Chapter 2: Soup, Spoils, and Shattered Vases

2

Only Maa knew how I bullied Arjun, but she couldn’t change me. Instead, she made moong dal every day, with a tadka of hing and jeera, the aroma curling through our flat.

Maa’s dal became ritual—a silent olive branch, her eyes darting between me and Arjun with every ladle. Sometimes, she’d tuck a stray hair behind my ear and murmur, “Beta, kabhi kabhi chhod bhi dena chahiye.” But her words slid off me like water off marble. Afterward, I’d wipe my hands on my kurti, avoiding my own reflection in the window.

My stepfather, seeing us together, thought I was caring for Arjun. For once, he actually met my eyes.

One morning, as he left for office, he paused, peering over his glasses. That rare nod—a flicker of approval—felt strange, like the first whiff of agarbatti at dawn.

He asked, "Would you like to work at the company?"

His question landed like a wedding invite from some far-off bua. I sneaked a glance at Arjun, who stayed glued to the TV, and felt a spark of pride.

I was flattered.

A petty part of me wanted to preen, to show off to all the relatives who called me a burden. Maa’s eyes brightened, her fingers twisting her dupatta.

But I couldn’t leave the nest I’d built—the home, even its silence and battles, felt precious. The mornings with Arjun, the buzz of the ceiling fan, the echo of my steps—I wasn’t ready to give that up.

I said, "Sochungi, Papa."

Maa’s mouth opened, then closed, understanding in her eyes. The whole house seemed to pause, even the ancient clock ticking slower.

My stepfather’s brow smoothed, and he almost smiled.

It was rare—a glimmer of warmth, as fleeting as sandalwood smoke. The house help peeped in, surprised by the peace.

That night, seeing Arjun’s blank, lost face, I made a silent decision.

He sat in the corner, fiddling with his kurta hem, lips moving in silence. My heart squeezed—wanting to reach out, wanting to win. I promised myself: I’d stay, for both our sakes, even if it stung.

But only when I started going to the office did my obsession ease a little, my hold on Arjun slowly loosening.

The routine changed. Mornings started with the alarm’s shrill cry and ended with the click of my heels on cold marble. Office air reeked of filter coffee and ambition. Bit by bit, Arjun faded into the background; I could breathe again, even if loneliness still nipped at my heels.

3

Arjun couldn’t handle the family business. My stepfather didn’t want the company to go to greedy nephews, so he valued me—his bahu—above all.

Chachi and bua dropped hints over chai, sighing about their sons’ bad luck. The office grapevine buzzed: Who was boss’s favourite? For once, I was needed. It felt... good.

In those weeks, I was so busy I collapsed into bed, dupatta and all.

WhatsApp buzzed past midnight. Sometimes I dreamed of vending machine chai and the cold blast of the office AC.

One morning, changing Arjun’s clothes, I had no time for teasing—just a quick buttoning, a rushed smile, and a half-eaten paratha left behind.

By noon, in the family WhatsApp group—flower GIFs, Baba Ramdev, and then my mother’s photo: Arjun had thrown a tantrum and smashed my antique vase worth ten lakh rupees.

Porcelain shards glittered on the living room floor, Maa’s feet visible as she swept. My heart pounded—anger, guilt, shame all at once.

Ten lakh! My mind screamed, imagining the relatives’ gossip—what kind of bahu can’t even keep her house together?

But my stepfather only asked, "Arjun ko chot toh nahi lagi?"

His single question cut through my anger, as if his hand rested on my shoulder, reminding me—people over things. The vase was expensive, but Arjun was irreplaceable to him.

I typed quickly: "Arjun bhaiya toh theek hai na? Zarurat ho toh main aa jaoon?"

I added "bhaiya" for the elders’ sake. Maa sent a thumbs-up emoji, my stepfather replied "ok"—rare peace in the group.

Power was tempting, but my head ached from overtime. Maa started leaving tulsi chai at my bedside, muttering about nazar. Even Arjun glanced at me with something like concern, then looked away quickly.