Indian Wedding Tales

J A N K I : part II

And when Mr. Singh walked in with a small Sana clung to his arms, I couldn't take my eyes off her. I saw myself in her. Someone who had lost their most loved one and yet were here on this planet living and breathing.

Sana was so young that my heart ached for her. I knew she needed me just the way I needed her. So, with a half empty suitcase I agreed to a second marriage that was arranged for me.

But my main requirement was only one. To be the mother Sana needed right now. So that was what I became. Around her I would indulge in her stories and forget my worries. At night when I returned to my room, the memories would haunt me back and so I would swallow sleeping pills to get rid of them.

But there were times like these when I still felt him around me, calling out to me. As much as I wanted to believe they were true, they were a painful reminder that I survived..... and he didn't.

They call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's not so difficult to understand. Every waking second of your life is spent in the guilt that you survived and he didn't.

The man who made my knees weak and my heart light. The man who I was supposed to grow old with. The man with whom I was supposed to have two kids and a dog.

All gone in a dreadful minute on the highway.

I wish I hadn't survived that night.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, tears didn't come down. I was drained of them. My skin was deprived of his loving touch, my eyes didn't have the fortune of looking at him now. My hair no longer had soft fingers weaving through them.

My entire body felt.... Hollow. Beaten. Tired. Useless.

Looking back at my reflection I made my mind again. I opened the drawer and rummaged through it until I finally the card Mr. Singh had given. The card I hadn't put to use yet.

It was time now.

***

As I stepped through the house door, my stomach turned into knots. There was this satisfying feeling blooming in my chest, the way you feel when a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. But a trickle of nervousness was there as my steps inched forward. How would they react?

Not everyone. Just Sana.

Mr. Singh and I never really exchanged words.

Taking a deep breath, I entered the living room.

"Sana," I called out of habit. Four pairs of eye turned to me and the tiny one with pigtails had my rapt attention.

Sana's face which had a broad smile due to my voice calling out to her suddenly froze. She looked at me with a face devoid of any emotions as if processing what was in front of her. I gently made my way to her ignoring the curious stares of Mr. Singh and Ms. D'Souza.

With a thumping heart, I bent my knees and kneeled in front of her.

"Hey," I breathed while placing my hands on her delicate shoulder.

"Wh...Where did ....where did your hair go?" She asked, confusion written all across her face.

I spurted out a dry chuckle as I patted my hair, "It's right here. Just shorter"

Hesitantly, she raised her hand and touched my head and traced the strands of my hair but they stopped once they reached my shoulder.

I tried to smile at her but a look of disbelief crossed her face. Her small frame inched away from me and the feeling was close to someone pouring ice water over my head.

The hurt that ripped through my chest was making my head spin. Everything was slipping from my fingers.

Sana looked like I took away the one thing in her life that mattered the most to her. I wanted to remind her that it was still me. I was still here and that this change wasn't going to affect anything between us.

"You're leaving us, aren't you?" She spoke in whisper with eyes that looked so heartbroken that I had the urge to just curl up in a ball and weep.

"No, baby, I'll always be here," I took a step forward but the refusal in her eyes caught me by surprise.

"You'll go away just like her," Sana voiced and the next moment she had turned around and ran upstairs.

"Sana, wait!" I shouted as I rose from my position but she had disappeared from my line of sight.

Heart broken and desperate my eyes met the concerned eyes of Mr. Singh.

I am sorry, I wanted to say.

But when we both heard the door upstairs slam hard into the wall, my legs sprang into action. Mr. Singh and I lunged for the stairs at the same time.

***

Uh-oh 🥺

What's happening in this house :(

Also, if anyone knows someone who makes covers, please leave some suggestions in the comments.

I'm asking this for the new story that I'm working on.

Planning to post the final part once this book hits 10k reads♥️