Devyani past
Hey hiii mayawiyans
?? I would suggest that if you have a soft heart, it might be better to skip this chapter for your own peace.
Understand the emotions
Reads slowly and patiently
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Three people stood frozen
Realizing that Devyani's innocence wasn't sweetness.
It was evidence of a crime.
Virendra turned slowly.
And the moment his eyes met Yashodha's
Yashodha wasn't just shocked.
She was broken.
"Why...?" her voice trembled, cracking under the weight of disbelief.
"Why did you hide all this from us, Virendra?"
Her eyes glistened, tears spilling freely now.
"Eighteen years?" she repeated, shaking her head as if refusing to accept the number.
"Do you even understand what eighteen years means?"
Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
"Eighteen years is a childhood.
Eighteen years is learning, falling, laughing, dreaming."
Her voice rose with every word.
"Eighteen years is a LIFE."
She wiped her tears angrily, pain turning into fury.
Her voice dropped to a whisper more terrifying than a scream.
Virendra's jaw tightened.
He looked older in that moment.
Heavier.
Before he could answer
Aditya stepped forward.
His voice wasn't loud.
But it was sharp.
"Papa... at least you could have told us," he said, hurt bleeding through his controlled tone.
"We are family. We deserved to know."
His fists clenched.
"Bhaiyya married her without knowing this."
He swallowed hard.
"She lives with us. Eats with us. Trusts us."
His eyes burned.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Virendra finally exhaled a long, tired breath.
"You think I wanted to hide it?" he said quietly.
His voice wasn't defensive.
It was weary.
Virendra finally spoke, his voice heavy, weighed down by years of silence.
"It was Devyani's wish," he said quietly.
"She made me promise... that I wouldn't tell anyone she was caged."
Everyone froze.
"She said," Virendra continued, his eyes distant,
"she doesn't want people to look at her with pity.
She doesn't want sympathy, whispers, or careful eyes following her everywhere."
His throat tightened.
Yashodha's breath hitched.
"But... at least you could have shared it with me," she said, her voice breaking.
"I am your wife, Virendra."
Her eyes filled again, this time not just with pain but betrayal.
"How could you carry something this big alone?"
Virendra looked at her then, guilt naked on his face.
"I was afraid," he admitted.
"Afraid that once people knew, she would never be treated the same again.
Afraid that even love would turn into protection... and protection into a cage again."
And I don't want to break the promise," she asked Berry innocently.
How could I betray my daughter?
She had trusted me with those hopeful eyes, believing in my words more than anything else. Breaking that promise wouldn't just hurt her it would shatter a part of me too.
Jinal swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly.
She hesitated before asking, almost afraid of the answer.
Virendra nodded once.
"Yes."
The word landed like a gunshot.
Jinal's heart stopped.
"He... knew?" she whispered, disbelief flooding her face.
"He knew all this time?"
Virendra didn't answer again.
He didn't need to.
Aditya suddenly stepped forward, his composure cracking for the first time.
"This was never about pity," he said, his voice tight with emotion.
"This was about care."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and regret mixing dangerously.
"If we had known from the beginning... we could have helped her."
"We could have taught her things slowly."
"We could have explained the world to her without making her feel stupid."
His eyes burned.
"No wonder she asks such na?ve questions," he said bitterly.
"I thought she was just immature."
He shook his head, pain etched deep into his face.
"But she's not immature."
"She just... doesn't know."
His voice softened, breaking at the edges.
Aditya looked straight at Virendra.
"This isn't right, papa," he said quietly.
"I never expected this from you."
Silence followed.
Not the calm kind.
The kind that screams.
Because in that room, every single one of them realized the same thing
They hadn't just failed to protect Devyani.
They had unknowingly continued her isolation.
Yashodha wiped her tears with trembling fingers, then suddenly turned to Aditya.
Her voice cracked, panic naked in her eyes.
"Adi... find him," she said urgently.
