Page 55 of Mrs. Rathore

It had been a week since that day when Ira was hit by a car and ended up in a hospital bed.

Since the day I saw firsthand that monsters could exist in human flesh.

Since the day...

My eyes landed on my blank, lifeless ankle bells-my ghungroos. The same ones I'd worn for the last fifteen years. A gift from my Kathak guru.

How could I ever forget the day he placed them gently in my palms, his voice brimming with pride? I was one of the best dancers in his academy, he had said. The ghungroos were over two decades old, passed down from his own mentor, and he had chosen to give them to me because he believed I deserved them more than anyone else.

But he was wrong. I didn't deserve them. I never did.

I glanced down at my legs, now healing faster than expected. It had been two weeks since therapy began and one month since the accident. I was on crutches, slowly reclaiming my balance, though each step still felt like a battle.

Mrs. Rathore had reminded me this morning that it was Vat Savitri Puja, a day when married women fast and pray fortheir husbands' long lives. She even instructed me not to take painkillers today. My legs weren't hurting much, but by the end of the day, I knew they'd burn.

Still, I draped a yellow saree and left my hair loose, trying to look the part.

"Bhabhi..." Rhea's voice rang out as I finally reached the dining table. She was already having breakfast. I couldn't have breakfast since I was fasting for my husband.

My husband? He was nowhere to be seen.

It had been days-how many, I'd stopped counting since I last saw Aryan. Since the night he officially moved out of our room. According to him, I made him feel sick.

He hadn't even shown up at the dining table since. Never sat beside his grandmother. Instead, he claimed he was looking after Rhea and had returned to his army base to give training. All of this I heard through Rhea's innocent mouth. She was still convinced that her brother was treating me like a queen.

If only she knew.

But it was all my fault, wasn't it?

At least Ira was recovering, slowly but steadily. I prayed she would get well soon, so I wouldn't have to live with the constant fear of Aryan remembering everything I'd done.

I felt guilty for Ira. But not for Aryan. Not after what he did to me.

I would have refused to fast for him. I wanted to. But because of Grandma, I couldn't say no. How could I pray for a long life for a man I had once wished to murder?

"Bhabhi...?" Rhea called again, her voice louder this time, snapping me out of my spiral.

"Are you okay?" she asked when I looked up at her.

"Yeah..." I nodded, taking a seat across from her, though there was nothing for me to eat.

"You don't have to fast if it's uncomfortable," Rhea said gently, taking a huge bite of her cheese sandwich.

The smell of warm cheese and freshly brewed tea drifted toward me, and I found myself licking my lower lip unconsciously.

God, I really wanted to eat.

"Then eat," Rhea said casually.

My eyes darted to hers, frowning. "What?"

"I know you don't want to fast," she said with a small smile like she had heard my thoughts out loud.

"No, I'm happy to," I replied quickly, though my voice didn't sound convincing, even to my own ears.

"I'm excited to follow the rituals. Honestly, I've been bored lately. At least this gives me something to do. Something to focus on. Something to hear."

Mrs. Rathore had explained everything to me about Vat Savitri Puja : a heartfelt tradition where married women fast and pray for their husbands' long lives. Dressed in vibrant clothes, they gather around the sacred banyan tree, a symbol of strength and longevity. They offer flowers, bangles, and vermilion, and tie sacred threads around its thick, ancient trunk.

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