The Girl in the Bookshop- - MG || (Part 20 |Page 15) - Page 15

Chapter Nineteen: The Distance Between Rooms

Maan came home the next afternoon.

He did not wait until dinner, when the whole family would be gathered and his return would become a second public event. He did not come at breakfast either. He arrived shortly after two, when lunch was over and the house had broken into its separate afternoon rhythms - doors closing, children being sent upstairs, adults disappearing into calls and work, the older generation retreating from the heat.

The timing was deliberate.

Of course it was.

Maan stood beside the car with one hand around the handle of his bag and felt, for the first time in his life, tired of the way his mind arranged everything. Timing. Entry. Impact. Outcome. He had spent two nights in a hotel thinking about the consequences of believing those things could always be managed.

The driver reached for the bag.

"I've got it."

Maan carried it himself. He entered through the side of the house near the old study, not because he needed to hide his arrival, but because he could not bear the thought of walking through the front doors again with half the household watching.

Nothing inside had changed. The same cool floors after the Delhi heat. The same old photographs along the corridor. A child's shoe abandoned beneath a console table. Somewhere in the distance, two people were arguing mildly about a misplaced charger. A television played behind a half-closed door.

The house had continued without him.

That should not have surprised him.

It did.

For the past two nights he had imagined coming back almost continuously. None of those versions had been about the house. They had all been about Geet. He had constructed explanations at three in the morning, torn them apart by four, started again before dawn.

I married her for the land.

He could still hear himself saying it. He knew why he had said it. He also knew that why had become a worthless thing to hide behind. The land had mattered. The alliance had mattered. The project had mattered. But Geet had mattered separately from all of them, and somewhere along the way Maan had convinced himself that because he knew that distinction, he could choose when she was allowed to know the facts that complicated it.

Then, under pressure, he had reduced the entire marriage to the ugliest version of the truth in one sentence.

He had spent two nights wanting to get back to her and correct it. Not erase what he had done - he was no longer stupid enough to think an explanation could do that. But she had to know. The tenderness had been real. The wanting had been real. The proposal had been real.

She had been real.

Maan tightened his grip on the bag and started upstairs.

His mother saw him on the landing.

She stopped. So did he.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Devika looked first at the bag and then at his face. Her expression did not soften, but it did not harden either.

"You're back."

"Yes."

A small pause.

"You've eaten?"

Maan looked away.

"No."

"There's food if you want it."

"I know."

She nodded. That might have been the entire conversation. It nearly was.

Maan shifted the bag in his hand.

"Ma."

Devika looked at him. There were things he owed her too - the marriage she had not known about, the humiliation of discovering it in front of everyone, the fact that his mother had been expected to absorb a new daughter-in-law and her son's deception at the same time.

"I'm sorry."

The words came quietly. Devika held his gaze for a few seconds.

"I know."

It was not forgiveness. Maan understood that.

She moved past him, then stopped.

"Geet's downstairs."

Everything in him reacted before he could hide it. His mother noticed. She said nothing about that either.

"Where?"

"The smaller sitting room, I think. There are people with her."

Maan looked toward the stairs.

Devika watched him for a moment. "You can ask her to speak to you." He looked back. "But if she says no, let it be no."

His mouth tightened.

"I need to explain."

"I know."

"She thinks I-"

"I know what she thinks."

Maan fell silent. Devika continued down the stairs. She did not tell him not to go. She did not tell him to wait. He was twenty-six years old. He had made the disaster himself. The choice of what he did next was his.

Maan stood alone on the landing. Then he left his bag outside his room and went downstairs.

Geet had spent most of the afternoon surrounded by people without ever quite becoming the center of them.

She preferred it that way.

A younger cousin had brought her a university prospectus and asked what she thought of a biotechnology program. Someone else had pulled her into choosing between two layouts for an anniversary gift. Tea had appeared beside her without ceremony. A pair of children had wandered through, argued over a remote control and vanished again.

Nobody asked how she was feeling. Nobody asked what she was going to do about Maan. Nobody asked whether she intended to stay.

That had helped more than any careful reassurance could have. For a little while, she had simply existed among them. Not as Maan's wife. Not as the girl whose marriage had exploded in front of half the household.

Just Geet.

She was leaning over the prospectus when laughter broke out over something happening on the other side of the room. Geet looked up, smiled despite herself, and then heard footsteps outside.

Her smile vanished.

She did not know whose footsteps they were.

That was what she told herself.

Then Maan appeared in the doorway.

Everything inside her went cold. It happened so quickly it felt humiliating. She had spent two days trying to breathe normally again. Two days learning the rhythms of the house without him in it. Two days answering small questions, eating when food was put in front of her, laughing occasionally without feeling guilty for it.

And now he was standing there.

