CHAPTER 7
ANIKA
I sit at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the pleats of my saree.
It’s a simple one—nothing flashy. I chose it deliberately, hoping to blend into the background.
There’s nothing to celebrate today, no joy to dress up for.
I feel like a guest here… no, not even that.
A guest would be welcome. I feel like a burden.
A shaky breath escapes my lips, trying to calm the storm inside me.
Even in this plain outfit, I feel like I stick out—like an intruder in a place I no longer belong to.
The silence in the room suffocates me, thick with leftover tension from last night.
My nerves are a mess; my thoughts tangle.
Do I wait for someone to call me? Or do I just walk out and face the awkward glances and the judgment in their eyes?
What if no one calls me? Am I just supposed to sit here all day till someone remembers I exist?
I get up and start pacing, chewing on my thumbnail without realizing it. My stomach churns with uncertainty. And then—I hear the soft creak of the door opening.
Aarav walks in, his posture rigid, eyes dull with exhaustion. It’s obvious he didn’t sleep much either. He doesn’t even glance at me. Just heads straight to the closet, pulls the door open, and shuts it behind him with a loud thud.
I freeze. My hand stills near my mouth. What the hell?
My chest tightens with a mix of frustration and hurt.
Why is he behaving like this? Like I begged him to marry me?
Like this was my plan? I could've figured something else out for my mom—anything but this.
I never asked him to fix things by tying himself to me.
And as soon as those words left his mouth, my mother was not going to take a no.
I glare at the closed door, my anger bubbling quietly under my skin.
I want to scream. I want to yell at him and ask him why he’s punishing me for something I didn’t even want in the first place.
But I know it’ll be useless. He’s not the kind of person who listens when he’s shut off like this, or at least it used to be like that when we were kids.
A knock on the door pulls me back to the present. I quickly wipe at my face, open the door a little, and peek out. It’s Bhabhi. She’s smiling—small and sweet.
“Good morning,” she chirps, radiantly, as if last night didn't happen.
I force a smile. “Morning.” Good morning doesn’t sound right because there’s nothing good about this morning.
She looks me up and down, eyes lighting up. “Good, you’re ready!” Before I can ask what that means, she grabs my hand.
“Come on!” She seems excited, bouncing on her feet a little as we walk. I can't help but wonder—what exactly is she so excited about?
“By the way,” she grins, “you look really pretty.” I smile faintly.
She’s tiny and full of energy. No wonder Aarav likes her. She’s the kind of person who could charm anyone with that bubbly presence. And she talks a lot. Not that I mind—honestly, it’s refreshing. No one else here even wants to look at me, let alone speak to me.
“Oh! I didn’t even introduce myself properly,” she adds quickly. “I’m Shivani—Rudraksh’s wife. At first I was so confused seeing how everyone already knew you. I was like, who is she?! But Rudra told me all about you. Apparently, you annoyed him a lot growing up.”
I laugh softly, pouting. “I didn’t do anything! He used to get annoyed with everyone.”
She giggles. “That does sound like him.”
As we walk, I ask her cautiously, “Where are we going?”
“To the kitchen,” she says. “It’s your pehli rasoi today.”
I stop mid-step, my stomach dropping. “But…” I trail off. How do I even explain? She knows how things are right now. Everyone’s upset. No one even wants me here. Rituals feel pointless. We haven't conducted any till now; what's the need of this one?
She squeezes my hand, her warm hand engulfing my cold ones. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
I look at her, wondering how she manages to stay so upbeat in all this tension.
But I nod, following her quietly. The nervous flutter in my chest refuses to settle.
When we enter the kitchen, Aunty and Badi Maa are already there.
They glance up, their eyes scanning me quickly before settling on Bhabhi.
The shift in the room’s energy is instant—more silence, more weight in the air.
Bhabhi doesn’t back down. She walks up, her tone soft but steady.
“I know what Aarav did wasn’t right,” she begins.
“I'm not saying you shouldn't be upset, Chachi.
" She holds Aunty's hand and gives it a squeeze.
"But she's still your daughter-in-law. It’s her first day here. You made me feel so welcome on mine.”
Her voice trembles slightly, her eyes shining with tears. “I don’t even know why I’m crying right now,” she sniffs, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “But she deserves that kindness too. Please… let her do this.”
Her words hang in the silence like a plea.
I stare at her, surprised by how sincerely she’s fighting for me—someone she barely knows.
Badi Maa’s expression softens, though she doesn’t say anything right away.
She looks at Aunty, who’s still watching everything unfold with a quiet, disapproving stare. Finally, Aunty speaks.
“She didn’t follow any other rituals. What’s the point of this one?” Her voice is clipped, cold.
But Badi Maa places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Shivani’s right. Let her do this.”
The tension eases just a little, and I remember the first time I called Badi Maa “Badi Maa.” I thought she and Aunty were married to the same man, and—God—the mortification when I asked her about it.
She had sat me down and explained the family dynamics gently, and I was so embarrassed I avoided her for weeks.
Until one day, she brought me besan ladoos and told me to stop running away from her.
The memory fades away with the reminder of how everything turned out now.
Bhabhi turns to me with a triumphant grin when they walk out, leaving us alone.
“You okay?” she asks gently. I nod. “Need help?”
“No, I’m good,” I whisper as I glance around the kitchen.
She squeezes my shoulder. “I know nothing feels okay right now. And yeah, they’re upset, but they’re not bad people. You grew up around them—you know that. Give them some time. They’ll come around.” She gives me a quick wink, trying to cheer me up.
I try to smile back, but it’s wobbly. The tears sting before I can stop them. I pull her into a hug without thinking.
She freezes for a second, and I instantly regret it. Crap. I made it weird. But then she hugs me back—tight. She's so warm.
“You can talk to me, okay?” she whispers. “I don’t have any friends here. I’d really like one.” She breaks the hug and pats my arm twice. She waddles toward the door, muttering, “God, this is so hard. I hate Rudra for putting me in this position.”
I giggle softly, watching her waddle away, her energy refusing to fade even in all this heaviness. There’s something comforting about her. Like no matter what’s going on, she’ll find a way to bring light into the room.
I turn back to the counter. Poha and sandwiches, I decide.
It’s simple. It’s quick. And it’s familiar.
I remember how Aarav used to eat so many sandwiches when I made them.
Said I made the best sandwiches in the world.
Not that I’m making them for him. He doesn’t even want me here.
I’m just doing this to save time… to get through the ritual. That’s all.
I chop onions, heat the oil, and measure the spices—my hands steady even though my mind is anything but. The kitchen slowly fills with the smell of roasting peanuts and turmeric, the soft sizzle of the stove grounding me.
By the time I’m done, I feel… not okay, but a little more in control. I carry everything to the dining room. Everyone’s already seated. My hands tremble as I serve them.
I watch their faces—waiting for a reaction. Any reaction. Nothing.
Except Bhabhi. She gives me a big thumbs up from across the table. I smile at her gratefully. Dadu hands me an envelope. “You did a good job,” he says kindly. “Thank you for the meal.”
That simple smile from him is enough to bring a flutter of warmth to my chest. Bade Papa gives me one too—wordless, but I still take it.
No one else says anything. The silence stretches awkwardly as I shift on my foot. My presence feels like a stain on the tablecloth—visible and unwanted.
A heavy feeling settles in my chest as I glance toward the hallway, half-expecting Aarav to show up. But he doesn’t.
And somehow, the absence feels heavier than his presence ever did.