KHEER
VIYANA SINCLAIR
I sat there with my phone in my hand, scrolling through cooking videos one after another, my brows slightly furrowed as if I was about to perform some serious experiment rather than just make something edible.
“What should I even make…” I muttered to myself, my thumb pausing over a video.
Kheer.
Simple.
Safe.
I exhaled softly and leaned back for a second, staring at the screen before shaking my head.
Ugh.
I am not trying to be some perfect wife who surprises him on his birthday.
We had been living together for months now.
Months of arguments.
Teasing.
Silences.
Unspoken things.
And in between all that—
He had done things for me.
Small things.
From washing my hair when I couldn’t to
carrying my slippers in his hands.
My fingers tightened slightly around my phone.
I think… I should at least try to befriend him today.
Not for love.
Not for anything dramatic.
Just… something simple.
I clicked on the kheer recipe again and stood up, determination slowly replacing my hesitation.
“In a few hours he will come back…” I murmured, already walking toward the kitchen. “I should finish this before that.”
A small smirk tugged at my lips.
“He will definitely judge my cooking,” I added, rolling my eyes slightly. “But fine… anything I make will be better than his bland food.”
I stepped into the kitchen, tying my hair loosely as I placed my phone on the counter and started gathering the ingredients, following the video step by step like my life depended on it.
Soon, I played soft song from my phone, filling the silence of the house as I moved around, stirring, measuring, tasting cautiously like someone stepping into an entirely new world.
“Cooking for the nurse who worked in my hospital was definitely not in my 2026 bingo card…” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head with a small laugh.
After what felt like a lifetime of careful stirring, cautious measuring, and mentally praying that I hadn’t accidentally turned sugar into salt, I finally finished cooking and poured the kheer neatly into a casserole, staring at it for a second like it was some great achievement I had unlocked.
A small, satisfied breath left me.
Not bad.
At least… it looked like kheer.
That itself felt like a victory.
I washed the vessels I had used, taking extra care to leave the kitchen clean, as if the neatness could somehow compensate for whatever disaster the taste might turn out to be.
“I won’t taste it,” I muttered stubbornly, wiping my hands. “Let him taste and say how it is.”
“I just hope he doesn’t die.”
I snorted softly at my own thought, shaking my head.
But as I stood there, leaning slightly against the counter, something else crossed my mind.
The heat.
God.
The heat in this kitchen was unbearable.
The constant warmth from the stove, the steam rising, the air turning thick and suffocating—
I could barely stand there for an hour.
“How does he even do this every day…” I whispered to myself, genuinely puzzled.
Cooking.
Standing here.
Managing everything so effortlessly.
“Oh my god… he is actually a superhero,” I muttered, half impressed, half dramatic, as I stepped out of the kitchen.
And then—
The door knocked.
My brows furrowed immediately.
Is he back already?
I walked toward the door, wiping my hands on my hoodie as I reached for the handle and pulled it open—only for my entire body to freeze.
Because standing there—
Was not him.
It was his parents.
Both of them.
Looking right at me.
And one very clear thought screamed inside my head—
I am absolutely fucked today.
.....
ADITHYA MENON
I rode my bike through the quiet streets, the night stretched wide above me like an endless black sky, swallowing every sound except the low hum of the engine beneath me, and yet—despite the calm around me—my mind refused to stay still, wandering restlessly from one thought to another, tangling itself in things I didn’t want to feel tonight.
Today was my birthday.
And not a single wish.
Not from the family for whom I had spent years studying, working, pushing myself beyond limits just so I could give them a better life.
And now—
Nothing.
Just silence.
I let out a slow breath, exhaustion settling deep into my bones, not from work, not from the long hours at the hospital, but from something far heavier—something that sat quietly inside my chest and refused to leave.
I wasn’t a kid anymore, I didn’t expect celebrations or surprises or anything dramatic, but still…
It hurt.
It hurt knowing that the very people who once made this day feel special had now reduced it to just another ordinary day, all because I chose a life they didn’t approve of, all because I married someone against their wishes—
Was it really that easy for them to turn away from me?
To stop loving me like I never mattered?
How do people do that… so quickly?
My fingers tightened slightly on the handle as I rode, my jaw clenching unconsciously.
They accept my money.
They take my salary every month without hesitation.
But me?
They couldn’t accept me.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips for a second before fading just as quickly.
I don’t even have friends.
No one who would remember this day.
No one who would call.
Why am I so alone?
Is my character really that bad…
That nobody stays?
That nobody likes me enough to hold onto me?
I exhaled slowly, shaking my head slightly as if I could physically push those thoughts away.
And yet—
Somewhere in between all of this—
Her face flashed in my mind.
The one person I hate from the core of my heart.
And somehow…
She was the only one who had wished me today.
A faint, almost bitter chuckle escaped me.
“Maybe that’s just basic decency…” I murmured to myself. “People wish when they know.”
But still—
“Enough…” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head slightly. “Stop overthinking.”
I finally slowed down and stopped the bike in front of the house, cutting off the engine as silence wrapped around me once again.
I took off my helmet, running a tired hand through my hair—
And that’s when I saw it.
Another bike.
Parked right there.
Familiar.
My eyes widened.
My dad’s bike.
“The fuck…” I whispered under my breath, my exhaustion instantly replaced by irritation.
Did they seriously come here?
On today of all days?
I let out a frustrated breath, dragging my hand down my face.
“Oh my god… enough problems for one birthday…”
I slipped off my slippers near the door and knocked, already preparing myself for whatever drama was waiting inside.
