The chalk dust always clung to my fingers, a dry, white ghost of the day's equations. Usually, the rhythm of the university-the predictable logic of debits and credits, the cold comfort of a balanced ledger-was enough to keep the noise in my head at bay.
But today, the numbers didn't balance.
I sat at my desk in the staff room, staring at a spreadsheet I'd seen a thousand times, but all I could see was the reflection of a girl in a yellow sundress with bows on her sleeves.
Aarshika.
Even her name sounded like a question I didn't have the formula to solve.
I leaned back, the old wooden chair creaking under my weight. My colleagues were buzzing about the departmental tea, their laughter a distant hum. They didn't know. To them, Aadhrik was the same as he'd been for five years: the reliable, quiet Professor of Accountancy who lived alone and preferred the company of textbooks to the company of people.
They didn't know that forty-eight hours ago, I had walked into a wedding as a guest and walked out as a husband.
Not a groom full of promises-
just a substitute.
A placeholder holding a line until the truth caught up.
My mind drifted back to the night of the wedding. People think I'm a hero for stepping in. They think it was a "noble sacrifice."
It wasn't. It was an impulse born of a deep, agonizing familiarity with abandonment.
When Vivaan's father had grabbed my hands-those shaking, aged hands-and whispered that the girl's life would be ruined, something in me didn't just feel pity. It felt a physical ache. I remembered being seven years old, standing at the gate of the orphanage, watching a couple walk away with a younger boy because he "fit their family better." I knew the look of someone whose future was being decided by people who didn't love them.
When i hear her name Aarshika.
It felt like I had heard it before but i have never heard that name but still it felt familiar Maybe it's just my mind playing its games.
But when I looked at Aarshika that night. Through the veil, I couldn't see her face, but I saw her hands. They were clenched so tight the knuckles were white.
In that moment, I didn't see a bride. I saw a person drowning in a sea of other people's expectations.
And Vivaan... my idiot, loud, loyal brother Vivaan. He'd been the only person to ever force his way past my walls. He was the one who brought me home-cooked food when I was sick in the dorms. He was the one who didn't care that I was an orphan; he just cared that I was his friend.
Saving his family's honor was the only way I knew how to pay a debt that could never truly be settled.
But at what cost to her?
The memory of the morning stung.
When I'd walked into the kitchen and saw her in that yellow dress, my heart had done a strange, uncomfortable somersault. She looked like a splash of sunlight in a house that had been grey for far too long.
But then she spoke. The sarcasm, the sharpness-it was a shield. I recognized it because I wore the same one, just in a different style. Mine was silence; hers was fire.
She had removed the engagement ring. I'd noticed the faint indentation on her finger when she reached for the poha. It felt like a punch to the gut. That ring was her last link to the man she chose, or at least the life she expected. By taking it off, she was declaring war on the reality I had forced her into.
I had wanted-briefly, foolishly-to ask if she was okay.
The thought scared me.
Concern creates attachment.
Attachment demands vulnerability.
And vulnerability has never been safe.
"I'm not a responsibility," she had said.
I wanted to tell her: You are the only thing in this house that has a heartbeat, Aarshika.
The drive home was a blur. I found myself checking the rearview mirror, not for traffic, but as if I were expecting the ghost of my old life to be chasing me.
For the first time in years, discipline failed me.
Because somewhere between red lights and empty roads, one thought kept repeating-
She didn't choose this.
And unlike me, she once had a choice.
I pulled into the driveway at exactly 4:55 PM. My hands were sweating on the steering wheel.
When i entered and saw her I knew she had been crying.
She thought she was clever. She thought the gloss and the forced smile and the "I was sleeping" excuse worked.I grew up learning to read people the way other kids learned to read books. I saw the slight puffiness around her lids which was almost nothing but her red nose gave it away. I saw the way her voice held a tremor she was trying to crush.
People who cry alone don't want to be exposed.
They want dignity more than comfort.
So I didn't ask.
Not because I didn't care-
but because I refused to strip her of that last bit of control.
It killed me.
It killed me because I am the cause of those tears, and I am the only person in the world who isn't allowed to comfort her.
I went to my room to "freshen up," but mostly I just stood in front of the bathroom mirror and splashed cold water on my face.
What are you doing, Aadhrik? I asked my reflection. You're a professor. You're supposed to have the answers. But you've brought a storm into a 2BHK and you don't have an umbrella.
I don't know what this marriage will become.
I don't know if she will ever forgive me.
I don't even know if this house will become a refuge or a prison.
But I know one thing-
I will not cage her further.
I walked out into the hall. She was sitting there, looking small but fierce.
And as I faced her, I made myself one silent promise-
If she wants distance, I will give it.
If she wants truth, I will offer it.
And if one day she wants to leave-
I will open the door myself.