each other’s silences.
“I was just… a little bored. Can I come there and meet you?” he asked.
For a second — just a second — I almost said yes.
Yes, come. Sit next to me. Don’t leave.
But I swallowed it.
“No,” I said immediately. “No need. I’m fine here.”
The lie tasted familiar.
“You didn’t seem to,” he said softly.
Of course he noticed.
He always does.
“Leave that,” I brushed it off. “What are you doing?”
“Doing Zara’s project work,” he sighed dramatically. “Drawing a peacock.”
I smiled despite everything. “And what is she doing?”
“She,” he said with exaggerated suffering, “is supervising. Watching Peppa Pig.”
As if on cue, a tiny voice burst through the phone speaker—
“I am a pig! Oink oink!”
Zara’s voice was loud and proud.
I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped me.
For the first time that evening, it wasn’t forced.
“She is making me draw feathers again and again,” he muttered. “Apparently peacocks need to be ‘more sparkly.’”
I leaned my head against the wall, smiling properly now.
In the background, Zara repeated, “Oink oink!” followed by what sounded like jumping noises.
That house.
That chaos.
That warmth.
It was everything mine had never been.
“Put her on the call,” I said.
“No,” he replied instantly. “She’ll steal you from me and talk for 2 hours straight.”
I laughed softly.
And for a moment, the heaviness in my chest loosened.
“Vihaan… I actually called you for a reason,” I said, tracing invisible lines on the floor with my finger.
“What?” he asked, alert immediately.
“Recommend a job for Mr. Justice Saviour.”
“Eh? Who?” he sounded genuinely confused.
“I mean… Adithya,” I muttered.
There was a pause.
A small one.
“Why?” he asked carefully. “That’s not our cup of tea.”
I let out a slow breath. “If he gets a good job, he’ll earn well… and then he can take good care of me.”
The words sounded strange even to my own ears.
“Okay,” he said finally.
Just one word.
But layered.
Protective.
Reluctant.
Thinking ten steps ahead like he always does.
“Do it immediately,” I added, trying to sound light. “He should get a job tomorrow itself.”
He gave a small hum in response — the kind that means he’s already calculating options.
We talked for a few more minutes after that.
About Zara’s sparkly peacock.
About how he might submit a rainbow pigeon instead out of spite.
About random, ordinary things.
Then I hung up.
The screen went dark.
The room felt bigger again.
I stared at my reflection in the black mirror of my phone.
I crawled across the floor slowly, the tiles cold beneath my palms. From inside my notebook, I pulled out the folded paper.
It was creased from being opened too many times.
Handled too often.
I unfolded it carefully, as if it were something sacred. Then I grabbed a pen.
For a moment, I just stared at the blank space left at the bottom.
And I wrote—
A cup of tea.
Writing down everything he spends on me had become a habit now.
His door flew open so suddenly it made me look up.
He stood there, phone gripped tightly in his hand, eyes wide — not angry, not exactly happy either.
Just… stunned.
“Y-you really recommended?” he asked.
Vihaan is so fast.
I nodded slowly.
“I am a woman who saves her promises,” I said, flipping my hair with an exaggerated smirk.
He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair before walking out fully. He slid down and sat on the floor near his room's door, back resting against the wall.
“Which hospital?” I asked, pretending to be only mildly interested as I kept scrolling through my phone.
“AJK,” he replied.
I hummed softly.
That was a good one.
Reputed. Stable. The kind of place people don’t get into easily.
“They told a very high salary,” he added.
I paused for a fraction of a second.
Oh.
So Mr. Justice Saviour is starting a conversation now.
Eighth wonder of the world.
“Aren’t you happy with that?” I asked casually, eyes still fixed on my screen as if it didn’t matter.
He said nothing.
Suddenly a knock came from the door.
Before he could react, I was already on my feet.
Anything was better than sitting in that thick silence.
I walked to the door and opened it.
A woman stood there.
For a second, my mind struggled to place her.
Then it clicked.
My breath caught.
Adithya’s mother.
Her eyes widened the exact moment mine did.
Recognition flickered across her face — surprise first, then something unreadable.
She hadn’t expected me.
And I certainly hadn’t expected her.
" Hello " I waved at her.
The air between us felt charged.
Heavy.
Like two worlds colliding at the wrong time.
Behind me, I could hear Adithya standing up quickly.
“Ma?” his voice came from somewhere behind my shoulder.
So I was correct. It's his mom.
His mother’s gaze shifted from me to him, then back to me again.
Taking in the details — my presence, the house, the silence.
“You…” she began, but didn’t finish the sentence.
I stepped aside automatically, unsure whether I was being polite or defensive.
Adithya walked toward the door, tension clear in his posture.