The door opened.
Viyana stood there.
Her eyes met mine instantly, her brows lifting slightly as if silently asking me the same question running in her mind.
And behind her—
I saw them.
My parents.
Standing there like an unexpected storm I wasn’t ready to face.
My shoulders stiffened almost immediately.
Oh god…
Not today.
Please.
I don’t want this today.
Viyana raised her eyebrows at me again, clearly confused, and I just gave a small shrug in return—because I had no idea either.
After all this time…
After ignoring me like I didn’t exist…
Why today?
My gaze flickered between them, my thoughts spiraling again despite myself.
Are they here to fight?
Or…
Are they actually here to wish me?
Viyana stepped aside the moment I entered, her movements slow, cautious, as if she could already sense the storm that had walked in with me, and the moment the door closed behind us, the air inside the house turned suffocatingly tense.
My parents weren’t even sitting.
They stood there—
Like guests who didn’t belong.
Like people who had come for something… but not for us.
My father stood a little away, his face turned slightly to the side, avoiding even the simple act of looking at us directly, as if doing so would somehow lower his dignity.
And my mother—
Her eyes moved over Viyana.
From head to toe.
Slowly.
Judging.
Measuring.
Taking in her loose hoodie and sweatpants like it was something beneath her expectations, like she had already formed an opinion without needing a single word.
I let out a slow breath.
Here we go.
“We didn’t come here to see how you are doing,” my father started, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence without hesitation.
Of course.
I closed my eyes for a brief second, mentally preparing myself for whatever was about to come, already feeling the weight of it pressing against my chest before it was even said.
I walked further inside, placing my helmet and bike key on the table, my movements deliberately slow, controlled, as if keeping myself grounded through routine, before shrugging off my bag lazily and letting it drop onto the chair.
“We came to talk about something very important,” he continued.
I turned to face him slowly.
“I figured,” I muttered under my breath.
“We want you to break your marriage with her.”
The words landed hard.
My brows furrowed immediately.
“Divorce her,” my mother added, her tone quieter, but no less firm.
Something inside me tightened.
“I won’t,” I said.
“First of all,” I continued, my voice calm but edged with restrained frustration, “I can’t even divorce her right now. It hasn’t even been a year since we got married.”
“So what?” my father snapped immediately. “Send her back to her house. We’ll talk to her family.”
I clicked my tongue in irritation, running a hand through my hair as my patience began to slip.
“Why suddenly?” I asked, my voice lowering slightly, my eyes narrowing at them. “Why are you both saying this now?”
“All of our relatives got to know about this,” my father’s voice rose, rough and sharp, cutting through the room like something meant to hurt, “and we can’t even face anyone now… do you know how much shame you have created for us?”
And I saw it—
The way Viyana flinched.
Just slightly.
But enough for me to notice.
My chest tightened.
“Please, appa… don’t shout,” I muttered, my voice low, my gaze dropping for a second as if I was trying to hold myself together before this turned into something worse.
But he didn’t stop.
They never do.
“I don’t think your shame will be erased just because I divorce her,” I said, lifting my head again, my voice calmer now, steadier, even though something inside me was already burning.
“We don’t like her,” my mother said, her tone blunt, final, as if that alone was reason enough to end everything.
A bitter thought crossed my mind.
They think I like her.
And I was the one who told them that.
So how do I even blame them now?
They think I married her for her money, for her status, for everything that shines on the outside.
How do I expect them to understand something I never explained properly?
“Look at her once…” my mother continued, her eyes turning toward Viyana again, sharp and critical. “Her dressing sense… her attitude—”
“Ma, stop.”
My voice cut through hers.
Firm.
Unyielding.
Before she could say another word.
I stepped forward and stood in front of Viyana, blocking her completely from their view.
“She is not someone you can stand here and judge like this,” I said, my voice quieter now, but carrying a weight that made the room fall silent for a second.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides, my jaw tightening as I continued,
“And whatever problem you have… say it to me. Not to her.”
“Divorce her. End of the debate,” my mother said, her voice cold and final, like she had already decided everything for me, like my life was just a matter of approval waiting to be stamped.
Something in me snapped.
“That won’t affect your dignity?” I shot back, my voice rising before I could stop it, the frustration spilling out after everything I had held in the entire day.
The moment the words left my mouth—
My father rushed forward.
His hand raised.
For a second—
Everything froze.
The air.
The voices.
My breath.
And in that single moment, I felt it—
Viyana’s fingers gripping the back of my shirt.
Tight.
As if she was holding onto me…
My heart slammed against my ribs, loud and uneven, my chest rising and falling as I forced myself to stay still, to not react, to not let this turn into something worse than it already was.
My mother caught his arm immediately, stopping him before it could go any further.
But the damage—
Was already done.
“Always talking back!” my father shouted, his voice echoing through the house, filled with anger that had been building for far too long. “As if you know everything in this world!”
I clenched my jaw, my fists tightening at my sides, my vision blurring slightly as I struggled to keep my emotions in check, the sting in my eyes growing stronger with every second I stood there.
“Even after everything you did,” he continued, his voice rising again, “we still came here to talk to you… and you—”
He didn’t finish.
But he didn’t need to.
I could feel it.
Every word he didn’t say.
Every disappointment.
Every anger.
Every rejection.
And behind me—
Her grip tightened again.
As if she was scared.
My breathing grew heavier, uneven, as I swallowed hard, forcing the tears that burned behind my eyes to stay where they were, refusing to let them fall, refusing to give them that satisfaction.