The same man. That was the cruelty. He did not look transformed by what had happened. Tired, yes - there were shadows beneath his eyes, his face seemed more drawn than she remembered. But he was still Maan. The man who had sat beside her while she studied. The man who had kissed her. The man whose hand had found hers beneath a blanket as though that had always been where it belonged. The man who had stood in front of his family and said -

Geet looked away.

Maan stopped just inside the doorway. His eyes found her immediately. He had spent two nights preparing for this moment. None of the words survived it.

Geet was sitting among his family with papers spread around her, a cup of tea near her elbow. For one wild second relief moved through him. She was downstairs. She was talking to people. She had not left.

Then his gaze caught the absence of the wedding symbols he had last seen on her. The necklace was gone. So was the red vermilion at the parting of her hair. For one second memory supplied what was missing with brutal accuracy - the registry office, her uncertain smile, the necklace against her skin, the red line in her hair.

Maan looked back at her face.

Geet had seen him notice. Something in her expression hardened.

He understood. She had not removed them to make a point to him. She had removed them because he had made the marriage itself feel false.

Something inside him seemed to drop away. He did not let it show.

The room had not gone silent, exactly, but conversation had thinned. People were pretending not to watch. Maan barely noticed them.

"Geet."

Her shoulders tightened. The reaction was tiny. It cut anyway.

"Can I talk to you?"

She stared at him. There had been a time, only days ago, when he could walk into a room and something in her face softened before she seemed to notice it herself. Now there was anger there. Not theatrical anger. Not something thrown at him. Something held so tightly it seemed to be keeping everything else upright.

"No."

The word was quiet. Maan had expected resistance. Still, hearing it hurt.

He swallowed.

"Geet, what you heard that night-"

Her eyes flashed.

"I heard exactly what you said."

The words were not loud. They landed harder because they weren't.

Maan stopped.

"That wasn't the whole truth."

Geet stared at him. For one second the anger broke. Something raw appeared underneath.

"There's more?"

Maan felt the mistake the moment he heard the question. Not suspicion. Not sarcasm. Hurt. As though he had just told her there were still more locked rooms inside a story she had thought was her own life.

"That's not what I meant."

She stood. The papers slid slightly from her lap and onto the sofa. Someone reached automatically to catch them. Geet did not notice.

"Geet-"

"Don't."

He stopped instantly.

The room seemed suddenly too small. Geet looked at him, and for the first time since he had entered, the anger gave way completely. He saw what was beneath it. She was overwhelmed. Not calm enough for explanations. Not composed enough for a conversation. And he had walked into the first ordinary afternoon she had managed to have and torn it open again.

Geet turned and walked out.

Maan did not follow. He heard her steps in the corridor. Then on the stairs. Then nothing.

The people remaining in the room looked anywhere except directly at him.

Maan stood where she had left him. He had come home because he could not bear to let her keep believing the worst version of what he had done. Within minutes, he had made her run upstairs again.

Geet reached the bedroom before the first tear fell.

That angered her more than anything else.

She shut the door. Then locked it.

The sound of the lock sliding into place was small. It felt enormous. For two days she had stopped locking it. She had not made a decision about that. It had simply happened. The first night, she had checked the lock twice. Then, gradually, the house had stopped feeling like somewhere she needed to protect herself from.

And now her hand had gone to the lock before she even thought.

Geet stood with her back against the door. Her breathing was too fast.

That wasn't the whole truth.

She closed her eyes. There was more. Of course there was more. That was what he had said. Or perhaps that was not what he meant. She did not care. She cared too much. That was the problem.

She moved away from the door and sat on the edge of the bed. Her anger had been easier while Maan was not here. Without his face in front of her, she could hold onto the sentence.

I married her for the land.

Simple. Ugly. Clean.

Then he had come home looking exhausted. He had looked at the missing wedding symbols and something in his face had broken before he hid it. She had seen it. She hated that she had seen it. Hated that it had hurt her. Hated that when he said it was not the whole truth, some traitorous part of her had wanted to hear everything.

That was why she had left. Not because she had nothing to say. Because there was too much. If she stayed, she might listen. If she listened, she might believe him. And if she believed even part of him -

Geet pressed both palms over her face.

No. She could not do that yet. She could not sit in front of the man she still loved and let him explain why he had betrayed her. Love was already making her weak in ways she despised. She would not give it more help.

There was a knock.

Geet froze.

Not Maan. She knew somehow.

A woman's voice came through the door, one of the cousins' wives.

"Geet?"

Geet wiped quickly beneath her eyes.

"Yes?"

"We're going downstairs. Do you want us to leave the tea here?"

Her throat tightened.

"Yes. Please."

"Okay."

No question about whether she was crying. No request that she open the door. Footsteps moved away. A few minutes later there was another soft sound outside - something being placed on the small table near the door.

Then silence.

That kindness nearly undid her more than concern would have.