"Find Rivan before he starts bleeding again."
The room went dead silent.
Virendra looked at her, pain and guilt etched deep on his face.
"I know, Yashodha," he said quietly.
"You're hurt. We all are."
"But have faith. Nothing will happen to him."
Yashodha shook her head.
"You don't know that," she whispered.
"You know how he is when he breaks."
Before Virendra could say anything else
Jinal and Aditya spoke at the same time.
Their voices echoed.
Virendra inhaled deeply, as if bracing himself for impact.
"She was caged," he said slowly,
"by her own father... and her brother."
The room froze.
No one breathed.
Jinal's lips parted in disbelief.
Aditya's eyes widened.
Yashodha staggered back a step.
"Her own father... and brother?" Aditya whispered.
"How?"
Jinal shook her head repeatedly.
"That's not possible," Yashodha said, her voice rising.
"No... no, a father cannot do this."
"Father can't cage his own daughter."
Virendra looked at her, eyes filled with a pain.
"Yes," he said firmly.
"It was done by her own family."
The words fell like a death sentence.
The truth was uglier than anyone had imagined.
And somewhere far away
a man who loved that girl more than life itself
was losing himself in blood and rage.
Devyani's mother Savitri was eight months pregnant.
Her body was tired, her feet swollen, one hand resting protectively on her belly as she sat near the window, waiting.
Waiting had become her habit.
Waiting for peace.
Waiting for kindness.
Waiting for the man who never came home sober anymore.
The door suddenly slammed open.
She flinched.
Hariram stumbled inside.
His hair was messy, eyes bloodshot, breath reeking of alcohol.
His clothes were torn, dust-covered, and his movements unstable yet dangerous.
"Where is my food?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the small room.
Savitri stood up immediately, fear flashing in her eyes.
She cried out, clutching her stomach instinctively.
"Hariram, please," she begged, tears streaming down her face.
"The child... please don't—"
He laughed. A cruel, hollow laugh.
"What child?" he snarled.
"I wanted a son. A heir."
"And what will you give me?"
He shoved her away.
She fell to the floor, gasping, one hand gripping her belly, the other pressing against the ground as if holding herself together.
"This child is a curse," he spat.
"Just like you."
Her tears soaked the floor.
Inside her womb, the unborn baby stirred
as if already sensing the cruelty of the world she was about to enter.
That night, something broke forever.
Not just a woman's spirit.
Not just a family.
And from that night onward,
love left that house...
and cruelty made itself at home.
Savitri's voice shook, but she still gathered the courage to speak.
"What if the child is a girl?" she whispered.
"I have already given you Raghu.
Why do you want another son?"
For a moment, the room went silent.
Then
Hariram's face twisted with rage.
In one brutal move, he grabbed her throat and slammed her back against the wall.
"You filthy woman," he snarled.
"How dare you question me?"
Savitri gasped, her hands clawing at his wrist, her swollen belly pressing painfully against the wall.
Her vision blurred with tears.
"If you give birth to a girl..."
his grip tightened,
"I'll kill that girl right there."
Savitri's entire body froze.
Her hand instinctively covered her womb, shielding the life inside her.
"Please..." she choked out, barely able to breathe.
"She's innocent... please don't hurt my child."
He shoved her to the floor like she was nothing.
"You and your cursed blood," he spat.
"You bring nothing but bad luck."
She collapsed, crying silently, curling around her belly as if her own body could become a shield.
That night, Savitri understood something terrifying
The danger was no longer just to her.
It was to the unborn child inside her.
A child whose fate was already decided...
not by destiny,
but by a father who saw daughters as curses.
And somewhere deep inside Savitri's womb,
a little heart kept beating
unaware that the world waiting for her
had already rejected her existence.
It was deep into the night when the pain started.
A sharp, tearing pain bloomed inside Savitri's womb.
She clutched her stomach, gasping, her knees buckling.
"No... not now..." she whispered.
