Chapter 4: Defiance at Midnight

Night fell. The city quieted, the honk of rickshaws fading into darkness. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic creak of the fan. The air was heavy with agarbatti and old memories.

I washed myself for a long time, as if trying to shed a layer of skin. The water ran over me, hot and cleansing. I scrubbed my arms until they turned red, as if I could wash away the shame that clung to me. The bathroom tiles, cracked and familiar, bore silent witness to my pain.

Afterwards, I went to kneel before Maa’s photo, lighting a diya. The flame flickered, casting a soft glow over her serene face. I whispered prayers I barely remembered, hoping they would reach her. The scent of ghee and marigold brought a strange peace.

In the silence of the pooja room, I pressed my forehead to the cold marble, recalling Maa’s gentle touch, wishing for a single word of comfort from Papa. A woman’s chastity is so important. If Papa hadn’t appeased Rohan by promising Meera, if Rohan had spread rumours, I would have been ruined by gossip. The injustice of it all made my heart ache.

Once, I passed the kotha, watching women in bright sarees and heavy bangles, men coming and going unashamed. Their courage seemed both enviable and terrifying. Why is it that for women, such things are so disgraceful?

I lay my head on Maa’s lap—her photo, her memory—wishing I could sleep forever.

The memory of that night surged back. Rohan’s burning touch and sweet words echoed in my ears. I almost retched. My stomach twisted, bile rising. I clung to the table, willing myself not to collapse.

A sudden thud outside startled me. I heard the crunch of gravel, the creak of the old gate. My heart raced—was it a thief, or something worse?

Rohan, in white kurta-pajama, stood before me, his presence graceful as ever. He landed on the veranda like a film hero, hair carefully combed. For a moment, I almost believed he’d come to apologise.

He pulled me into his arms, possessive. “Priya, why did you leave me today? Do you know how much I missed you?”

His grip was tight. But beneath the sweetness, I heard the hunger, the need to possess. I stiffened, refusing to melt.

“I know I said some harsh things earlier—don’t be angry.” His apology was quick, rehearsed. My heart hardened.

His mouth apologised, but his hands slipped dishonestly into my dupatta. I recoiled, clutching my dupatta around my chest, stepping back towards Maa’s photo, invoking the sacredness of the space as my last defense.

He said he missed me. I didn’t know if he missed me, or just missed being with me. In our world, men often mistake possession for love. I saw through his act now.

I instinctively resisted, pushing him away, my bangles clinking. “Rohan, Maa’s photo is right there.”

I pointed to the pooja shelf, hoping he would feel shame. He laughed, shrugging it off. “Why are you still shy? It’s not like we haven’t slept together before.”

His words were a slap. My cheeks burned with humiliation and anger. I pushed him away with all my strength. Rohan staggered back, surprise flickering across his face. I stood tall, refusing to cower.

He steadied himself, shame and anger flashing in his eyes. “Priya, what are you making a scene about?”

I met his gaze with steel. “Rohan, please leave.”

My voice was calm, final. For the first time, I felt a surge of power. Rohan’s voice turned cold. “Priya, I came to you because I like you.”

Like me? Is this how he shows it? The words sounded hollow. I almost laughed.

Fortunately, I was no longer so easily fooled. I caught the scent on Rohan—jasmine, the fragrance Meera often wore. My stomach clenched as I realised he had come straight from her room.

He must have just been with Meera, and, unable to have her, came to me instead. My heart twisted with anger and disgust. I clenched my fists, determined not to let him see my pain.

Then what am I to him? I was so angry I nearly slapped him. My hand twitched, but I held back, letting my silence speak.

“You’re going to marry me anyway. What’s the rush?”

He spoke as if my consent was a given, as if I had no choice. The arrogance made my blood boil.

“Remember, when you become my second wife, never act superior to your half-sister, the main wife.”

He repeated the words, sealing my fate in his mind. But I would not let him decide my future.

I shook my head. “I will not marry you.”

My voice rang out, clear and strong. For the first time, I felt the weight of my own power. I would not be a victim any longer.

As soon as I finished speaking, Rohan was instantly stunned. He stared at me, disbelief written across his face. He had never expected defiance, never imagined I could say no. For a moment, he was speechless—and I savoured the silence.

And as the night pressed in, my own voice echoed in my heart—clear, unafraid. Something inside me had finally broken free.