APRICITY [Completed]

4. SURBHI

After Vihaan left, sleep was a lost cause. Contrary to what one may believe, I did not tell my family anything. My scars did. And when asked about them, I gave them vague answers. I couldn't stomach telling them the truth, mostly because I could not bear going through those incidents again in my mind.

The night we got married, I waited in my room in my red bridal lehenga. The exhaustion was weighing heavy on my shoulders, and I was about to drift to sleep when the door opened and he entered.

My pallu was down, so he couldn't see me. But I could. Neither of us had seen each other before, not even in photos. So when I saw him for the first time, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. He was so handsome. His physique was well-defined, and his posture was straight, authoritative, and dominating.

He strode towards me, and I blushed internally. He threw my pallu back. His stone cold expression didn't waver. If anything, it got harder.

"I thought you'd at least be beautiful," he scoffed.

That was not something a wife wanted to hear on her wedding night.

"Get off the bed. Sleep on the couch."

That's another thing a wife never wanted to hear. Yet, I complied. I knew of the boundations that tied this marriage. But I had hope. I thought that his hate wouldn't last forever.

How naive I had been!

The next morning, I woke up before he did. I went downstairs. The housekeeper, Rekha, greeted me with a kind smile. She was a woman in her late 60s. She offered me some bread rolls to eat. I expressed my gratitude and accepted them. Just as I was about to take the first bite, Vihaan came.

"What do you think you are doing?" He yelled.

Frightened, I immediately stood up.

"I was having my breakfast," I replied timidly.

"Who cooked it?"

"Rekha aunty," I said, unsure of where this was going.

"And who pays her salary?"

"You."

"That's right. I pay her, not your grandfather. She'll only cook for me."

"Okay," I whispered.

That day, I tried cooking for the first time. I was born and brought up by parents who loved me dearly and pampered me. I learnt other things like stitching, knitting, embroidery, etc. but never cooking. I never had to.

I made a toast for myself because that was the easiest.

From here, things only escalated. Initially, Vihaan would only yell at me. He would yell for absolutely anything and everything.

Sometimes, we would say that he doesn't like what I'm wearing even though my clothes fully covered my body. Other times, he would say I was making too much noise and that my existence was disturbing him.

He would stand and shout at me continuously for minutes on end, reminding me of what a family of traitors I belong to. I tried to reason with him and told him that our past was past. We shouldn't let them rule our present.

That was when he touched me for the first time. He grabbed my jaw and pinned me against the wall. He did not like that I talked back.

With time, the number of rough-grabbing incidents increased. And with them came the face slapping. I tried to stay strong for both our sake, but even I had my weak moments.

I didn't tell my family anything. If I had, then they would have gone to unspeakable heights to save me. I couldn't let them do it. I understood where Vihaan was coming from. I saw his scars, and I knew the story of each of them.