Sweat drenched her face as she staggered toward the cot.
"Hariram..."
she shook him weakly.
"Hariram, wake up... something is wrong..."
He didn't stir.
Sleeping like a dead body.
Like a pig.
She tried again, harder this time, fear clawing at her chest.
He turned in his sleep and mumbled, his voice thick with alcohol
The words sliced through her like a blade.
Her breath hitched.
Her hands flew protectively to her stomach.
No.
No no no.
Tears streamed down her face as terror consumed her.
She is a girl.
I can feel it.
She's my daughter.
Her whole body trembled.
Another wave of pain hit her, stronger this time.
She doubled over, crying out silently.
If she stayed, her child would die.
If she ran... maybe she could save her.
With shaking legs, Savitri pushed herself up.
She grabbed her dupatta, wrapped it tightly around her belly, and stepped out of the house.
The night air was cold.
The road was empty.
Her feet moved on pure instinct.
She ran.
Ran in pain.
Ran with fear.
Ran for her child's life.
Every step felt like fire tearing through her body.
But she didn't stop.
She ran away from Hariram.
Away from the house that had become a cage.
Away from death.
And somewhere in her womb,
a little girl kicked softly
as if asking her mother not to stop.
Savitri ran.
Until fate caught up with her.
She finally reached the main road.
Her chest heaved, lungs burning, legs trembling beyond control.
The streetlights blurred through her tears.
"I'm here... just a little more..." she whispered, holding her stomach tightly.
"Stay with me, my child... stay with me..."
Another contraction ripped through her and she cried out, stumbling forward.
She didn't see it.
She didn't hear it.
The car.
Speeding.
Headlights cutting through the darkness like knives.
For one second, the world froze.
The screech of brakes tore the silence
Too late.
The impact was brutal.
Her body was thrown into the air like it weighed nothing.
Time slowed.
Her dupatta slipped from her shoulders, floating helplessly as she fell.
Pain exploded everywhere bone, blood, breath.
She crashed onto the road with a sickening thud.
The world spun.
Sounds faded.
All she could hear was her own ragged breathing.
Blood pooled beneath her, warm and terrifying.
Her vision blurred, but her hands still moved instinctively to her belly.
"My...child..." she whispered.
A weak cry escaped her lips not of pain, but of fear.
Savitri's eyes were already closing.
Her strength was slipping away with every second.
In her fading consciousness, she smiled faintly.
"I ran for you," she whispered to the life inside her.
"I ran... so you could live..."
And then
Darkness took her.
But fate, cruel and merciless, decided one thing:
That never looked back.
Stranger fled into the darkness like a coward, leaving behind blood, broken dreams, and a woman fighting between life and death.
At the hospital, chaos followed.
Doctors shouted instructions.
Nurses ran.
Lights blinded tired eyes.
And then the most cruel question was asked.
"Where is the husband?"
"Who is the guardian?"
"Who will sign the consent?"
Silence.
No one answered.
Because the man who was supposed to protect her was not there.
Because the father of the child was nowhere to be found.
Savitri lay on the stretcher, her body shattered, breath uneven, time slipping away.
The doctor leaned toward the person who had brought her.
"She's in critical condition. We can try to save one either the mother or the child. We need a decision. Now."
The room froze.
The stranger's hands trembled.
How could someone choose?
How could a life be weighed against another?
Savitri's lips trembled.
With the last strength she had left, she whispered so faint it almost disappeared into the air.
Her eyes filled with tears.
That was all she said.
That was all she asked.
The stranger's heart shattered.
With shaking hands and a breaking voice, he chose the child.
The operation began.
Outside, Hariram finally arrived drunk, disheveled, too late.
By the time he reached the corridor...
Savitri was already gone.
Flatline.
A long, cruel sound that marked the end of a woman who ran barefoot at night just to save her unborn child.
A nurse came out holding a tiny baby wrapped in cloth.
Hariram stared.
