Meera's POV
After the argument with Akash, I walk out into the garden. My eyes sting, and before I can stop myself, tears roll down my face. It feels like the entire society has ganged up to make me weak.
Marriage isn't oxygen—that without it, I would die. But staying in this forced marriage will suffocate me to death. Every time, it's the same thing: "Akash is a topper, Akash is a doctor, Akash is handsome." But nobody sees that he is not a good human being—someone who respects others.
I spend some time outside, gathering myself, then return to my room.
I don't talk much to my parents anymore. Why should I? My pain has always mattered less to them than society's opinion. I only exchange enough words to ask about their well-being. I can't burden my father with more—his health is already fragile.
My brother sometimes calls. He understands that I'm distressed. He tells me to stay strong.
And I must. I need to get through this phase with strength, and then I'll divorce Akash. After that, I'll shift somewhere alone—not even back to my parents' house. Because if I go back, society will again force them to make choices that crush me all over again.
If I truly mattered to them, they wouldn't have married me off to someone like Akash—a man from a different world, with whom I share nothing. It wasn't enough that my marriage failed, they had to tie me into a mismatched, forced marriage.
Evening falls. My head aches, so I decide to make some tea.
Akash hasn't returned yet. I know exactly where he is—probably with Neha. Does it bother me that my husband has another woman in his life? I don't know if it hurts, but it doesn't feel right either. Because each time I'm reminded of it, I feel rejected all over again. Still, I tell myself: It's fine. I'm fine. Akash and I were never meant for each other anyway.
I prepare my tea, carry it to my room, and switch on the radio. The old songs comfort me. I increase the volume, sip my tea, and stare out of the window.
"Meri bheegi bheegi si palkon pe rah gaye
Jaise mere sapne bikhar ke
Jale man teraa bhi kisi ke milan ko
Anaamikaa tuu bhi tarse
Meri bheegi bheegi si
Meri bheegi bheegi si palkon pe rah gaye"
Time passes… until suddenly, Duggu rushes into my room, panting.
"Bhabhi, Akash bhaiya ka accident ho gaya!"
The cup almost slips from my hand. Shocked, I ask where he is. Duggu says he's in the living room.
I run downstairs with him. Akash is seated on the sofa, surrounded by family. He isn't badly injured—just a small wound on his head, pain in his right hand, and a few cuts here and there. Shruti quickly explains everything to me.
Aunty says, "Meera, take Akash to his room. He needs rest."
Akash insists, "I'm fine, aunty. No injury to my legs. I can walk."
But Papa (my father-in-law) interrupts, "When Geeta is telling you to go with Meera and rest, you should listen. Meera, take him upstairs."
I nod and softly say, "Akash, please… let's go."
Reluctantly, he agrees. I help him upstairs.
When I open the room door, the radio is still on, playing another old melody.
"Tere bina zindagi se koi, shikwa, to nahi
Shikwa nahi, shikwa nahi, shikwa nahi
Tere bina zindagi bhi lekin, zindagi, to nahi
Zindagi nahi, zindagi nahi, zindagi nahi
Tere bina zindagi se koyi, shikwa, to nahi
Kaash aisa ho tere kadmo se
Chun ke manzil chale aur kahi door kahi
Tum gar saath ho, manzilo ki kami to nahi
Tere bina zindagi se koyi, shikwa, to nahi"
Quickly, I walk in and switch it off.
Akash follows me inside. I hesitate for a moment, then ask quietly, "If you need anything, just tell me."
As expected, his cold reply comes: "Don't pretend to care."
I take a breath and answer calmly, "If anyone else were in your place, I'd have asked the same. So, no—it isn't special care for you. But still, if you need anything, let me know."
I go back to my work.
A while later, I notice him struggling to wear a T-shirt, wincing from the pain in his injured hand. Without thinking, I step forward to help.
That's when he suddenly says, "Why don't you look into my eyes? Afraid you might fall in love with me?"
I freeze. What kind of immaturity is this? He's thirty-two, a doctor, yet his mind runs on childish arrogance. Still, I lift my eyes and meet his.
"No. I'm not afraid," I reply firmly.
His gaze lingers, and then, unexpectedly, he says, "Your eyes are so big, Meera."
I sigh. "Yes, they are big. But they don't work properly."
For the first time, he bursts out laughing. "Wow, Meera—you actually have humor!"
I finish helping him and step back. "What you call humor, Akash, is my daily struggle."
I turn to leave, but he stops me with a teasing grin. "You haven't completely helped me yet."
