Nitya

As the car trundles along the road, the driver navigating the route to our house in the village, I sit silently on the backseat beside Prathamji. His demeanor is stoic and there is a distant look in his eyes. It seems as if he is lost in his thoughts, as I have been seen we started the journey from the city to the village.

The main focus of my thoughts being the business party where Prathamji had taken me last night.

It was a grand affair and also my first time going to such event. The venue was beautiful. A beautiful vintage hall with glittering chandeliers casting a warm glow over the charming guests, each of whose attire was elegant. I was in awe of everyone and everything there.

Prathamji stayed close to me initially, introducing me to his acquaintances, but after a while, he went to meet with some partners, telling me he will be back soon.

I wandered around the hall alone, hoping to see Shrutiji and Namanji so I could join them until Prathamji returned. But I could not spot them.

And then, a man had approached me. He was taller than me, with a slicked-black hairdo, and an overly confident smile.

With a shudder running through me, I recall what had happened after I met him.

"Hello," he greets me. "I am Akhil."

"Namaste. I am Nitya," I force a smile, feeling uncomfortable due to the way his eyes were roving over me. It made my skin crawl.

"Have you come alone to this party?" He asks, stepping closer to me.

I immediately take a step back. "I have come here with my husband."

He leans closer to me and before I can move back, I feel his hand brushing against mine. "Itni khubsurat patni ko akela chhodke unhe nahi jana chahiye tha."

("He should not have left such beautiful wife alone.")

I am about to tell him to stop coming close to me, and to stop being so suggestive, but I stiffen when he suddenly places his hand on my shoulder.

Panic begins to rise in my chest, making me want to jerk off my arm from his hold and run away. But then, Prathamji appears by my side.

His expression is unreadable, but there is a steely resolve in his eyes.

Two things happen at the same time. With his eyes widening in alarm, Akhil leaves my arm and takes a step back. And Prathamji places a firm hand on my back, subtly positioning himself between Akhil and me.

I relax due to his touch, leaning to him and feeling safe in his presence.

"Is there a problem here?" Prathamji's voice is calm, but there is an edge to it.

"N-no. N-nothing. I w-was just t-talking with h-her," Akhil stammers and quickly excuses himself before slinking away.

Prathamji watches him go with narrowed eyes, then turns to me. "Are you fine?"

"Yes. I am fine," I say, managing a small smile, because he had told me earlier that this party is important for his business and I didn't want to do or say anything to cause any trouble.

The jolt of the car on the road, brings me back to the present. I briefly glance at Prathamji and notice him staring out of the window, a faraway look on his face.

I sigh, feeling slightly nervous, because this is how he has been since the morning. And I have no idea about the reason behind it.

Although I feel like it has something to do with the last night.

After the encounter with Akhil, I mostly stayed closer to Prathamji, at times listening to his conversations with other guests, and other times, wondering on my own about the people around me.

I had been alone again for some time when he had excused himself to attend to some important work. He had left me in front of the bar, asking me to stay there until I returned.

And stay I did. But while I was there my eyes had gone to the colorful drinks. Curious, I had picked a drink at random—a bright red concoction that tasted sweet and fruity. It tasted so good that, before I knew it, I downed the second glass, and the third.

Since that moment, the rest of the night is a blur—no, mostly blank—for me. I do remember bits and snippets of it. Being in the car with Prathamji, him carrying me, getting to our room. But those are only flashes, that too without any sound.

The next thing that I fully remember is waking up in the morning, groggy and disoriented.

Prathamji was already up by then, dressed and ready. He gave me a pill that helped lessen my headache and also the orange juice that made me feel a bit better.

I was horrified when he told me I was drunk the previous night after I asked him why I didn't remember most of the happenings of the night. I also felt guilty and embarrassed because his tone while talking to me was dismissive, almost cold.

And it has been the same until now.

Turning to Prathamji, I take a deep breath, and begin speaking. "Are you still angry with me?"

He also turns to look at me, frown apparent on his face. "I am not angry with you."

"They why have you not been talking properly with me since morning?"

He sighs. "It's nothing. You don't need to worry about it. And I am not angry with you."

"But, Prath—"

"Let it be, Nitya. I told you. It's nothing," he says, more sharply this time. His tone leaving no room for argument.

Nodding slightly, I sink back into my seat, my heart clenching nervously as I glance at Prathamji's stiff face.

*****

Pratham

Although I am acutely aware of Nitya's eyes on me, I will myself not to turn and look at her.

My thoughts have been a tangled mess since I woke up in the morning with Nitya wrapped in my arms.

Since the day she got lost in the city, she had been the one to cuddle to me at nights. I know she scoots closer to me and hugs me to sleep every night. And it's because I pretend to sleep until she does that. Sometimes I feel like she knows I am pretending, but since she has not said anything about it, I also have not said anything about her hugging me.

But last night was different. It was not her who initiated the hug. After all, she was passed out.

After trying and failing to fall asleep, I had been the one to pull her into my arms, only being able to relax once her warmth seeped into me.

Sighing, I remember how inebriated she was when I found her at the bar last night.

I had left her alone for some time because I needed to go and deal with Akhil. He had made me see red with the way he was behaving with Nitya. Although I did not witness their whole interaction, the uncomfortable and panicked look on Nitya's face and his close proximity to her had told me everything I needed to know.

Glancing down at the few scratches on my knuckles, my lips curl into a smile as his whimpers of pain ring in my ears.