Not at the blood.
Not at the nurses.
Not even at his wife's lifeless body.
His eyes went straight to the baby.
A girl.
His jaw tightened.
His fists clenched.
His grief twisted into something ugly something poisonous.
"She killed my wife," he muttered.
"This girl... she killed my wife."
No tears fell from his eyes.
No pain for the woman he lost.
Only rage.
Only hatred.
He took the baby home not as a father, but as a punishment fate had forced upon him.
From that night, Devyani was never a child.
She was a reminder.
A curse.
A living proof of everything Hariram despised.
He blamed her for being born.
He blamed her for being a girl.
He blamed her for taking his wife away.
He locked her away from the world, from people, from love.
Eighteen years.
Eighteen years of darkness, silence, and fear.
No school.
No friends.
No sky.
No childhood.
Punished not for a crime.
Not for a mistake.
But for existing.
A father punished his own blood
for the sin of being born as a daughter.
And Devyani grew up believing
That pain was normal.
That love was dangerous.
And that she herself was the curse everyone survived except her mother.
He didn't need a reason.
Some days it was because she breathed too loudly.
Some days because she looked at him.
Some days because she existed in his sight.
Hariram's anger didn't knock before entering
it broke doors, bones, and souls.
When he drank, his fists spoke.
When he was sober, his silence hurt even more.
Devyani learned early that pain had no warning.
A slap would come out of nowhere.
A kick would follow when she fell.
A stick when she cried.
A belt when she begged.
Her small body absorbed everything.
Bruises became normal.
Pain became familiar.
And the worst part?
No one asked her why she was crying.
Because no one knew she existed.
He caged her so deeply that even the thought of outside slowly disappeared from her mind.
At first, she used to ask.
"Baba... can I go out today?"
"Baba... can I see the sun?"
"Baba... can I play?"
Every question was answered with violence.
So she stopped asking.
She learned a terrifying lesson very young
Soon, she didn't even remember what outside felt like.
The sky became a story.
The sun became a memory she wasn't sure was real.
People became shadows she heard but never saw.
Her world shrank to four walls.
Cold walls.
Damp walls.
Walls that smelled of fear.
Sometimes she would curl up in a corner, hugging her knees, trying to make herself smaller
as if disappearing would finally make him stop.
He beat her not like a father disciplining a child
but like a man punishing an enemy.
"You took her away from me," he would scream.
"You should've died instead."
Each word hurt more than the blows.
Each sentence carved guilt into her bones.
Slowly, Devyani began to believe it.
That her birth was a mistake.
That her breath was borrowed.
That her life was a debt she could never repay.
She stopped crying loudly
because loud cries brought harsher punishment.
She learned to cry silently.
Tears soaked into old clothes.
Sobs were swallowed before they reached her throat.
At night, when pain throbbed through her body,
she would press her face into the floor and whisper apologies
"I'm sorry for being born."
"I'm sorry for being a girl."
"I'm sorry, maa... I tried."
She forgot how to demand.
Forgot how to complain.
Forgot how to want.
Even freedom stopped feeling like a right.
It felt like a sin.
And the cruelest thing?
She didn't even hate him.
Because hatred requires strength.
And all her strength went into surviving another day.
So she endured.
Eighteen years of being invisible.
Eighteen years of learning the world from cracks in the wall.
Eighteen years of becoming quiet, obedient, painfully innocent.
A child raised in a cage
doesn't dream of flying.
She dreams of not being hurt today.
And Devyani survived
Not because life was kind,
but because she didn't know there was another way to live.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
Devyani was sitting in the corner, knees hugged to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor like she always did. She had learned early
if she didn't look, maybe she wouldn't be noticed.
But Hariram was already drunk.
The smell reached her before his voice did.
Before she could react, his hand came down.
Not once.
Again.
Again.
She cried out not loudly, just a broken sound that escaped her throat without permission.
That angered him more.
"Shut up!"
