Note: The writing bug has caught me again, this time with this reinterpretation of what happened on Friday. I hope you enjoy it!
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-***-
"Aap bhi isse shaadi karna chahte the?"
There was a pregnant pause as everyone anticipated his response. Rudra licked his lips, swallowing audibly. His eyes focused on the woman in front of him, her stance sure and her head tilted slightly towards him, as if she was waiting for him to answer.
He prepared to say yes, knowing it would save his job. She had convinced them that she was happy in his house, as his bride. It all rested on him to answer.
"Haan." He barely contained his own surprise at the tone with which he had said the phrase. It was supposed to come out gruffly, the familiar irritation at being prodded to reveal his motives laden in his voice. But it wasn't.
It was soft, gentle and filled with truth. Too much truth. His subconscious had slipped a piece of the potent attraction he felt for his wife into his statement, with admiration and respect injecting their way into the simple phrase as well.
He didn't love her, he knew. He didn't know how to love. But she had earned his respect by steadfastly refusing to back down, by taking every arrow he had doused in poison and changing it into nectar. She had defended him when he didn't deserve it.
He knew he should have lost his job. He had abused her, taunted her, taken away everything she held dear. He had stomped upon her beliefs, bruised her and made scathing remarks at her intentions. He never failed to accuse her of attempting to seduce him, accusing her of the crime of being a beautiful woman.
She still hadn't backed down. She had stood there with her smile, coming back to him every time. Her eyes would fill with tears, reflecting the pain and hurt. She never hid it from him.
What should have given him satisfaction only have him guilt, the sight of seeing tears in her eyes making him regret his harsh words and digging a deep, hollow pit in his stomach. Seeing the bruises on her wrists, dark and purple, made him want to caress them softly and berate her for allowing him to give her pain. Why did she stay, he wanted to ask. Why did she allow him to make her miserable?
He didn't deserve his job back, not one bit. He had done everything they had accused him of, mentally torturing an innocent woman. She knew it too, knew of his venomous hatred and the cutting pain he had given her. But she still stood by him.
She had earned his respect, his admiration for her spirit clear to everyone around them with that one word.
Haan.
He wasn't saying that he had wanted to marry her, or making a sweeping declaration of his true feelings. That one word was a reflection of gratitude and respect. It was of admiration for her determination, and somewhere hidden within the single syllable, was a veiled apology.
He prepared for her blossoming smile that he could feel, knowing she had detected the undercurrents in his voice. He expected her to perk up with joy at his unwitting admission, to see her neck fill with a becoming red.
But it never came. Her smile was hesitant and timid, not the light, airy giggles and mischievous biting of her lower lip. She was biting her lower lip, but it wasn't out of happiness. Her neck remained pale, the necklace weighing on it with an unprecedented heaviness, devoid of the heat that should have rushed up. It was almost as if she was exhausted, fed up with him.
Damyanti had given him a clean report, permission to take his job back without any hassles. She had told him to take care of her, to cherish her. He would understand her love in time, she said.
He was left alone with the woman who had single handedly saved his livelihood and his dignity, who had insisted that he was a better man than he was. She had painted a picture, hiding the darkness behind shiny, gold foil that could peel away at any moment.
His heart clenched in guilt, an apology at the tip of his tongue. He knew he should apologize. He closed his eyes, recalling the way he had grabbed her wrists and thrust her against the wall, pressing his thumbs into her skin. He hadn't missed the wince on her face that she hid, the quiet hiss of pain.
The silence weighed down on them like bricks, an uneasy tension settling in the air. They swung around to face each other at once, opening their mouths to speak.
"I'm going to office." He said, speaking at the same time as her. Their eyes locked for a minute before they broke the gaze, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
He knew he should have apologized. It was the perfect opportunity. One simple, innocent word could have changed the situation, could have brought that brilliant smile back on her face.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't put down the pride, the insistence from the devil that she had deserved every ounce of pain he had thrown at her.
He walked away, feeling her on his back as she faced away from him. His purposeful steps slowed. His heart fought with his mind, willing him to go back to her and plead for forgiveness, to admit his sins.
He turned around, his eyes trailing over her form. She was fully covered, wearing a long sleeved red choli, her bright green dupatta wrapped securely around her waist and masking the soft skin he knew was there. He felt the pangs of desire deep in his belly, mingling with the rampant guilt that was running through his veins.
She wasn't looking at him, instead looking off into the distance across the haveli.
He swallowed, wanting to call out her name, pressing his lips together to say the p, wanting to feel the roll of the r and the curve of the o on his lips.
His pride choked the words back, building a wall between him and her as he whirled around to leave the haveli and return to his sanctuary. He could feel her eyes on his back as he left, feeling her disappointment penetrate through him.
-***-
He stepped into their room late that night, seeing jewelry scattered over the bed they had hesitantly shared the night before. Rich ghagras with intricate embroidery lay on the sheets. He caught a glimpse of a demure white cotton bra, and he consciously looked away.
"Devarjisa, I was just leaving." Maithili hastily fled the room, shooting a meaningful look at his wife as she left.
Paro refused to look at him, her eyes trained on the clothes laying in front of her. It was clear she knew about the ball.
He unsurely brought it up, only to be interrupted by her.
"Aman Bhaisa ka phone aaya tha-"
"Bewakoof hai woh." His response was swift and harsh, the green monster rearing its head and nipping at his gut. Aman shouldn't have told her. He should have. He was her husband.
He could see the hurt in her eyes and he let out a breath, cursing himself. He knew his next words would only make the hurt stronger, the pain latent in her hazel depths. He focused on the cracks in the tiled floor, unwilling to see the hurt intensify.
"Look... If you go, people will ask questions, and unnecessary worries will crop up. It's best that-"
"Okay." He looked up sharply at her words, removing his eyes from the ground to focus on her face. Her eyes were guarded, pierced with an eerily calm acceptance and a strange emotion he couldn't place his finger on.
"I didn't want to go anyway."
Her words were like a knife through him, slashing the small bubble of hope that had emerged. He felt irritation settle in his stomach, along with something he refused to acknowledge.
She didn't matter to him, he chanted. She didn't matter.
She turned away, deeming the conversation to be over. He walked over to his side of the bed, watching as she reached out and carefully collected the ghagra cholis and jewels. She purposefully avoided his gaze, blatantly ignoring the tension that had seeped into the room with his arrival.
She was distancing herself from him, he realized.
The feelings he had been trying so hard to ignore only intensified, nauseatingly pressing against his chest. He had pushed her away, pushed her one step too far.
He suddenly longed for the gentle, caring touches and her bashful blushes. He wanted to hear her tinkling laughter spill over at his pathetic singing attempts, watch her flush when he brought his face close to hers. He pictured her biting her full, pink lower lip, looking up at him through her thick eyelashes innocently.
He wanted his image to remain pristine in her eyes, the shining armor glinting in the sun.
He wanted that back, all of it.
But it was gone. The shining armor was cracked and rusted, and the gold foil was peeling back to reveal the tarnished metal on the inside.
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