Chapter 7: Our Own Name

I didn’t wait for Dadaji Mehra to return. I began packing my and Pari’s things in advance, preparing to leave the Mehra family bungalow.

The sight of our suitcases—one faded, one new—lined up in the hallway felt like a silent rebellion. I straightened my shoulders, wiped my tears with the edge of my dupatta, and began folding Pari’s dresses one by one.

The househelp, confused, secretly called Kabir. When he arrived, the driver of the moving van was helping me load the last suitcase.

They whispered in the kitchen, shooting furtive glances at me. I caught snippets—'Arrey, madam sach mein jaa rahi hai?'—but I ignored them. My decision was made.

Amit’s flight would land in three hours. He would take me and Pari away from here for good.

I checked the clock for the tenth time, nerves buzzing. I imagined our new life—a small flat somewhere, no servants, but freedom to be ourselves.

I lost my father when I was young; I know how it feels. A little girl without a father is always bullied, always suffers more.

But I would fight for Pari, just as my mother had fought for me. No matter what the world said, she would never feel alone.

I watched as Kabir got out of the car, his face cold and grim under the dark blue night sky. The look he gave me held not a trace of warmth.

The porch light cast sharp shadows on his face, making him look even more forbidding. His jaw was set, eyes unreadable.

Pari seemed frightened, clinging tightly to my neck. I soothed her with a kiss, then let a maid take her aside to play.

I whispered to her, 'Go with aunty, beta. Mummy will come soon.' Her little hand slipped from mine reluctantly.

Once Pari was gone, Kabir approached me, his brows tightly furrowed, his eyes showing a trace of anger.

His steps were swift, purposeful. The staff melted away, leaving us alone in the foyer.

"Ananya, have I indulged you too much all these years?"

His voice was low, almost dangerous. I met his gaze, refusing to look away.

I smiled faintly and thanked him. "Thank you for taking care of us all these years."

I meant it. Apart from not loving me and our daughter, he never treated us badly.

He provided for us, never raised his voice, always made sure our needs were met. But love—real love—was always out of reach.

"Think carefully. If you leave the Mehra family, you and Pari will be nothing."

I heard echoes of old family arguments—what will people say? Who will protect you? The same fears passed down from mother to daughter.

"If we stay in the Mehra family, what are we?"

My question hung in the air, unanswered. Even Kabir had no reply for that.

"What more do you want, Ananya? Haven’t I given you everything except a name?"

Yes, I had him for four years. In these four years, he had no other women. We even have such a lovely daughter. In this house, I am the 'madam' the staff refer to. But outside, I’m just a plaything in the eyes of those high-society ladies. My daughter is just an illegitimate child who can’t see the light. I can’t even use her full name outside—can’t call her Pari Mehra, with both surname and given name.

At school, at birthday parties, at every function, I had to swallow my pride and smile, pretending it didn’t matter. But it did.

"I don’t want anything else. I just want to leave the Mehra family with my daughter. Is that too much to ask?"

My voice was steady. I refused to plead. I would not beg for dignity any longer.

"Ananya, there are some things I’ll only say once."

Perhaps it was my stubbornness that finally angered him. His tone was colder and harder than ever.

He stepped closer, as if daring me to challenge him.

"Now, move your and your daughter’s things back. I’ll pretend nothing ever happened."

His offer—so generous in his mind, so hollow to me—only made my resolve firmer.

"What if I say no?"

I braced myself, standing tall. For once, I wanted to see if he’d fight for us, or just let us go.

He stared at me. "If you take even one step out the Mehra family’s door, you will never come back."

His words rang out, final and absolute. The staff in the corridor stilled, knowing something irrevocable was happening.

Just then, his phone rang. He took it out and glanced at it, and his tightly knit brows seemed to relax a little. He walked aside to answer.

His voice, so gentle on the call, was meant for someone else. I felt invisible, already erased from his world.

I could vaguely hear his tone soften: "Don’t be afraid, I’m on my way. Okay, send me the address. Twenty minutes—I’ll be there soon."

He promised comfort to another, while leaving only coldness for me. The irony was sharp.

Kabir hung up and walked toward the car. After a few steps, he seemed to remember me. He turned back, glanced at me, and ordered the staff:

His command was swift, unquestioned. In the Mehra house, his word was law.

"Move their things back. Before I come home tonight, the whole house must be tidied up."

The maids nodded, already shuffling to obey. I stood unmoving, arms crossed over my chest.

Then he looked at me again. "Tonight, move back to the main bedroom. Don’t go to the guest room again."

His eyes lingered on me for a moment, as if daring me to disobey.

I didn’t refuse, so Kabir assumed I would comply.

He didn’t stay—he got in the car and left.

The engine roared to life, taillights glowing red as he disappeared into the night. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

The maid smiled at me. "Madam, you go back to your room. We’ll take care of the luggage."

Her words were polite, but her eyes were curious. Everyone was waiting to see what I’d do next.

They were about to unload my suitcase from the car, but I stopped them. "No need. We’ll be leaving soon."

My voice was calm, but inside, my heart raced.

"Madam?"

She looked startled, as if I’d spoken in a foreign tongue.

"When Mr. Mehra returns, please tell him—"

I lowered my eyes, hiding the last trace of tears.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come.

As Kabir said—Pari and I won’t ever cross this threshold again. From today, we belong to ourselves.

As the wind rattled the windowpanes, I pressed send. For the first time, I felt the world shift beneath my feet.