I roll my eyes. I know exactly what he's implying. "You're shameless. I helped where you truly needed it. The rest, you can manage."
He chuckles. "You're a strict teacher, aren't you?"
"You're supposed to be a doctor, Akash. But honestly, sometimes I doubt it."
"Hey, I topped my exams!"
"Sure. Must've paid money for that. Because nothing about you reflects the maturity of a doctor."
He smirks. "That maturity is for my patients. But you, Meera—you judge too. You think just because someone belongs to a profession, they must act a certain way. Do you act like a teacher all the time? Do you always behave maturely in your personal life just to look professional?"
I don't reply. Instead, I give him a faint smile and continue with my work.
Then he asks suddenly, "Do you hate me, Meera?"
I ignore him and say, "I'm going to the kitchen. Do you want anything?"
"Answer me first," he presses. "Do you hate me?"
I finally look at him. "Does it even matter to you? Do I even exist in your life? No, right?" And without waiting, I leave.
Kitchen
"Mera beta, are you alright?" my mother-in-law asks gently.
I nod, but she continues, "Listen, if Akash ever troubles you, or says anything that hurts you, come to me. And if you don't want to stay in the same room with him, you can move into Shruti's room. I never wanted this marriage for you… but his father, your parents, and others forced it. I know your father's health… but every time I see the emptiness in your eyes, it hurts me. Meera, whatever decision you make, I'll stand by you."
Tears brim in my eyes. I hug her tightly. "Thank you, Mama… for understanding."
Just then Aunty walks in, joking, "What's this emotional talk? Share it with me too!"
We both smile and quickly get back to preparing dinner.
Akash's POV
Meera's words sting. And maybe that's why she lingers in my mind. She challenges me at every step. She isn't like other girls. She's different.
But fine… let's see how long she can resist my charm.
I close my eyes. And immediately, all I can see are her large eyes, staring straight at me, just as she did a while ago. I snap my eyes open—only to find my phone ringing. It's Neha.
"Are you alright?" she asks quickly.
"Yes, just a few scratches," I reply.
She teases, "And your mismatched wife is there too, isn't she? Guess you can't talk freely then."
I smirk. "Neha, I can talk to my future wife anywhere, anytime, in front of anyone."
She giggles. "I can't wait for the day when we're married."
"Neither can I," I admit.
We chat for a while longer before I hang up. Neha is my future, I remind myself. That's where my thoughts should stay. Meera neither deserves me.
A little later, Meera enters with dinner. She sets it on the table.
"I made porridge—so you can eat easily. Have your medicine after. And yes, I'm saying this because you're injured. Don't start again with your 'don't pretend to care.'"
I glance at her. "Since we have to share this room anyway, can't we at least be on better terms?"
"For both of us," she replies calmly, "better terms mean less interaction, fewer conversations, and no interference in each other's lives. That's the healthiest way forward."
"Meera… are you angry with me?"
She meets my eyes, pain flashing in hers. "You constantly make me feel worthless, just because I'm not beautiful enough. Because I never try to be. You only care about outer beauty, but I believe in inner worth. And you never let me forget that I was rejected… Do you know how heavy that feels? Now tell me, Akash—should I hate you, or not?"
Her words silence me. I eat quietly while she lies on the sofa with a book.
After finishing and get into bed. "Do you always read before sleeping?" I ask.
"Yes. Novel, stories, poetry, sometimes articles. I can't sleep without reading."
"Good," I say. "I also tell my patients to follow sleep hygiene—it helps the heart. But most people just use their phones till late night, which ruins the cycle. Sleep is essential for every organ, especially the heart."
She gives a small smile. "Turn off the light, Akash. I'll read on my phone."
But I frown. "Even the phone light disrupts sleep."
"Fine," she sighs. "I was anyway planning to shift to Shruti's room."
"And what will you tell the family then?" I mutter. "If it were so easy, we wouldn't be stuck here in the first place."
Finally, she says, "Switch off the light. You need rest."
I do as told. After a pause, I chuckle. "You know, you're like a heroine from the '70s—reading books, listening to old songs, living simply. Wrong era, Meera."
She doesn't answer. Instead, her phone rings. She picks it up quickly.
"Yes, Sidharth? …" she says, and then steps out of the room.
I freeze. Sidharth? Who is he?
Ten minutes pass. She still hasn't returned.
If it were a relative, I'd know the name. No one in her family is called Sidharth.
Do they work together? Why call so late at night? And why step outside to talk?
Thoughts spiral, tangling inside my head.
And still—Meera hasn't come back.