Page 8 of Mrs. Rathore

My body stiffened. My pulse roared. “We’ll give you money if that’s what you want,” I snapped, before I could stop myself.

“Get. Out!” Her shriek rattled the windows.

My father stood abruptly. “Aryan, leave. Now.”

I looked at him, stunned. “She asked to see me, didn’t she?”

“Leave!” he barked, and this time it wasn’t a suggestion.

Without another word, I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. The sound echoed through the corridor like a gunshot. I marched to the waiting room, rage burning under my skin.

She made me the villain. In front of him. In front of my own father. The man who had raised me with such pride, now looking at me like I was the enemy.

“What the hell is she feeding him?” I muttered under my breath. “I’m not the monster she’s painting.”

“Fuck!” I slammed my fist into the wall. Pain lanced through my knuckles, but I didn’t flinch. I’d been through worse. I’d survived covert missions in enemy territory without breaking down. But this?

This was a war and I was losing.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened. My father walked out slowly, his face unreadable. He moved toward me with heavy steps.

“She agreed,” he said finally, voice low. “She won’t press charges.”

A small breath of relief escaped me. But then, he didn’t stop.

“But…”

My stomach dropped. I watched his face, reading the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes didn’t meet mine.

“But what?” I asked.

He hesitated. For the first time in my life, he looked unsure.

“But what, Father?” I demanded, a knot forming in my throat.

He sighed and looked up at me, voice barely above a whisper.

“You need to marry her.”

______

Chapter 3

AVNI

“What are you talking about, Avi? Are you out of your mind? How could you take such a big decision on your own, huh?” Papa’s voice thundered through the room the moment he heard about the arranged marriage. His face was a mixture of disbelief and fury, and yet underneath it all, I could see something else. It was fear.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t argue back. I simply stared up at the white ceiling above me, letting his words fall around me like meaningless noise. The paint on the ceiling was cracked in a few places. One of the lines curved like a dancer’s foot poised mid-step - a cruel reminder.

I felt… nothing.

No rage, no sorrow, not even the fire that once kept me pushing forward. I was hollow, a shell of who I used to be. And if there was truly nothing left inside me, why should I care who I was marrying? If this marriage could bring my family a little happiness, if it meant my mother could get better treatment and my little brother could finally go to the school of his dreams, then maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

“Papa,” I said quietly, forcing myself to glance at him. His expression had shifted, his anger cracked open by heartbreak. “I want to be alone. Please, just leave me for a while.”

I watched the way his shoulders slumped slightly, as though my words had drained the fight out of him. My pain was visible to him. He could feel it just like I did. No matter how much I tried to keep it buried. And it hurt, watching him like this. Just as much as it hurt to admit what I’d lost.

Just a few days ago, we were celebrating. There was music, sweets, and laughter. I had secured second runner-up in the regional Kathak competition, and I was just one step away from being crowned queen. Just one more win. I had rehearsed endlessly, pushed through nights of exhaustion and aching legs, dreaming of that final triumph.

---