Downstairs, nobody accused Maan of anything.

That was worse.

The room slowly returned to motion after Geet left. Someone gathered the papers that had slipped onto the sofa. The university prospectus was folded closed. A child who had wandered in was quietly redirected elsewhere.

Nobody asked Maan what he had said. They had heard enough.

Maan remained standing for another moment, then walked out. He did not go upstairs. He went to the study. The door remained open. He sat behind the desk without turning on the lamp.

For several minutes he did nothing.

Voices moved through the house. Normal voices, lower than before. Someone came down the stairs and spoke quietly to another person in the hall. Maan could not hear the words. He knew they were about Geet anyway.

A little later, one of his older cousins appeared at the study door.

"She's not coming down for tea."

Maan looked up. The cousin was not accusing him. That made it worse.

"Okay."

"She said she's fine."

Maan looked back at the desk. Of course she had.

The cousin lingered for a second. "You eating?"

"No."

Another pause. Then he left.

Maan stared at nothing. He had wanted to correct the misunderstanding. Instead he had destroyed the small progress she had made while he was gone. That fact settled slowly. When he had left the house two nights earlier, Geet had barely been able to sit in the same room with anyone. Since then, she had started coming downstairs. Reading in the library. Having tea with people. Talking. Laughing. Trusting the house enough to stop hiding inside a bedroom.

He had returned. Now the door was locked.

Maan lowered his head. There were no clever defenses left. No strategic explanation. No private distinction between intent and consequence that made him feel better.

He had hurt her. Then, trying to explain why he had hurt her, he had hurt her again.

By evening, the concern had spread through the house without becoming a spectacle.

Nobody gathered outside Geet's room. Nobody treated her like an invalid. People simply adjusted. Someone took dinner upstairs and left it outside after she said she was not hungry. A book she had been reading was placed beside the tray. When she answered through the door, they left her alone.

The older generation did not chase her. They had spent their lives in a house full of people. They understood the difference between concern and intrusion.

Still, everyone knew.

At dinner, Geet's chair was empty. So was Maan's. That became its own kind of conversation.

Maan remained in the study. Nobody called him. Nobody ordered him to join them. Nobody told him he should give Geet space. He already knew. The absence of instruction felt like judgment.

Eventually Samar came in carrying a plate. He set it on the desk. Maan did not look up.

"I'm not hungry."

"I know."

Samar sat in the chair opposite. For a minute neither spoke.

Finally Maan asked, "Did she eat?"

"A little."

Maan's shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly. Samar noticed. He said nothing.

"Is she still upstairs?"

"Yes."

Another silence. Maan stared at his hands.

"I made it worse."

Samar did not tell him he hadn't. That was one of the reasons Maan trusted him.

"You went in wanting to explain."

"I know what I wanted."

His voice was flat.

"That's becoming a fairly useless piece of information."

Samar said nothing.

Maan looked toward the open study door. The house beyond it sounded subdued. His house. His family. Everyone worried about his wife. Because of him.

Again.

After a while, he asked, "What did everyone say?"

"About what?"

"Me."

Samar's expression changed.

"Nothing."

Maan gave a short nod. That answer hurt more than anything else could have.

Nothing. No one had to say it.

Upstairs, Geet eventually opened the door - only far enough to bring the dinner tray inside.

The hallway was empty. She was grateful.

She ate a few bites because she knew someone would notice if the plate came back untouched. That irritated her. It also warmed something she did not want warmed. The house had been kind to her. Not dramatically. That was what made it harder to dismiss. Nobody had demanded gratitude. Nobody had reminded her that she was there because of Maan. Nobody had told her what she should do with her marriage.

Over the last two days, she had started believing them.

A little.

Then Maan had returned, and suddenly she was twenty-one again in the worst possible way - uncertain, humiliated, desperate to hide somewhere no one could see how much she still loved the person who had hurt her.

Geet looked at the locked door.

Anger came back. Good. She preferred anger. Anger had edges. Anger gave her somewhere to stand.

She thought of Maan saying, Can I talk to you? She thought of his face when she said no. Then: That wasn't the whole truth.

Bitterness rose sharp and immediate. Of course. There was always another truth with Maan. Another thing he had decided she could learn later. Another explanation after the decision had already been made.

Geet pushed the tray away.

Let him keep it. His truth. His explanation. His carefully arranged reasons. For once, she did not want to understand Maan Khurana.

She wanted him to understand what it felt like not to be heard.

Downstairs, Maan remained in the study long after dinner ended.

People passed occasionally. A cousin returning from work leaned into the doorway, saw him and thought better of whatever he had intended to say. One of the teenagers came looking for a charger, found it on the side table, and left. His father crossed the corridor once. Their eyes met. Rajendra did not stop.