"You curse!"
"You killed her!"
Each word hit harder than his hand.
She fell.
Her body hit the cold floor, but the pain inside her chest was worse. She curled into herself, trying to disappear, trying to make herself smaller like if she became nothing, he would stop.
But he didn't.
She felt something warm on her skin.
At first, she didn't understand what it was.
Then she saw it.
Red.
Bright red.
On the floor.
On her arm.
Her breath hitched.
Her eyes widened in pure terror.
She stared at it like it was a living thing.
The world around her blurred.
Her ears rang.
Her hands started shaking violently as she tried to wipe it away, but it only spread more.
Her chest tightened.
"I'm dying," she thought.
"This is how mummy died."
Her vision darkened.
She crawled backward until her back hit the wall, eyes never leaving the blood. Tears streamed down her face silently she didn't dare cry aloud.
Hariram stopped, breathing hard, staring at her with disgust.
"Drama," he spat.
"Even your blood is cursed."
He turned and left, locking the door behind him.
The sound of the lock clicking echoed like a gunshot in her mind.
She was alone.
Bleeding.
Terrified.
She pressed her hands against herself, rocking back and forth.
"I don't want to die," she whispered to no one.
"Please... I'll be good."
She stayed awake the entire night.
Watching the blood dry.
Watching it turn darker.
Watching fear settle deep inside her bones.
From that day on
The sight of blood didn't just scare Devyani.
It broke her.
Even years later, even a small cut, even a drop
made her heart race, her hands go cold, her breath vanish.
Because blood wasn't just blood to her.
It was pain.
It was loss.
It was the night she learned
Her life could end any moment.
And no one would come to save her.
The room smelled of damp walls and loneliness, the same room she had grown up in, the same room that had seen her cries swallowed by silence.
That morning, Devyani woke up with pain.
Not the kind of pain she was used to.
This one twisted inside her stomach, sharp and deep, like something was clawing its way out. She curled up instinctively, pressing her palms against her lower belly, breathing fast.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
She stood up slowly, legs weak, and that's when she felt it.
Wet.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She looked down.
Red.
Her mind went blank.
The world tilted.
Her ears rang so loud she couldn't hear her own scream but she didn't scream anyway. She never did. Screaming only made things worse.
Blood.
Her hands started shaking uncontrollably.
Her heart pounded violently.
This wasn't like the wounds.
This wasn't like the beatings.
This blood was coming from inside her.
She thought of her mother.
She thought of the road.
She dropped to the floor, hugging herself tightly.
"I'm dying," she thought.
She crawled to the door and knocked weakly, fear overpowering pain.
The door opened.
Hariram looked at her once just once.
Then his face twisted.
"You're bleeding?" he said coldly.
She nodded, tears spilling over, her voice breaking.
"I... I don't know why... it hurts..."
He laughed.
A dry, cruel sound.
Her heart sank.
"Every girl gets this," he continued, disgust clear in his voice.
"Dirty blood. Impure blood."
She shrank back.
"Yes," he snapped.
"This is why girls are useless. Pain, blood, weakness. That's all you are."
She wanted to ask.
But she didn't.
Because questions meant punishment.
So she stayed silent, staring at the floor, holding herself together as best as she could.
He threw an old cloth at her.
Then he left.
The door locked.
Again.
She sat there for a long time, staring at the cloth in her hands.
Her stomach hurt.
Her body hurt.
But what hurt more was the way he said it.
Curse.
Later that day, the old television flickered to life on its own.
She wasn't watching intentionally it was just noise to fill the emptiness.
Then she saw it.
An advertisement.
A woman smiling gently, holding a packet.
Words she didn't fully understand, but the visuals stayed.
Women.
Blood.
Cloth.
Pads.
Another ad followed.
And another.
Slowly, very slowly, understanding dawned.
"This... happens to all girls," she realized.
Not death.
Not punishment.
Not something wrong with her.
