20 ~ Intoxicated Chahat
Kartik's POV.
The room looked exactly like a room prepared for a bride.
Everything was perfect. The soft golden lights cast a warm glow across the walls, strings of white flowers hung from the ceiling, rose petals were scattered across the bed, and the faint fragrance of jasmine lingered in the air.
The enormous bed in the centre of the room was covered in white sheets and flowers, as though someone had spent hours making sure that tonight would look beautiful.
I looked at her quietly.
She sat there in the bridal lehenga that had been meant for her sister only a few hours ago.
The same jewellery, the same colours, the same carefully arranged bridal appearance that should have belonged to another woman.
Yet somehow, standing beneath those warm lights with her face still carrying the exhaustion of the entire day, Chahat looked as though the room had been created for her.
Her eyes were swollen from crying, though she was trying her best to hide it. A few strands of hair had escaped from the elaborate hairstyle, resting softly against her cheek and neck.
The heavy dupatta framed her face, and the jewellery around her neck caught the light whenever she moved.
Her hands were still covered in darkening mehendi, and the bangles on her wrists made a faint sound every time her fingers moved.
Beautiful.
The thought came to me before I could stop it.
I immediately pushed it away.
This wasn't the time to notice how beautiful she looked.
Not when she was standing in my room looking as though she had been dragged into a life she never wanted.
I didn't wanted this marriage. Her parents had come to me and asked me to marry Chahat. They had stood before my family, requesting that I accept the situation.
They convinced me saying Chahat is ready.
There had been panic, embarrassment, desperation on their faces. They had asked me to do this marriage, and I had agreed because there had been no reason for me to believe that Chahat was forced into this.
If she didn't wanted this marriage then no one can compel her.
Then why was she looking at me as though I had personally destroyed her life?
I watched her fingers curl tightly into the fabric of her lehenga.
She was angry. That much was obvious.
But why?
Was she angry because of Mukti?
Because her sister had run away and left her to face the consequences?
Because her parents had asked her to marry me?
Or was she simply angry because I was the man standing at the centre of all of it?
My jaw tightened.
I hadn't asked for this either.
I hadn't planned to marry Chahat.
When Mukti disappeared, I had thought the entire marriage would be cancelled.
I had even told my father not to trouble Chahat's family after everything that had happened.
Yet somehow, by the end of the day, I was standing beside Chahat at the mandap.
And now she was my wife.
My eyes returned to her face.
She suddenly placed both palms against the mattress and tried to stand.
Before I could say anything, three soft knocks echoed through the room.
I looked toward the door.
"Come in."
Dadi walked in, followed by two members of the household staff carrying a neatly folded stack of clothes.
"Yeh sab almari mein rakh do," she instructed gently.
(Keep these clothes in the wardrobe.)
The staff carefully placed the clothes inside the wardrobe and quietly left the room.
I watched Dadi turn toward Chahat with the same affectionate smile she had been giving her since the wedding.
"Yeh tumhare kapde hain, beta."
(These are your clothes, dear.)
Chahat nodded absently then her eyes moved toward the bed. "Dadi..."
(Grandmother...)
"Haan, beta?"
(Yes, dear?)
"Aur mere bed ka kya?"
(And what about my bed?)
For a moment, Dadi simply stared at her. "Bed?"
"Haan." Chahat folded her arms across her chest. "Main soungi kahan?"
(Yes. Where am I supposed to sleep?)
A faint smile appeared on Dadi's face.
I knew that smile. She had understood immediately.
She walked toward Chahat and gently reached for her hand.
Before Dadi could say anything, Chahat slipped her hand away.
"Nahi, Dadi." She shook her head firmly. "Kahin aap yeh to nahi soch rahi ki main aapke is rakshas pote ke saath ek hi bed pe soungi?"
(No, Dadi. You're not thinking that I'll sleep on the same bed as your monster grandson, are you?)
Her hand moved in my direction. She didn't even look at me.
Rakshas.
The word shouldn't have affected me, yet it did.
"Chahat..." Dadi started but I could already see the argument coming.
"Nahi." Her voice was unwavering. "Main aise kisi ke saath bhi bed share nahi karungi. Main comfortable nahi hoon."
(I'm not going to share a bed with anyone like him. I'm not comfortable.)
I remained silent.
Dadi sighed softly. "Kartik tumhara pati hain."
(Kartik is your husband.)
The word made Chahat's jaw tighten.
"Thodi der pehle tak jiju the." She replied bitterly. "Ek shaadi se meri feelings ya comfort overnight change nahi ho sakti. I don't even know how to be in the same room with him... aur aap ek hi bed pe sone ki baat kar rahi hain."
