Chapter 5: Breaking the Chains

My mind drifted back to three years ago—The room blurred as old memories surfaced, vivid and sharp. I could almost hear the wedding shehnai, the clang of bangles as relatives danced and sang.

When we first got married, things weren’t so tense. In those early days, everything was new. We would laugh over chai, sometimes watch old movies together on rainy evenings. He wasn’t warm, but he wasn’t cruel either.

Sometimes we’d go back to the old house together, or have meals on Diwali or Holi. Family gatherings were awkward but bearable. Dadi would insist on lighting extra diyas, the whole house bright with colour and noise. Arjun would stand beside me, silent but present.

On our wedding night, as things heated up, we kissed, hugged, and got into bed. I still remember the rustle of silk sheets, the smell of marigolds in my hair. My heart raced with nervous excitement, hope fluttering in my chest.

Because it was my first time, I was scared and in pain, and I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to be brave, but the pain was sharp and unfamiliar. Tears spilled down my cheeks, my sobs muffled by the pillows. I wished someone had warned me, told me it wasn’t always like in the movies.

My voice broke with sobs. I apologized over and over, ashamed of my weakness. Arjun patted my back, his touch awkward and uncertain.

After a few tries, Arjun seemed to lose interest and got up halfway. He sighed, rolled away, and didn’t look back. I stared at the ceiling, the ache in my chest worse than any physical pain. The silence between us grew heavier with each passing day.

After that, he never touched me again. We slept on opposite sides of the bed, our lives running parallel but never meeting. The distance became routine, a wound I learned to ignore.

I turned away, started getting dressed, and planned to sleep at the pet shop. I yanked open the wardrobe, grabbing a shawl and some old jeans. My mind was made up—no more tears, no more humiliating myself for someone who never cared.

Now I was finally clear-headed—love after marriage was impossible. I realised the truth, sharp and unyielding. This marriage was a cage, not a sanctuary. I needed to break free, even if it meant being alone.

I couldn’t keep degrading myself, trying to hold onto Arjun with my body. I pressed a hand to my chest, steadying my breath. Amma’s words echoed in my head: “Self-respect, beta. Never beg for love.” I finally understood.

"Why?" Arjun blocked the wardrobe with one hand, his gaze dark. He stepped in front of me, his shadow looming. His eyes burned with something I couldn’t name—anger, maybe, or hurt pride.

He let out a bitter laugh: "You’ve always been so obedient." His laugh was sharp, almost mocking. He looked at me like I’d grown a second head, like rebellion was unthinkable.

"And now, just because of a carpet?" He scoffed, incredulous. I clenched my jaw, refusing to back down.

I steadied myself: "Because of Priya." My voice was firm, stronger than I felt. I met his eyes, daring him to deny it.

I looked up and met his eyes: "Since you and she are a better match, you should have told me earlier." I forced myself to stand tall, my chin lifted. I wouldn’t let him see how much he’d broken me.

"I would have let you be together." The words tasted bitter, but I meant them. I didn’t want to be someone’s second choice, someone’s burden.

Why waste my youth? I just don’t understand. My hands shook as I spoke, but I kept going. I deserved more than this half-life, this constant humiliation.

For the first time, I gathered the courage to confront Arjun: "Today is our wedding anniversary—did you even remember?" I choked back a sob, the weight of forgotten milestones crushing me. Three years, and not a single celebration.

"While I was cooking in the kitchen, you were sleeping with Priya in the study. Do you really think I’m a fool?" My voice rose, trembling with anger. I waited for him to deny it, to say something—anything.

Arjun’s expression changed, but he didn’t lose his composure. He pressed his lips together and tried to explain. For a moment, I saw regret flicker in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He stood stiffly, arms crossed.

"I’m thirty-one this year. Before I married you, didn’t I have to take care of my own needs?"

He spoke slowly, as if explaining something obvious. I wanted to scream, to shake him until he understood.

"She’s been with me for years, Meera. Just... for needs. Nothing more." His words were detached, yet so Indian in their matter-of-factness. I stared at him, shocked by his coldness.

I staggered, letting out a bitter laugh: "So you’ve been sleeping together for eight years."

The math crashed over me—eight years. My knees buckled, but I forced myself to stay upright.

I counted the days in my head. "Even at our wedding, while she was running around helping us, you were fooling around behind my back?"

The memories replayed in my mind—Priya’s ever-present smile, her helpfulness, her familiarity with Arjun. My stomach lurched.

I stared wide-eyed at Arjun, unable to hold back my pain and sorrow. Tears burned my cheeks. I wanted to scream, to hit something, to make him feel even a fraction of my hurt.

Arjun wasn’t good at lowering himself to explain. He stood there, stunned for a long time, then simply tried to hug me. He reached out, but I recoiled, unable to bear his touch. The gesture felt empty, meaningless.

"Many people in our circle have a dozen women around them."

He spoke with the arrogance of someone used to being forgiven, excused. I wanted to spit at his feet.

"I don’t. I only have Priya as a bed partner—just to satisfy physical needs."

He sounded almost proud, as if faithfulness to a single mistress was some grand virtue.

"There’s no love or emotion, just a transaction, you understand? She gives me her body, I give her money and resources. And you…"

He trailed off, as if that explained everything. My blood boiled.

[Slap] The sound of my palm striking his cheek was sharp and satisfying. My whole body shook with rage.

I was shaking with anger. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let him see me break. My breath came in gasps, my chest heaving with each sob.

I couldn’t accept how lightly he spoke about sex. I wiped my mouth, disgusted. My Amma had always said marriage was sacred, not some business deal.

My hands trembled. I didn’t even bother packing my clothes, just grabbed my phone and shoved past him out the door. I clutched my phone like a lifeline, storming out without looking back. The hallway seemed longer than ever, every step echoing my pain.

"Arjun, you really disgust me." My words hung in the air, a final curse. I slammed the door behind me, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and relief.