Her shoulders relaxed just a little.
Her breathing steadied.
She didn't fear this blood.
Because this blood didn't come from pain inflicted by someone else.
It came from her own body.
It meant she was alive.
It meant her body was working.
And that made all the difference.
From that day on
She never feared period blood.
She accepted it quietly, dealt with it alone, learned on her own.
But normal blood?
From cuts.
From wounds.
From violence?
That still terrified her.
Because that blood reminded her
Of hands raised.
Of punishment.
Of pain that came with hatred.
Period blood was a sign of life.
Other blood?
That was a reminder of how close she had always lived to death.
And that fear...
Never left her.
After that day, Devyani never asked again.
No one taught her what to use.
No one explained pads, medicines, rest, or care.
So she did what she knew.
She tore old clothes.
Thin, worn-out pieces of fabric that once might have been something else. She folded them again and again, clumsy fingers trembling, and tied them tightly around her waist, pressing them between her legs the way instinct told her to.
It felt wrong.
Uncomfortable.
Painful.
But she had no choice.
The blood didn't stop.
It came slowly at first drop by drop then more, staining the cloth dark, soaking through. She kept checking, panic rising every time she saw red again.
One day passed.
Then two.
Then five.
Six... seven.
Her body felt weak, like it might collapse any second. Her stomach cramped so badly that sometimes she had to sit on the floor, hugging her knees, biting her lips to stop herself from crying out.
Walking was torture.
The wet cloth rubbed against her skin, causing burning and itching she didn't have words for. Sometimes the blood leaked past the cloth, sliding down her legs, warm and humiliating, reaching her ankles.
She would freeze when that happened.
Heart racing.
Hands shaking.
Then she would quietly clean herself, wash the floor, wash her clothes, scrub until her fingers hurt.
She washed those cloths again and again.
So often that they became thin, torn, almost useless. Still, she reused them. There was nothing else.
No soap sometimes.
No privacy ever.
No comfort at all.
She survived those days somehow.
It took her nearly a year to understand that this bleeding didn't last forever.
That it came... and then it stopped.
Six to seven days.
Only then did she stop counting every drop like it was a countdown to death.
Slowly, painfully, it became a habit.
A silent routine learned through suffering.
There was one strange thing, though.
During those days, Hariram didn't make her work.
He didn't shout as much.
Didn't drag her out.
Didn't force chores on her.
Not because he cared.
But because, in his words, she was impure.
She stayed locked inside, untouched.
And in her innocent, broken logic, she thought
Maybe this is care.
Maybe this is how fathers protect their daughters.
She felt lucky.
She didn't know better.
What she didn't understand yet was her own body.
Her periods weren't regular.
Sometimes they came after two months.
Sometimes three.
Sometimes four.
The pain built up inside her for months, like a storm waiting to break. When it finally did, it hit harder, crueler leaving her curled up on the floor, sweating, shaking, whispering to herself that it would end.
Eventually.
No medicine.
No warmth.
No one to say, this is not normal.
It took her a full year just to learn this much
That it lasts six to seven days.
That she won't die.
That the pain will pass.
But the fear?
The loneliness?
That stayed.
Her body learned to endure.
Her heart learned to stay quiet.
And that little girl, bleeding in silence with torn cloth in her hands, grew up believing that pain was something you simply survived alone.
As years passed, Devyani's body began to change quietly, relentlessly without permission and without explanation.
Her hair was the first thing she noticed.
It grew longer, thicker, heavier. At first she liked it. It kept her warm. It felt like something beautiful that belonged only to her. But soon, it became another problem.
No one taught her how to care for it.
She washed it with whatever water she got. Sometimes soap, sometimes nothing. Knots formed easily. Her scalp itched. When strands fell out in her hands, she panicked, thinking something was wrong with her.
When it became too long, it got caught in doors, snagged on nails, pulled painfully when she moved too fast. Cutting it was forbidden girls should have long hair, her father said, not because he cared, but because control was easier that way.