That hurt too. Not because Maan wanted another confrontation. He didn't. But his father's disappointment had somehow become quieter since the night of the revelation. More complete. Maan had always known how to fight anger. Silence left him nowhere to push.

Later, his mother passed the study. She paused.

"Geet ate a little."

Maan looked up.

"Okay."

Devika nodded. She did not ask whether he was all right. He almost appreciated that. She went upstairs.

Maan sat alone again. He still wanted to talk to Geet. That had not changed. If anything, the need felt worse now. He wanted to tell her that what she believed about the marriage was not true. Wanted to tell her that the land had never been why he woke up wanting to see her. Never been why he remembered things she said. Never been why he had wanted another day and then another and then somehow reached the point where marrying her had felt more obvious than waiting.

But even inside his own head the words sounded dangerous.

Because the truth of his feelings did not erase the truth of his actions. And Geet was not obligated to listen just because silence was killing him.

That realization did not make him wise.

It made him miserable.

There was a difference.

Near midnight, Geet finally switched off the light. She did not unlock the door.

Across the house, Maan was still awake. Neither knew that the other was.

The distance between them was not large. A staircase. A corridor. Several closed doors. That was all. And yet it felt larger than Shimla had ever felt from Delhi.

Geet lay facing away from the door, angry enough to need the anger because everything beneath it hurt more.

Downstairs, Maan sat in the darkened study with the explanation he had wanted so badly to give her still trapped inside him. When he had entered the house that afternoon, Geet had been downstairs with his family. Talking. Smiling. Beginning, however cautiously, to trust that she could exist there without having to earn every inch of space.

By night, her door was locked.

No one had told Maan that was his fault.

No one needed to.

For the first time since he had come home, he stopped thinking about what he would say when Geet finally let him explain.

He thought instead about what his presence had done to her.

And for tonight, that was enough to keep him downstairs.

Author's Note 🤍

Maan finally came home.

And somehow, that made the distance worse.

For two days, Geet had slowly started breathing again inside the Khurana house. She came downstairs. She laughed. She let people know what she liked. She stopped treating the room as somewhere temporary.

And then Maan walked through the door.

What stayed with me most while writing this chapter was not their argument.

It was the lock.

Geet had gradually stopped locking her bedroom door.

After seeing Maan again, she locked it without even thinking.

That tiny action tells him more about the damage than any accusation could.

I'd love to know:

• Were you glad Geet said "No" when Maan asked to talk?
• What did you feel when he said, "That wasn't the whole truth," and she immediately heard "There's more?"
• Did you like that Maan stopped the moment she told him not to follow?
• What did you think of the family quietly caring for both of them without forcing a confrontation?
• And do you think Maan finally begins understanding that his intentions and Geet's experience of his actions are two different things?

The line that defines this chapter for me is probably:

He had hurt her. Then, trying to explain why he had hurt her, he had hurt her again.

- Nilz 🤍

Sorry for late comments

Chapter 17

Feeling for Geet

Her thoughts were reasonable

Of cos she reflects on everything

She indeed trusted Maan

But was betrayed

Does Maan realise the ramifications of his words?

He did not mean to say that

Alas used this as an excuse

He clearly hurt Geet

Geet removing her marriage symbols was symbolic

Liked that Maan's cousin Tara came to show Geet around the house

Glad that dadima accepted Geet

Now Geet met the members of the Khurana family

Enjoyed the banter

Not surprised that Devika noticed that Geet removed her marriage symbols

However did not say anything

Did Geet give up too easily?

Pleasedthat the family members made Geet comfortable

At least Geet laughed

Chapter 18

Maan's thoughts were understandable

He was really tensed

After all there was no response from Geet

What did he expect?

Hope he makes things right

Now he has to win Geet's love and trust

Great that he called Samar

Of cos he was worried about Geet

His question was anticipated

At least he is going home tomorrow

Daadi spoke to Devika

Glad that Maan's family made her feel part of the family

Wonderful that cook will make what Geet wants to eat

Tara and Rhea are nice

Wonderful that they want her to wear what she wants

So they talked about Maan and his escapades

So Geet heard Rhea and samar's conversation

She is aware that will back the next day

Daadi is the best

Loved that she said Geet is her granddaughter

Geet was overwhelmed

Daadi made Geet understand that she is family

Daadi raised valid points

Admire daadi

When something wrong slips out, its very hard to correct it. His words were the kind that make it very hard to recover. Emotions are involved. Someone got hurt.

But still, he needs to explain. In due time, she will listen.