(A little while ago, he was my brother-in-law. One marriage can't change my feelings or my comfort overnight. I don't even know how to be in the same room with him... and you're talking about sharing a bed.)
She pointed toward the bed again. "Mujhe doosra bed laake dijiye."
(Get me another bed.)
I looked at her.
There was no hesitation in her expression. She genuinely meant it.
I exhaled quietly. "Koi baat nahi Dadi main guest room mein so jaunga."
(It's okay, Dadi. I'll sleep in the guest room.)
Dadi's eyes held the same helplessness I had seen throughout the evening.
She looked between us.
"Koi kahin nahi jaayega." Her tone changed. Quiet authority replaced affection.
(No one is going anywhere.)
She looked at both of us before turning toward Chahat.
"Shaadi ho chuki hai tum dono ki. Yeh kamra bhi tumhara hai aur yeh bed bhi."
(You two are married now. This room is yours, and so is this bed.)
Chahat opened her mouth. "Dadi..."
"Nahi." She stopped her with a raised hand. "Kartik ab tumhara pati hai. Har baat se bhaag kar rishta nahi nibhaya jaata. Main yeh nahi keh rahi ki tum dono aaj hi sab kuch bhool jao..." Her voice softened. "lekin ek kamra share karne se aasman nahi toot padega."
(No. Kartik is your husband now. You can't build a relationship by running away from everything. I'm not saying you both have to forget everything today... but sharing one room won't make the sky fall.)
Chahat's jaw clenched.
She didn't want this marriage and she definitely didn't want me.
Dadi patted her cheek affectionately before turning toward me. "Tum iska dhyan rakhna."
(Take care of her.)
I simply nodded.
A moment later, Dadi walked out and gently pulled the door shut.
Silence returned.
I watched Chahat walk toward the dressing table.
She began removing her earrings.
One then the other.
The jewellery that had covered her all evening slowly began disappearing onto the table. Bangles followed. Then the necklace. Then the maang tikka.
Each piece landed softly against the wooden surface.
I found myself watching her without meaning to.
Without all that jewellery, she looked different. Younger and more beautiful.
My gaze moved to the delicate line of her neck, to her back and her exposed waist before I forced myself to look away.
I shouldn't have been staring but she noticed anyway.
She spun around.
"Kya hai?" Her patience finally snapped. "Meri taraf dekhna band kijiye."
(What is it? Stop looking at me.)
I didn't answer.
I simply looked away and muttered something under my breath.
There was another knock.
The door opened, and Kavita entered with two members of the household staff. One carried a silver tray holding a tall glass of warm almond milk. The other carried dinner.
She smiled at Chahat.
"Tum bohot thak gayi hogi," she said softly. "Thoda aaram kar lo."
(You must be very tired. Get some rest.)
Chahat merely nodded and picked up the glass. "Ye badam doodh..."
(This almond milk...)
Before she could finish, Chahat took it from her and emptied the entire glass.
I stared. So did everyone else.
She lowered the empty glass and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
"Thank you..."
Her automatic politeness almost made me smile.
Then Kavita cleared her throat. "Woh..." She hesitated. "Woh... Kartik ke liye tha."
(That was...That was... for Kartik.)
Slowly, she turned toward me.
I stood with both hands tucked into the pockets of my kurta, watching her.
For one second, there was genuine confusion on her face then irritation.
"Kyun?" she asked flatly. "Aisa special kya tha us doodh mein?"
(Why? What was so special about that milk?)
Before anyone could answer, she gave a dry laugh.
"Is ghar mein har cheez gender based hoti hai..." She looked straight at me. "ya sirf doodh hi?"
(Is everything in this house gender-based... or just the milk?)
Kavita immediately looked uncomfortable.
"Nahi... mera matlab woh nahi tha..." She began explaining, but her voice trailed off.
(No... that's not what I meant...)
"Kavita di, It's okay. Aap jao main dekh lunga."
(It's okay, Kavita Di. You can go. I'll handle it.)
She looked between us once before quietly signalling the staff to leave.
The door closed behind them.
Once again, it was just the two of us.
Chahat sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
I remained standing.
Why is she looking at me as if I had forced her into this marriage?
Maybe I had misunderstood everything.
Maybe her parents hadn't told me the truth or maybe Chahat had never agreed at all.
I saw she walked toward the wardrobe without saying another word. I watched her silently as she opened it and searched through the clothes Dadi had brought earlier.
She pulled out a nightgown and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I stood in front of the window looking outside.