26 ~ Fresh Start #3
My breath caught. My palm had already turned bright red.
The sting was getting worse.
My entire palm felt as though it was burning from the inside. The skin had turned an angry shade of red, and even the fingers of my other hand had reddened where the heat had caught them.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
Before I could reach for the tap myself, Kartik caught my wrist.
"Idhar aao."
(Come here.)
He practically dragged me toward the sink.
"Kya kar rahi thi yahan?" His voice was stern.
(What are you doing here?)
I looked at him through my watering eyes.
"Mujhe bhook lagi thi..."
(I was hungry...)
"Toh staff ko bol deti." He immediately turned on the tap and placed my palm beneath the cold water. "Tumhe kitchen mein aane ki kya zaroorat thi?"
(Then you should have told the staff. Why did you need to come into the kitchen?)
I stared at him.
For a moment, I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
Wasn't I supposed to be the bahu of this house?
According to him and everyone, Wasn't a woman apparently expected to spend her mornings in the kitchen?
And now he was scolding me for doing exactly that?
Maybe I had misunderstood him.
Maybe he really did believe that a woman's place was in the kitchen; except he didn't want me getting hurt while doing it.
My gaze shifted toward Seema Chachi.
She looked just as surprised.
"Kartik, khana banate waqt aisi choti-moti chot lagti rehti hai. Itni koi badi baat nahi hai."
(Kartik, small injuries like this happen while cooking. It's not such a big deal.)
Kartik's eyes immediately snapped toward her.
"Chachi."
(Aunt.)
Just one word.
A warning and her lips pressed together.
She fell silent.
I looked back at him.
His fingers were still wrapped carefully around my wrist, holding my injured hand beneath the water.
His face was irritated but somehow, I couldn't tell whether he was angry at me for entering the kitchen...or angry because I'd gotten hurt.
The sting intensified for a moment, making my eyes water.
"Bas bas...hogaya," he whispered as if he's consoling a child.
(That's enough... it's done.)
A tear escaped my eyes and he wiped it.
Seema Chachi clicked her tongue.
"Itna bhi nahi laga hai jitna tum ro rahi ho."
(It's not hurting that much. You're crying more than necessary.)
His head snapped toward her, his expression hardened.
"Chachi. Bas. Ek aur word nahi."
(Aunt. Enough. Not another word.)
The warning in it was enough to silence her.
I blinked rapidly. The concern in his eyes made the tears harder to control.
One slipped down my cheek again.
He noticed.
His expression softened immediately.
"Chahat..."
I looked away. "I'm fine."
He didn't believe me.
He shut off the tap, gently dried my hand and looked at the reddened skin again.
I slowly pulled my hand back.
"I can manage."
He didn't say another word.
His hands simply wrapped around my wrist and led me upstairs.
I followed silently, still trying to understand the strange mixture of anger and concern in his behaviour.
The moment we entered our room, he made me sit on the edge of the bed and returned with the first-aid box.
He carefully took my injured hand and examined my palm.
The redness had spread across most of it.
He looked at me, "Bohot jal raha hai kya?"
(Is it hurting a lot?)
I shook my head instinctively. "I'm fine."
He gave me a look that clearly said he didn't believe me.
Without arguing, he opened the ointment and gently applied it over the affected skin.
"Aaj college nahi jaana. Ghar par raho."
(Don't go to college today. Stay home.)
I sighed.
"I'll call the doctor," he added.
"Nahi." I immediately refused. "I'm fine. Itna bhi nahi laga hai."
(No. I'm fine. It didn't hurt that badly.)
He looked at my palm again before reluctantly closing the ointment.
I swallowed. "Kartik...I know... pehle bahut kuch hua hai."
(Kartik... I know... a lot has happened before.)
His expression remained unreadable.
"But I want to start fresh."
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"I don't want to keep fighting with you. I don't want to keep bringing up everything that happened before." I took a breath. "I want to forget it."
For a second, I was certain he would refuse.
That he would remind me of everything I'd said to him, the way I always disrespected him and said whatever came to mind. he'd hold every word against me.
Instead, after a long pause, he simply nodded.
"Okay."
I was stunned, but I didn't miss the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
My shoulders loosened.
A sigh escaped me.
Finally. He agreed.
For one brief moment, guilt pricked somewhere deep inside me.
Because I knew I wasn't being entirely honest. I wasn't simply trying to start fresh.
I had made a decision.
A decision that would eventually give me my freedom.
I lowered my eyes toward my bandaged palm.
Whatever guilt I felt, I pushed it away.
He's being nice doesn't mean he didn't cheated.
My freedom mattered more than anything.
To be continued...
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