So so glad geet was showing anger finally felt till now she was hiding her emotions or rather grasping the truth

But not really till now his few words did it

He could see and feel it the hurt

And his family not saying anything hurt more

He k ew what he did

He was so wrong

His feelings were real but his thinking was wrong

how will he tell her that or show her

How will she believe him or will she ever

Let's

See

sad she locked the door

Chapter 19

So Maan is back home

He chose the perfect time

Of cos he asked about Geet

Great that Devika told him not to force Geet to speak to him

Geet indeed knew he was back

As expected she refused to speak to him

At least he respected her decision and didn't follow her

Maan really hurt her

He needs to explain

But will she believe him

Her anger was pain was justified

She clearly needs time

Geet's thoughts were reasonable

His family not telling him anything hurt him

Maan's thoughts were understandable

Finally his realisation

Chapter Twenty: Still Hers

The house had a rhythm to it now that Geet could almost read. Not perfectly, not yet, but enough to know when breakfast had ended by the way the lower corridors emptied, enough to recognize the late-afternoon lull when the older members of the family disappeared into their rooms and the younger ones took over the common spaces, enough to know which doors were usually left open, which conversations carried across the central hall, which people came home hungry and which came home talking. She was beginning to understand the house by repetition.

And lately there was a Maan-shaped absence moving through that rhythm.

Not dramatic. Not yet.

He had gone to work early that morning - earlier than usual, apparently. Someone mentioned it over breakfast. Someone else said he had a meeting. The conversation moved on.

Geet looked down at her tea. That was all.

She had spent half the walk downstairs preparing herself not to react if he was there. He wasn't. The relief came first. Then irritation. Then, almost immediately, irritation at the irritation. She had told him she did not want to talk. He had listened. What exactly did she expect now?

Geet spread butter across a piece of toast she did not particularly want and concentrated on the conversation beside her - a cousin complaining about traffic, someone's husband trying to answer a work message without spilling his coffee, a child being told for the fourth time that jam was not a breakfast category. She smiled once. She did not ask where Maan was.

That mattered to her.

Mostly, she watched. That had become easier than participating, some days. The house made room for her without insisting she fill it. She could sit at the edge of a conversation while two cousins argued about a cricket score, listen while someone complained about a contractor, answer a question about university applications, then fall silent again without anyone asking why.

At first she had thought belonging meant being noticed. Being invited. Being reassured. Now she was beginning to understand that sometimes it looked like the opposite - nobody checking whether she was comfortable every five minutes, nobody lowering their voices when she entered, nobody treating her silence as an emergency. Not being the center of a room was not the same thing as being excluded from it. The distinction was unfamiliar. She was still learning it.

The strange part was that the more ordinary the family became around her, the less ordinary her own position felt. Because what was she here? Not a guest - Daadi had made that clear. Not exactly a daughter. Not exactly anything Geet knew how to name. Technically, Maan's wife. The phrase still hurt.

She looked down at the university prospectus in front of her. Someone had asked what she thought of the biotechnology program, and she had promised to read through it properly. The pages were easier than people. Requirements. Research tracks. Funding. Application dates. Things that said what they meant.

Geet turned the page.

Maan came home late that evening - not very late, but late enough that dinner had already begun. Geet heard him before she saw him: a low voice in the hall, the brief opening and closing of the front door, someone greeting him. Her hand paused over her plate, only for a second, before she forced herself to keep eating.

He entered a few minutes later, looking tired again, his tie gone, his sleeves rolled, his face carrying the blank, controlled look of someone who had spent all day making decisions for other people. He greeted the table quietly and sat.

Geet did not look at him. That was deliberate. She spoke to the person beside her, asked a question she did not much care about, listened carefully to the answer. Across the table, Maan said almost nothing. That was harder to ignore than if he had spoken. He had always seemed made of presence - even before she knew him properly, there had been something about him that changed the temperature of a room. Confidence. Certainty. The sense that he had no doubt where he belonged. Now he seemed to be reducing himself by degrees, not enough for anyone to ask if something was wrong, enough for Geet to notice.

She hated that she noticed.

At one point somebody made a joke. Geet laughed. Maan looked up instinctively. Their eyes nearly met. Geet turned away first, and the laugh died too quickly.

She hated that too.

For the rest of dinner, she behaved as if he were simply one more person at the table. It took far more effort than anyone knew.

Maan noticed, of course.

Yesterday, Geet had fled because of him. Today she remained - sat at the same table, ate, answered questions, smiled at other people, and treated him as though looking directly at him might give him too much importance. He told himself this was better. She was downstairs. She was functioning. She was not behind a locked door. That should have been enough. He tried to make it enough.

When someone asked him a question about work, he answered. When Samar said something from the other end of the table, Maan responded without the usual edge. When Geet laughed, he looked up before he could stop himself.

Then she looked away.

That hurt more quietly than anger. He had expected anger. He knew what to do with anger. This was something else. Not indifference, not yet, but an attempt at it.

Maan lowered his eyes to his plate. He did not try to speak to her.

Not tonight.

By afternoon, she had heard his name three times - a file someone needed, a question about whether he'd be home for dinner, a cousin hoping not to be caught borrowing something from his room. Each time, the house absorbed his absence without drama. That was almost stranger than if people had complained.