So she tied it badly with torn cloth. Too tight. Too loose. Always uncomfortable.
Then... her body started feeling unfamiliar.
Her clothes began to feel wrong.
The old shirts she wore started pulling tight around her chest. At first, she thought the fabric had shrunk. She tried to stretch it. When it didn't work, she blamed herself.
Why does my body feel heavy here?
Why does it hurt when I run?
Why does it ache when I lie on my stomach?
She didn't have words for it.
Her chest slowly began to grow, sensitive and sore. Any sudden movement sent a sharp sting through her body. When she bent down, she felt exposed even though no one was allowed to see her.
She tried wrapping cloth tightly around herself, the same way she did during her bleeding days, thinking it would make things go back to normal.
It only made breathing harder.
At night, when she lay down, the weight felt strange. During the day, every step reminded her that her body was changing without asking her consent.
Fear crept in again.
Am I sick?
Is this another curse?
Will this also make him angry?
She learned to move slower.
To keep her arms crossed.
To curl into herself.
Her body demanded space but the world gave her none.
Every new change brought a new confusion.
Her hips widened slightly. Walking felt different. Sitting on the hard floor hurt more. Her body felt heavier, slower, like it was betraying her.
She hated mirrors not because she saw herself, but because she didn't recognize herself.
No mother to explain.
No sister to warn her.
No whisper of this is normal.
Only silence.
Only punishment if she asked.
So she stopped asking.
She accepted pain as routine. Discomfort as destiny. Confusion as something she had to swallow.
Day by day, growing became harder than surviving.
Because surviving only required endurance.
But growing?
Growing required answers.
And Devyani had none.
As her body continued to change, Devyani grew painfully aware of one thing
she was becoming visible in ways she didn't know how to handle.
She noticed it one day when she bent down and felt... exposed.
Not touched. Not seen.
Just exposed as if her body was announcing something she didn't have words for.
Her chest pressed against the fabric, the outline too clear, too obvious.
She didn't know why it happened.
She didn't know it had a name.
She didn't know there was something meant to be worn underneath.
She only knew this much
It made her uncomfortable.
It made her embarrassed.
And embarrassment, in that house, was dangerous.
So she began to hide.
She pulled her shawl tighter around herself, even in heat.
Wrapped it again.
And again.
Sometimes so tightly that breathing felt difficult.
When the shawl slipped, panic followed.
She crossed her arms instinctively.
Hunched her shoulders.
Kept her head low.
She didn't understand why parts of her body reacted to cold, to movement, to fabric. She didn't know it was normal. She didn't know every girl faced this phase.
She thought something was wrong with her.
So she hid harder.
She avoided standing straight.
Avoided running.
She had escaped once before.
Not to be free
only to breathe.
Her plan was simple in her fragile mind:
run, see the world once, then return quietly before punishment found her.
She didn't know that some doors, once opened, never lead back to the same life.
That night...
everything changed.
When Devyani stepped outside after years of being locked away, the world didn't feel real.
The sky was too wide.
The air too cold.
The night too alive.
She stopped walking not because she was tired, but because her legs forgot how to move.
Above her, the sky stretched endlessly, dotted with stars she had only seen through a tiny barred window. They weren't still. They breathed. They shimmered. They felt close enough to touch.
She lifted her trembling hand.
The wind brushed her skin, and she gasped.
It touched her
without hurting.
People passed by. Laughing. Talking. Existing freely. No one shouted at her. No one pulled her hair. No one raised a hand.
The sound of footsteps, vehicles, distant voices it all crashed into her senses at once.
It was overwhelming.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
Like someone who had lived underwater all her life and was suddenly pushed into the open sky.
She felt dizzy.
So this is the world, she thought.
So this is what I was punished for wanting to see.
And then
she saw Virendra.
Not as a savior.
Not as a powerful man.
But as the first human who looked at her without cruelty.