Ah, the satisfaction I had felt when he had screamed. When he had profusely apologized with blood frothing through the corner of his mouth.

After properly dealing with him, when I returned to the bar where I had left Nitya, I had found her swaying on her feet with a glass of wine in her hand.

The moment I got to her and looked into her glazed eyes, I had realized she was drunk.

"Prathamji," she slurs the moment she sees me. "Aap laut aaye. Mujhe akela chhodke kahaan chale gaye the?" She pouts, reaching out to clutch my arm clumsily.

("You have returned. Where had you gone leaving me alone?")

Taking the drink from her hand, I put it on the table. "How many glasses of this drink did you have?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment, trying to count the number of drinks on her fingers.

"I don't know," she says after a few seconds and I immediately hold her when she is about to fall on her back.

"I think we should leave now," I tell her, but she shakes her head.

"I want to drink more, Prathamji. The colors of these glasses of water are so beautiful. Some are red, some pink, some orange. And it's so much fun to drink them too. May I drink one more?" She reaches for her glass on the table but I hold her back.

"You have drunk enough. So, no more for you. Let's go home now, Nitya," I tell her sternly.

To my surprise, she giggles, a sound that I am hearing for the first time from her.

"Why do you behave so rudely most of the time, Prathamji?" She giggles again. "Nitya, do this. Nitya, do that. Were you a headmaster in school before?"

I cannot help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "No. I have never been a headmaster in any school. Let's go home now? Will you be able to walk out to the car?"

She nods, slightly wobbling. "Yes. I can walk, headmasterji."

With my smile still lingering, I shake my head at her. "Okay. Let's go then."

*****

With Nitya leaning heavily on me, her head resting against my shoulder, I bring her inside our room in the apartment.

"You are so strong, Prathamji," she murmurs, her voice thick and slurry.

"Hmm, does it mean I am not only rude?" I ask, making her sit on the bed and kneeling in front of her.

She shakes her head. "No. When did I say you are only rude? You are someti—" She suddenly stands up and shrieks. "What are you doing?"

"I am taking off your shoes."

"I will do it myself," she says, about to fall down from swaying to her side.

I quickly hold her and make her sit again. "You can't even stand properly and want to do this yourself? Sit on the bed quietly."

I smile when she pouts and keeps her finger on her lips. But not before mouthing, "Rude."

"You were saying something," I say, taking off her shoes. "That I am not only rude. So, tell me now. What else am I?"

When I sit beside her on the bed, she looks at me with such softness in her eyes that it makes my heart pinch.

"You are very nice," she murmurs. "And very handsome too."

I feel a flush of heat rise to my face, caught off guard by her words. "You think I am rude as well as nice?" I ask, keeping my tone light.

"Yes," she replies, her voice soft. "You support me, care for me, worry about me. Sometimes I feel like you have been putting on a mask of being rude and hiding your niceness behind it."

Hearing her, I feel a tug in my heart, and I find myself at a loss for what to say.

"Do you think I am nice too, Prathamji?" She suddenly asks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Without thinking, I raise my hand to cup her cheek. "Yes. You are, Nitya."

She closes her eyes and leans to my touch, her lips twisting into a small smile.

When her breathing starts getting deep and even, I realize she is falling asleep. So, raising her legs, I make her lie on the bed and properly cover her with the blanket.

I am about to walk to the cupboard to get a change of clothes to wear after taking a shower when she suddenly mumbles, "I could not buy that shawl."

Frowning, I ask her, "Which shawl?"

She opens her eyes, looking at me sleepily. "The day I had gone to the market with Shrutiji. I was trying this one shawl. It was so pretty. But I could not buy it."

"What color was it?"

She lets out a wistful smile. "It was somewhere between red, pink, yellow, and green. So beautiful," she mumbles, her words barely coherent.

Before I can ask or say anything else, she closes her eyes and falls asleep almost immediately.

I snap out of my memory of last night when the car suddenly stops. Looking out the window, I realize we have reached home.

*****

Nitya

My heart starts to race when the car stops, the feeling of dread creeping within me.

This place is supposed to be my home now, but I have not been able to accept it yet. Perhaps because Maaji and Chachiji's sneers, glares, and their cutting words make me feel as if I do not belong here.

The apartment in the city had felt more like a home to me than this place.

Instinctively, I reach out and clutch Prathamji's arm, my fingers gripping the fabric of his sleeve.

He looks down at me, covering my hand with his and squeezing it reassuringly. The way his expression has softened, it makes me feel as if he understands the reason behind my nervousness.

"It will be fine," he says in a comforting voice.

I nod at him, but the tension in my chest doesn't ease.

As we step out of the car and walk toward the main door, I take deep breaths to calm my nerves.

The door opens after a few seconds of Prathamji ringing the doorbell, and I see Maaji standing at the door with a bright smile on her face.

"You have arrived, son. I was waiting for you since morning," she says to Prathamji, affectionately stroking his head while completely ignoring me.

Without saying a word to me and without even glancing at me, she pulls Prathamji inside the house.

I also walk inside, my feet feeling heavy with each step that I take.

"See who has come to visit us." Maaji says to Prathamji, her voice almost bubbling with excitement. "Mahaveerji's son, Uday, has come. He will be staying here with us for a few weeks."

My heart stops after hearing her, and it sinks to the deepest pit when I glance at the man standing at the center of the living room.

"Uday Rathi," I whisper, feeling a chill running down my spine.