Geet had known the family only days, but even in that short time she had understood that Maan belonged to the noise of it. He was supposed to be in the middle of conversations. Supposed to be pulled into arguments. Supposed to answer from another room, appear and alter the direction of whatever was happening. Now the house still carried him, but at a distance.

Geet observed it from the edge. She told herself observation was not the same as caring.

She told herself many things lately.

She still had not called Shimla. That problem was becoming harder to avoid.

Mehek had messaged twice that day. Uncle once. Nothing dramatic. How are you? Call when you have time. Did you get your exam results yet?

Geet stared at the messages until the screen dimmed. Her thumb hovered over Mehek's name. She typed: I need to tell you something about Delhi. Then stopped, read it, and deleted the sentence one letter at a time.

A few minutes later she opened Uncle's contact. Did not call. Locked the phone instead.

She did not know where to begin. Maan knew about the land before he proposed sounded like a legal statement. I don't know what my marriage is anymore sounded like somebody else's life. His family has been kind to me seemed almost disloyal to admit. I'm still here was the hardest one of all.

Why was she still here? Because Daadi had told her she belonged? Because the family had made space for her? Because returning to Shimla felt more complicated than staying? Because she still loved Maan?

Geet put the phone facedown.

No. Not that one. Not even to herself.

That night, she ended up in Daadi's room without deciding to. The door was open. Daadi was propped against the headboard with a book open in her lap, reading glasses low on her nose.

Geet stopped at the threshold.

Daadi looked up. "Are you coming in?"

Geet did. There was a chair beside the bed. She ignored it, sitting instead on the floor, one arm folded over the mattress, her temple resting against it.

Daadi looked at her once, then returned to her book. No question. No what happened? No what are you thinking?

Geet stared through the window. The night sky beyond the glass seemed almost endless. Delhi softened the stars, but not the darkness.

For a long time, neither woman spoke. Daadi turned a page. Geet kept looking outside.

Eventually Daadi said, "It looks dark."

Geet blinked.

"Unending." Another page turned. "Lonely."

Geet lifted her head. "Huh?"

Daadi looked at her over the rim of her glasses. "The sky." A beat. "I am talking about the sky. What did you think I was talking about?"

Geet looked back toward the window. "Nothing."

"Hmm."

Daadi returned to her book. Silence settled again. This one did not feel empty.

After a while, Daadi said, "I understand you."

Geet turned her head properly this time. Something in the words irritated her before she could stop it. "How can you?"

Daadi lowered the book.

"This is your family," Geet said. "Your people. Your house." Her voice dropped. "You know where you belong here. But I-"

Daadi closed the book over one finger. "I also married into this family."

Geet went still.

Daadi looked around the room, not dramatically, almost absently. "There was a day when none of this was mine either. Different faces. Different habits. People who had known one another all their lives." She looked back at Geet. "And me trying to understand where to put my cup."

A faint laugh escaped Geet before she could stop it. Daadi's mouth softened. Then she reopened her book. No larger explanation came.

Geet was grateful. She rested her head back against the mattress.

Then Geet murmured, almost to herself, "Men change so quickly."

Daadi did not look up.

Geet kept her eyes on the dark window. "Or maybe they don't change at all. Maybe they're always like this and women just realize it later." A pause. "At least I found out early."

Daadi turned a page. That was all. No defense of Maan. No agreement. No correction.

Geet breathed out slowly. After another long silence, she said, "I don't know what to tell them."

Daadi looked down.

"In Shimla."

Geet nodded. "Mehek keeps asking me to call. Uncle too."

"What do you want to tell them?"

"I don't know."

Daadi returned to her book.

"What do I say?" Geet whispered. "That I married someone without really understanding what I was agreeing to? That I came here and found out-" She stopped.

Daadi waited.

Geet looked down at her hands. "That I'm still here."

There it was. The part she had been avoiding.

Daadi did not answer immediately.

"I don't know what staying means," Geet continued. "Or leaving."

Daadi closed the book. "You do not have to know tonight."

Geet looked up. "Everyone keeps saying things like that."

"Then perhaps everyone is very wise."

Geet gave her a look. Daadi's expression remained perfectly serious. For some reason that made Geet laugh, just once.

Daadi reopened her book. Geet stayed where she was. For another half hour they barely spoke.

It was past eleven by the time Maan left his room again, most of the house gone quiet around him. He crossed the upstairs corridor toward the stairs, and halfway down it, he saw light beneath Daadi's door. He heard a low voice inside.

Geet.

Maan stopped, only for a second. He could not make out the words. He did not move closer. A few days ago, curiosity would have been enough. Not now.

He kept walking, back toward his own room. He took off his watch and placed it on the desk, sat, did not turn on the television, did not open his laptop immediately. The house had become quieter around him lately. Or perhaps he had become quieter inside it. He was not sure which.