When he spoke, his voice didn't carry threats.
When he asked her name, it wasn't followed by a slap.
When she flinched, he didn't mock her.
That alone shook her more than years of abuse ever had.
Rooms without locks.
Doors that stayed open.
People who spoke without screaming.
And the strangest part?
When she asked questions
no one punished her.
Her questions were naive.
Confusing.
Sometimes completely illogical.
Things everyone else learned as children, she was discovering as an adult.
But no one hit her.
No one called her cursed.
No one told her to shut up.
They answered.
Or smiled.
And that's why...
she kept asking.
Especially Rivan.
"Are you angry?"
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Are you upset with me?"
Not because she doubted him.
But because her entire life had taught her one terrifying truth
Silence always came before pain.
In her past, calm faces hid violence.
Quiet voices meant punishment was coming.
Anger didn't need shouting it arrived with hands.
So every time Rivan went quiet...
every time his jaw tightened...
every time his eyes darkened
Fear wrapped around her heart.
She wasn't stupid.
She wasn't childish.
She was surviving.
A girl raised in a cage doesn't learn confidence.
She learns caution.
And for Devyani, asking "Are you angry?"
wasn't weakness
Even after coming to the haveli, even after the cage was gone,
fear didn't leave Devyani.
It only learned to sit quietly.
Old habits don't disappear.
They disguise themselves as discipline.
At night, she still slept curled in on herself, knees drawn close, arms wrapped around her chest like she was protecting something fragile because she was. Sometimes, in her sleep, her fingers would dig into her own palms, nails biting skin, as if bracing for a blow that never came.
And when she woke up without pain, it confused her.
Some mornings she would just sit on the bed, staring at her hands, wondering
Kindness felt temporary to her.
Like something that could be taken away if she made one wrong move.
After receiving love, warmth, and care...
Devyani didn't feel relieved.
She felt uneasy.
So when days passed...
And no one raised a hand...
No one shouted...
No one locked her away...
Her mind couldn't understand it.
She started watching herself carefully.
Every word she spoke, she replayed it later in her head.
Was that wrong?
Was I too loud?
Did I ask too much?
When someone smiled at her, she smiled back nervously already preparing for the slap that never came.
At night, when the room stayed quiet, she grew restless.
Because in her world, punishment was immediate.
Love, on the other hand, was suspicious.
She began to think
Maybe they forgot.
Maybe the punishment is coming later.
Maybe they are waiting for the right time.
That thought sat heavy in her chest.
So she started apologizing... even when nothing was wrong.
"I'm sorry," for existing in the room.
"I'm sorry," for being hungry.
"I'm sorry," for laughing.
Because apologies used to reduce the pain.
Love felt unnatural to her.
It didn't fit into the rules she had survived by.
In her world
Love was a reward she never earned.
Care was something given briefly before it was taken away.
Warmth always came before the cold.
So when Rivan held her gently,
when the family spoke softly to her,
when no one punished her mistakes
her mind whispered cruelly:
You must have done something very wrong.
That's why this feels strange.
Punishment was familiar.
It was predictable.
It was normal.
Love?
Love felt like standing on glass
beautiful, transparent,
and one wrong step away from shattering.
And Devyani, who had survived cages and cruelty,
didn't yet know how to survive kindness.
Not because she didn't want it
But because her soul had been trained to believe
that being loved was a mistake.
Glimpse
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How's the chapter???????????
Bye bye
NEXT UPDATE ON sat 12:10am
Take care, bye bye ????????
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Aur kya haal chaal??
Kya chlra hai Sab thk?
Mera toh badiya chal raha hai ??
Aaj toh Maine ek movie b dkhli
Mai khud shock me hun Ki Maine movie dkhi??
(Maine movies dkhna chod Diya hai isliye shock hun)
(Kyn choda hai? Haa woh ab sab boring lagta hai?? aur time b nahi milta)
Chlo bye bye