"Shiv."

Nirmala said, handing the tray to a helper.

"Take her upstairs. She doesn't need to sit through the family chatter tonight. Bechari subah se thaki hui hai."

(She is tired since morning.)

"But... the rituals? Sab kya kahenge?"

(What will everyone say?)

Isha stammered, confused by the lack of an audience. Shiv's father laughed gently from the sofa.

"Beta, sab so rahe hain. The elders will still be here tomorrow. Go, rest."

(Everyone is sleeping.)

Shiv led her to their room. When he opened the door, Isha followed him inside without a word.

"I had them bring your favourite brand of coffee from that cafe."

Shiv said, gesturing to a small tray on the side table.

"And there's some light food. I know you didn't eat at the venue. The Mehras were too busy introducing you to every business tycoon in Delhi."

Isha sat on the edge of the bed, the heavy lehenga weighing her down. The silence of the room was terrifying. This was it. The door was closed. She was waiting for the mask of kindness and gentleman to drop and him to start showing his true colours and ordering her around.

As Shiv emerged from the dressing room in comfortable cotton pajamas, Isha's breath hitched. She began fumbling with the heavy pins in her hair, her movements jerky and panicked. 

Her mother's voice echoed. 'A husband's needs come first. Don't be difficult tonight or he'll never like you'.

"I... I'll be ready in a minute."

She whispered, her hands shaking so hard she couldn't undo the clasp of her necklace.

"I just... give me a moment."

Shiv walked toward her. Isha closed her eyes, bracing for him to take over, to demand the intimacy she had been told was his right.

Instead, she felt his hands gently move hers away from the necklace. He didn't pull her close. He simply unlatched the heavy gold chain with surgical precision.

"Isha, look at me."

He said. She opened her eyes, seeing his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired, but his gaze was steady.

"You are shaking,"

He noted softly.

"Mujhe pata hai tum kya soch rahi ho. You think because we are married, I am going to claim you like a prize. You think tonight is a duty you have to survive."

(I know what you’re thinking.)

Isha didn't deny it. The tears she had held back all day finally began to track through her heavy makeup.

"I am going to sleep on the sofa tonight."

Shiv said, pointing to the long, velvet sofa near her drafting table. Isha gasped.

"What? No, Shiv, if your parents find out-"

"My parents aren't in this room. We are."

He interrupted firmly. He handed her a pair of soft pajamas he had bought for her.

"I want you to take a hot shower, wash off all that gold and glitter, and sleep in the middle of this bed. Alone. For as long as you need to feel safe."

"But... why?"

She asked, her voice a broken whisper. Shiv smiled, a sad, knowing smile.

"Because I am not a monster, Isha. I am a man. And every man knows the importance of consent. Main intezar kar sakta hoon. I'm not going to touch you until you're the one reaching for me."

(I can wait.)

He picked up a pillow and a blanket and walked over to the sofa. He turned off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of the lamp by her new desk.

"Goodnight, Isha."

Isha sat in the dim light, clutching the soft pajamas to her chest. She cried then, not out of fear, but because the mask hadn't slipped. The mask wasn't there at all.

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, dancing across the duvet. Isha bolted upright, her heart hammering. The clock on the bedside table read 9:30 AM.

9:30? In the Mehra house, 9:30 AM on a workday meant she was already late for her first meeting, and on a weekend, it meant she had already failed her mother's discipline test.

She could almost hear Padmini's voice.

"The neighbours have already finished their breakfast, and our princess is still dreaming."

She panicked quickly scrambling out of bed. She was in a new house. She was a Bahu. She was supposed to have been in the kitchen hours ago, making tea, serving breakfast.

She hurriedly threw on a simple cotton suit, splashed her face with water, and rushed downstairs, her mind rehearsing apologies.

"I'm so sorry, Aunty. The wedding exhaustion... it won't happen again."

She muttered to herself, rehearsing the lines before her encounter with her in-laws.

She reached the kitchen, breathless. She expected to find her mother-in-law, Nirmala, standing over a hot stove with a look of pointed disappointment.

Instead, she found Nirmala sitting at the small breakfast nook, reading a magazine and sipping a glass of lukewarm water. The kitchen was quiet, smelling faintly of ginger and toasted bread.

"Aunty! I-I am so sorry. I didn't mean to sleep so late. Pata nhi kaise aankh nhi khuli. Please tell me what I can do. I'll make breakfast right now."

(I don’t know how I couldn’t wake up.)

Isha said, her words tumbling over each other. Nirmala looked up, pushed her glasses down her nose, and smiled. It wasn't the tight, pretentious smile Isha was used to. It was lazy and relaxed.

"Oh, good, you're awake! Baitho, baitho."

(Sit, sit.)

Nirmala waved toward a chair.

"And first of all, stop calling me aunty."

"But... the breakfast? And everybody?"

Isha asked, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.

"Shiv's father went to a walk at eight. He grabbed a fruit. Shiv had a protein shake and is in his study. Aur baaki sab guests ke liye breakfast ban chuka. We have a cook."

(And breakfast for everyone else is ready.)

Nirmala said, turning a page.

"And I've already had my tea. We eat when we're hungry. All of us are grown adults. Hum sab apne kaam kr skte hai khud. You don't have to be on your toes for us."

(We can do our work ourselves.)

Isha sat down, her body still tense.