Her eyes returned to me.
And this time, they didn’t widen.
They assessed.
I suddenly felt aware of everything —
the way I was standing,
the casual clothes,
the fact that I was inside his house.
Uninvited history standing at the doorstep.
Her gaze shifted from me to Adithya.
Sharp. Demanding.
“What is this, Adithya?” she asked.
Not confused.
Accusing.
Before he could answer, a man stepped in from behind her.
Older. Taller. Silent.
His father, as far as I remember.
His eyes landed on me—
And he froze.
Not surprised.
Not curious.
Stunned.
As if he had seen something he never expected to see again.
For a second, he simply stared.
Lost for words.
I gave him a small, polite smile out of instinct.
But his expression didn’t soften.
If anything, it worsened.
There was something close to… fear in his eyes.
“Why is she with you?” his mother demanded, her voice rising.
Each word hit the walls and bounced back.
“Ma… let me explain,” Adithya stuttered.
I had never heard him stutter before.
“What explain?” she snapped as she slapped him.
Her voice cracked through the room.
I flinched.
The sudden volume made my ears ring. For a split second, it wasn’t her voice I heard.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
Adithya stepped forward, placing himself just a little in front of me — not fully shielding, but enough to shift the dynamic.
“Lower your voice, Ma” he said, trying to steady himself. "Please."
His father still hadn’t spoken.
He was still looking at me like I was a ghost pulled out of memory.
Recognition.
That’s what it was.
Recognition wrapped in something unsettled.
His mother noticed it too.
Her eyes darted between him and me.
“What is going on?” she asked, slower now, but more dangerous.
The room felt suffocating.
Everything felt suspended between confrontation and revelation.
Adithya ran a hand over his face.
“I was going to tell you,” he muttered.
“When?” she shot back. “After what?”
"After I die?"
I stood there, trying to steady my breathing, trying not to let old echoes crawl back into my bones.
This wasn’t my house.
This wasn’t my fight.
And yet, somehow—
I was standing right at the center of it.
I was the reason for it.
“Why is she here?”
His father’s voice wasn’t loud.
It was thunder.
The kind that shakes windows before the storm even begins.
I stood behind Adithya.
Not hiding.
But not exposed either.
He had moved just slightly in front of me — not dramatically, not heroically — just enough to block the direct line of fire.
I could feel it.
The tension in his shoulders.
The stiffness in his spine.
The way his hand curled slightly at his side.
He was nervous.
Afraid.
And trying very hard not to show it.
His mother’s face had gone pale with fury.
His father’s eyes burned with disbelief.
“Answer me!” his father roared again.
The walls felt smaller.
Adithya swallowed.
I saw his throat move.
His breath wasn’t steady.
For the first time since I’ve known him, he looked like a boy standing before judgment.
Not Mr. Justice Saviour.
Not confident.
Not sarcastic.
Just… someone cornered.
“I—” his voice cracked.
He steadied himself.
Then, barely above a whisper—
“I married her.”
The words fell into the room softly.
But they detonated.
Silence followed.
Not relief.
Not acceptance.
Shock.
His mother stepped back as if physically struck.
“Married?” she repeated, like the word itself was offensive.
His father stared at him, then at me, then back at him.
“When?” he demanded.
Adithya didn’t answer immediately.
His shame wasn’t about marrying me.
It was about how it happened.
How sudden.
How hidden.
How defiant.
He exhaled slowly.
“A while ago,” he said.
A lie coated in truth.
I stood there, heart pounding — not from fear of them.
But from the weight of what that word meant.
Married.
It sounded heavy in his mouth.
Like a responsibility he wasn’t sure how to hold yet.
His mother’s eyes finally locked on me again.
Not shocked now.
Assessing.
Calculating.
Judging.
“You?” she asked, her voice tight. “You married her?”
Adithya shifted slightly, as if sensing the shift in focus.
“Yes,” he said, firmer this time.
I sighed on seeing the drama unfold. Then I stepped forward before it could grow uglier. Without warning, I pushed Adithya aside. He stumbled, staring at me in shock.
I didn’t look at him. I looked straight at his mother.
“He didn’t marry me,” I said, my voice steady and clear.
The room fell silent.
His mother blinked, confused. His father’s expression hardened.
“I married him,” I continued, lifting my chin slightly. “I forced him to marry me.”
The words dropped like a stone in still water.
Adithya turned toward me, disbelief written all over his face. “Shut up" he whispered harshly.
I ignored him and kept my eyes locked on hers. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame me.”
His father let out a sharp breath. “You expect us to believe that?”
A faint, almost defiant smile touched my lips. “You don’t have to believe it. Just know this— I wanted this. He didn’t.”