He thought about Geet downstairs at dinner. The way she had avoided his eyes. The effort in it. That hurt.

He also thought about the fact that she had stayed. That mattered more, for now.

Geet returned to her room close to midnight. Her phone was still where she had left it, three unread messages waiting. She did not open them. Instead she sat at the desk and opened her laptop. There was one thing she had been avoiding for an entirely different reason.

Her exam result.

The page loaded slowly. Geet entered her details. Waited. Her stomach tightened. She refreshed once.

Then the result appeared.

For several seconds she simply stared. Read it once. Then again. Her heart began to beat faster. She had done well. Very well - better than she had allowed herself to hope after everything that had happened.

Geet leaned closer to the screen. The numbers remained the same. A small laugh escaped her, disbelieving. She covered her mouth with one hand.

For the first time in days, the feeling rising inside her had nothing to do with Maan. Nothing to do with land. Nothing to do with marriage. Nothing to do with whether she belonged in Delhi or Shimla. It belonged entirely to something she had done. Something she had studied for. Something she had earned before any of this began.

Hers.

Geet looked at the result again, then at the phone beside the laptop.

Mehek. Uncle.

Tomorrow. She would tell them tomorrow - maybe badly, maybe out of order, maybe without knowing what she wanted them to say. But she would tell them something.

For tonight, she let herself look at the screen one more time.

And smile.

By breakfast, Geet had managed to keep the result to herself for approximately eight hours, most of which she had spent asleep.

Tara ruined that within three minutes.

She had barely taken her seat when Tara looked at her from across the table.

"What?"

Geet reached for tea. "What what?"

"You look strange."

"Thank you."

"No. Good strange."

One of the cousins glanced up from his phone. "That somehow sounded worse."

"I mean she looks like she's trying not to smile."

Geet immediately stopped smiling.

Tara pointed at her. "There."

"There what?"

"That."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Another person joined the table carrying coffee. "What happened?"

"Apparently Geet has a secret."

"I do not have a secret."

"Then tell us."

Geet stared at them. This was ridiculous.

"My exam result came."

The table shifted, not dramatically at first, just several heads turning at once.

"When?"

"Last night."

"And?"

Geet reached for toast. "I did well."

Tara narrowed her eyes. "That is not a result."

"It is literally a description of one."

"What percentage?"

Geet took a sip of tea. Someone beside her leaned closer. "Why are you drinking tea? Answer."

She laughed despite herself. "Ninety-one point two."

There was a brief silence.

Then: "What?" "Geet!" "Ninety-one?"

"Point two," Tara corrected loudly, as though protecting a significant scientific discovery.

Someone clapped. Someone else called toward the corridor for a person who was not even in the room. Geet's face heated. "No. Don't call people."

Too late. Within a minute the information had escaped the table and begun migrating through the house - "What happened?" "Geet got ninety-one point two!" "On what?" "Her result!" "What result?" "The university result!"

Geet looked around helplessly. "This is excessive."

"It has barely started," somebody told her.

That turned out to be true.

Devika appeared several minutes later, drawn in by the noise. "What happened?"

Three people answered before Geet could.

"How did you do?" Devika asked her directly.

"Ninety-one point two."

Devika's eyes widened. Then she smiled - not the careful smile she had worn around Geet lately, but a real one.

"Geet." Something about the uncomplicated pleasure on her face caught Geet off guard. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Devika touched her shoulder briefly as she passed behind the chair. Warm pressure through fabric. Nothing more.

Someone had already decided sweets were required.

"At breakfast?"

"Sugar has no schedule."

"We have sweets in the house?"

"This family has sweets for events that haven't happened yet."

Geet laughed. A box appeared from somewhere. She did not ask.

By the time Devika returned with a plate and set something in front of her that Geet had not requested, the room was louder.

"I didn't tell anyone I was waiting for results," Geet said.

"I noticed."

"I didn't want to make it a thing if it went badly."

"And now that it hasn't?"

Geet looked around the room - at Tara arguing over who got to call someone else first, at a younger cousin asking whether biotechnology meant Geet could now legally be called a doctor, at two people discussing lunch as though the result had created an administrative obligation.

"Now it's apparently a thing regardless of what I wanted."

Devika's mouth curved. "Welcome to this family."

The line was so dry, so unexpectedly warm, that Geet laughed again. And this time she did not immediately feel guilty afterward.

Devika's phone began ringing on the side table after she had left the room.

Geet glanced toward the doorway.

"Aun-"

She stopped.

No.

Somehow she had avoided this for days. The extended family was easy - everyone had been introduced to her with some relation already attached, and she simply used what the house used. Maan's parents were different.

Aunty?

Maybe.

Mrs Khurana?

Too formal.

