•·•·•·•·•·•·••●❍•❅•°•❈•°•❅•❍●••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•
Abhi's family corners her with words so cold,
"Mannerless, you sit, with no respect to hold."
They sneer and scold, with eyes so bright,
"You must serve him, be submissive in sight."
Abhi stands tall, a shield for Malini's heart,
"I took vows to love, to care, to never part."
He faces his family, with a steady gaze,
"Respect, equality, that's the love I will raise."
His mother frowns, with a disapproving sigh,
"Too much love will spoil her, make her hard to buy."
But Abhi's words are calm, with a gentle might,
"Love is a partnership, not a master-servant plight."
The room falls silent, with an awkward, heavy air,
Abhi's words hang sharp, like a challenge to share.
Malini's heart beats fast, with a mix of fear and cheer,
Abhi's love is her shelter, her safe place to hear.
In this tense, still moment, a new path's revealed,
A love that's equal, that's kind, that's real.
The caged firebird stirs, with a flutter, a sigh,
A new dawn breaks, with Abhi's love shining high.
•·•·•·•·•·•·••●❍•❅•°•❈•°•❅•❍●••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•
15th April, 1846
Calcutta, Bengal
MALINI POV~
"I—I didn't sleep the whole night and... my body's aching... so I'm just tired," I stammer, scrambling for any excuse that might make sense.
"So?" Ruchira scoffs, crossing her arms with smug satisfaction. "You're not the first girl to feel pain, sore and exhausted after her first night. Now stop whining and go make me some kheer."
She rolls her eyes with exaggerated flair, her lips curling into a mock smile that cuts deeper than any slap.
Pain?
Girls feel pain... after their first night?
The thought echoes in my head like a whisper I'm not meant to hear.
My stomach churns slightly…. not with pain, but confusion.
I furrow my brows and shift slightly on my feet, subtly checking my body for signs of the pain she's talking about.
But... I feel fine.
My limbs are sore from tension, not anything else.
My cheeks flush.
Is there something wrong with me?
I shake my head gently, trying to shake away the growing discomfort like it's a cobweb clinging to my thoughts.
Breakfast.
Focus on breakfast.
"I'm hungry. I'll eat first," I mumble, pulling out a chair as the wooden legs screech lightly against the floor.
But just as I lower myself, ready for the first bite of comfort since last night—
"Have some manners!" his aunt barks, rising to her feet so fast the chair groans beneath her.
"Who taught you to sit before your husband? You'll not eat a grain until you've served him first!"
Her eyes blaze like coals, her voice slicing the air with centuries of tradition.
"Clearly your parents skipped the part where they teach a girl manners," Suchitra aunty sneers, her teeth clenched so tight her jaw trembles.
"Stay in your limits, girl… or I'll make sure you remember them."
"I'm not a child, Kaaki. I can sit on my own," Abhishek says with quiet firmness.
He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder— warm, steady…. guiding me down until I'm seated with care, like I might break.
The chair creaks under me, and my breath stutters, surprised by the gentleness in his touch.
I watch as he lowers himself beside me, his movements slow, deliberate… like he doesn't want to cause a ripple in the tension hanging in the room.
The wood beneath him groans faintly, and my fingers clench under the table, unsure if I should feel relieved or more exposed.
"You're a man, Abhishek! Her husband. Start acting like one," his mother snaps, her voice sharp enough to cut.
She doesn't look at me directly… just a slanted glare from the corner of her eyes, like I'm a stain on her polished floor.
"I am being one," he replies evenly, picking up the brass bowl of steaming aloo curry.
A soft clink as he ladles the gravy onto my plate, the scent of mustard seeds and fried chilies momentarily pulling my senses from the hostility.
"She should be serving you!" his mother hisses, her bangles jangling as she half-rises, hand twitching toward the bowl. "She's your wife— you're not her servant!"
But her hand freezes mid-air, restrained by the unspoken boundary her son has now drawn.
"I'm her husband," he says softly but firmly, placing two warm rotis on my plate with the care of someone laying down a peace offering. "And it's my duty to make her feel loved."
His words are calm, but there's steel in them— an unspoken rebellion.
"Too much love for a daughter-in-law," she spits, her tone thick with venom. "Give them wings and they'll try to fly above your head."
Her eyes lock on me now… no longer sideways glances.
Full glare.
Daring me to feel worthy.
I drop my gaze to the plate, suddenly too bright, too full.
My hands tremble in my lap, and I blink hard, trying to push the sting back into my throat.
If I meet her eyes, I might shatter.
"You should share these noble philosophies with your own daughter," Abhi says, lifting his gaze and locking eyes with his mother…. his voice calm, yet edged with defiance.
A thick silence follows, and then—
"Bhaiya! I'm your sister!" Ruchira gasps as though struck.
Her hand trembles as she swipes at the corner of her eye with the back of her palm.
"How could you say something like that to me?"
Her voice cracks— equal parts disbelief and embarrassment.
Across the table, his mother stiffens.
Her eyes widen like hot coals, flaring with silent rage.
Abhishek turns slowly toward Ruchira, his gaze unwavering.
"What did I say that was wrong?" He asks, the calm in his voice now sharpened with meaning. "Aren't you someone's daughter-in-law too?"
I press my lips together, struggling to contain my laughter.
My shoulders tremble slightly.
A dangerous time to laugh… but I can't help it.
Ruchira stays silent now, her flushed face turned down, while the sound of cutlery clinks faintly in the air between us.
"What happened?" Abhishek leans back slightly, tearing a piece of roti with a casual hand. "Now you've gone quiet?"
His tone is laced with sarcasm, but it never rises above a composed murmur.
His mother speaks again, her voice lower but laced with control. "She's your sister, Abhishek."
He doesn't look up as he places the piece of roti onto his tongue and chews slowly.
Then, turning to gesture toward me, he replies with equal calm, "And she is my wife."
A quiet hush falls over the room, the weight of his words pressing into the silence like a stone in water.
"You're not bound to obey your wife. You're a man!" his aunt— Chaitali aunty spits out the words, her jaw tight, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
The air in the dining room thickens.
Even the fire in the candle seems to slow down in protest.
Abhi doesn't flinch.
His eyes stay rooted on his plate, but when he speaks, his voice flows like velvet— low, calm, and coated in something unshakable.
"But… I remember the vows I took last night," he begins, his tone a steady ripple in a room turned still. "I vowed to ensure her happiness and well-being. I vowed to stay loyal, devoted. I vowed to respect and love her. I vowed to stand beside her as a companion, with faith and mutual understanding. I made these promises in front of the sacred fire... and I won't hesitate to fulfill each one."
~ When marriage is about love, care, respect, loyalty and understanding.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻.✾.჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻
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