Ma'am?

Somehow worse.

And the word Maan used -

Mom.

Geet could not make herself call it across a room.

The phone kept ringing.

"Your phone!" she called instead. "It's ringing!"

Devika appeared from the corridor, saw it and came back.

"Thank you."

Geet nodded.

Another problem postponed.

She had realized, suddenly, that she had been doing the same thing with Maan's father too - waiting until he looked at her before beginning a sentence, so she never had to call him anything at all.

Maan found out at eleven seventeen.

He was in the middle of reviewing revisions to a project schedule when Samar entered his office without knocking, dropped a folder on the table and sat down.

Maan looked up. "Do you need something?"

"Good morning to you too."

"It stopped being morning emotionally at nine."

"You're delightful lately."

Maan returned to the page. Samar watched him for another second, then said, "Geet's results came."

Maan's pen stopped. Only his eyes moved. "Today?"

"Last night, apparently."

Maan set the paper down. "How did she do?"

"Really well."

Maan stared at him. Samar's mouth twitched. "What?"

"Really well isn't a number."

For the first time in several days, something almost familiar moved through Samar's expression. "Ninety-one point two."

Maan went very still. The reaction was small - someone who did not know him would have missed it. Samar did not. Pride arrived first, immediate, bright enough to hurt.

"Ninety-one point two."

"Yes."

Maan looked down at the papers again, but he was no longer reading them. "With everything going on."

Samar said nothing.

Maan's thumb moved once against the edge of the document. "She worked like hell for those exams." Samar looked at him. Maan caught the look, and his expression closed slightly. He had said too much - not because Samar did not know they had been together, but because nobody in the family knew how many small things Maan still knew about Geet. How she studied. How she revised. How she complained about molecular pathways and then stayed up another hour anyway. How she could insist she was too tired to read another page and then become furious if anybody actually suggested she stop.

He looked back at the schedule. "Are they doing something?"

"Lunch, apparently. Maybe shopping afterward. I stopped listening when people started arguing about restaurants."

"Where?"

Samar told him.

"You're going?"

"Yes."

Maan nodded. Samar waited. Maan did not say anything else.

"You're not?"

"I have meetings."

"You can move meetings."

"I know."

That was the answer. Samar stood. At the door Maan said, "Samar."

He turned.

Maan hesitated. It irritated him that even this required thought now. "Don't tell her I asked."

Samar studied him for a moment, then nodded.

Maan lowered his eyes first.

By noon, Geet discovered that academic success inside a large family required transportation planning. Someone wanted lunch. Someone else insisted lunch without dessert would be an insult to education. A cousin had work and would meet them there. Another had a child to collect later.

Rhea appeared with the certainty of a woman who had apparently been appointed event coordinator by nobody. "We're going out."

"We're already going to lunch."

"Yes."

Geet waited. Rhea waited back.

"That was not a complete sentence."

"It was enough."

Tara appeared holding two scarves. "Which one?"

"For what?"

"Me."

Geet looked at both. "The blue one."

Tara immediately chose the other.

"Then why did you ask me?"

"To confirm my instinct."

Geet stared at her. "This family is exhausting."

"Thank you."

Someone suggested shopping after lunch. Geet objected. That only encouraged them.

"I have clothes. I don't need anything."

"That has never stopped anyone in this family," Rhea said.

Geet looked toward Devika, expecting at least some support.

Devika met her eyes.

"Go."

Geet blinked.

Devika's expression softened. "You did very well."

There was something in her tone that made it difficult to argue without making the moment heavier than either of them wanted.

Geet looked at her for another second. "All right," she said.

Devika smiled. "Good."

Author's Note 🤍

After everything that has happened, I wanted this chapter to give Geet something that was completely, unquestionably hers.

Not Maan.

Not the marriage.

Not the land.

Not the Khurana family.

Her.

Her work.
Her effort.
Her result.

And before we even get there, I loved writing the quieter shift happening inside the house. Geet is no longer constantly being reassured that she belongs. People are simply behaving normally around her - and she is beginning to understand that sometimes belonging looks like nobody stopping the room for you at all.

Daadi's scene is probably the emotional center for me.

Geet tells her, essentially, this is your family, your people, your house.

And Daadi simply says:

"I also married into this family."

Then gives her possibly the most Daadi answer imaginable:

"There was a day when none of this was mine either... and me trying to understand where to put my cup." 😭🤍

I'd love to know:

• What did you think of the Daadi-Geet conversation?
• Did Geet admitting "I'm still here" stand out to you?
• What did you make of her not knowing whether staying or leaving means anything yet?
• Did you notice how carefully Maan is beginning to stay out of her way?
• And how did you feel when Geet finally got something joyful that had absolutely nothing to do with her marriage?

Also...

91.2. 🥹

Let the girl have this one.

- Nilz 🤍