Sensitive content ahead. Reader's discretion is advised.

*****

Nitya

"Your body is exactly how I expected it to be," Uday says, his eyes prying over me as I struggle to free my hands from the chains so I can cover myself.

"Please, no, please," I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut, not wanting to see his vile face.

"I promise you, Nitya," he says, leaning close to me. He is not yet touching me but I can sense his eyes everyone on my body. Making me feel too exposed, too disgusted. "You'll soon come to like it. After all, I'll do much more that just looking at you after we get married."

"Leave me alone," I scream as I pull on the chains, but they don't come off. They are digging into my wrists, causing blood to drip through, but they don't break open, no matter how much I struggle, even putting my whole strength into it.

"Aww, you amuse me." Uday chuckles. "You really think you'd be able to break these chains? You are too weak to fight against me. Too weak to do anything other than cry, scream, and let me do anything I wish with you."

He moves even closer, so much so that I can feel his breath over my face. "You should be grateful to me that I'm waiting patiently to get married to you before touching you. If I had not decided that, I would have already claimed you numerous times," he tells me, raising his hand over to my neck as if to touch me.

But I slide my head to the side as much as I can, wanting to get myself far away from him.

"Now why would you do that?" He asks, clutching my hair and roughly pulling me toward him. "As it is, I'm already regretting my decision to wait until marriage. If you keep recoiling away, I might just go back on my word."

Saying that, he slaps me.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Then, he stands up, leaving me crying due to my shame and the throbbing pain on my cheeks.

"I'll be back soon. Wait for me," he says, but then, starts laughing. "Oh, I forgot. You have no choice other than to wait, do you?"

Still continuing to laugh, he turns and starts walking out of the room, while I keep screaming, "Please, please, let me go. Please, let me go."

I continue to shout, feeling pathetic for pleading with the monster like him, but I am too broken to stop. I want to get out of here, even if the freedom came at the price of having to bow down and beg with that disgusting creature.

Suddenly, I stop screaming, when I notice darkness swirling inside the room. Round and round it went, just like a thunderstorm.

"What? Wh-what's happening?" I feel myself being shaken. "Pl-please, let me out. LET ME OUT."

I pull on the chains, wanting to stand from the floor, and I find myself being able to do it this time.

My body jerks up and I open my eyes.

But I realize I'm not in that room. There is no darkness here, just a dim, even comforting light.

And the floor is not too hard too. In fact, it's too soft.

I frantically look around, trying to figure out what's happening and how I came here when I was in that hellhole just a moment back.

"Nitya?"

I look up and see Prathamji standing in front of me. As I continue gazing at him, everything comes rushing back.

I'm no longer there. I'm in my room. With my husband. I'm safe. I'm safe.

"I'm sorry," Prathamji says, making me frown.

"Why?" I ask, coughing because speaking just that one word scratched my dry throat.

"Here," he says, bring the glass of water to my lips.

I take a few sips and nod at him. "Thank you."

He puts the glass on the bedside table and sits beside me on the bed.

"I was about to wake you up to apply ointment over your wounds, but before I could do it, you started screaming," he says to me. "I figured you must be having nightmare, so I tried to wake you up by shaking your shoulder, but you went frantic after that. I think I scared you more by doing that."

"No, it was not because of you," I tell him. "I was.... Uday.... he.... d-did th-things to me.... he b-beat me.... and...." I cover my face with my hands and sob into it.

Prathamji gently uncovers my face and wipes my tears. "I won't tell you it's okay. I won't tell you not to cry. And I won't tell you to try and forget everything. I won't say those things because I know your pain is too raw right now," he says. "I might not understand the depth of your suffering because I have not suffered it myself. But I'll be with you and hold you through it all, Nitya. I'll hold you when you cry. I'll hold you when you scream. I'll hold you when you break down. So, please, don't hide your tears from me."

"Don't you think it's pathetic of me to be crying every time?"

He shakes his head and cups my face. "Breaking down at times is never pathetic. It's just that we need to be weak sometimes so we can prepare ourselves to be strong again."

I don't say anything, just lean into him, wanting him to hold me as I silently shed tears.

"It's time to apply ointment to your wounds, Nitya," Prathamji says after a while. "The doctor had advised to do it every six hours."

"Okay. I'll apply it," I say, trying to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots through my side, and I wince, my body protesting any movement.

Prathamji turns toward me and gently pushes me back down on the bed. "You can barely move," he tells me. "How are you going to apply it yourself? Let me help you, please."

I realize he is right. I really won't be able to do it myself.

"If you are not comfortable with me doing it, I ca—"

"I'm not uncomfortable with you," I tell him and it's true. I know he won't hurt me. And right now, I need his help, even if it means baring myself in front of him and let him see the extent of my pain.

Prathamji moves closer, carefully lowering the blanket off me, exposing my bruised and battered body. His eyes travel over my injuries, and I can see the pain in his expression as he takes in each bruise and cut.

I feel a shiver run through me, not from the cold but from the vulnerability of the moment. I feel so vulnerable, lying here, exposed like this, but I'm able to bear it because Prathamji's gaze is not filled with disgust or pity. Instead, there is a deep sadness in his eyes, a sadness that mirrors my own.

Squeezing the tube, he squirts the ointment over his fingers. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" He says softly, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest as I watch him.

He starts with the bruises on my wrists and arms. The ointment is cool against my skin, soothing the throbbing pain.

His fingers move slowly, carefully, as if he is afraid of hurting me more. His touch so gentle that I'm overcome with emotions. It's like he is trying to heal me with his touch, to take away some of the pain I'm feeling.

I feel a lump form in my throat, my emotions threatening to spill over. I'm overwhelmed by how tender he is. By how much he seems to care.

A sob escapes my lips, and I close my eyes.

"Nitya," Prathamji calls softly, his voice full of concern. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry. I was trying to be gentle."

I shake my head, my shoulders still shaking with silent sobs. "No, you didn't hurt me," I manage to say, my voice trembling. "It's just.... you were.... I... I don't know how to explain it."

"It's okay." He reaches out and brushes a tear from my cheek with his thumb. "You don't need to explain it."

Saying that, he suddenly leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss to one of the bruises on my arm.

His lips are warm and gentle, barely brushing against my skin, but it sends a wave of emotions to pass through me. I gasp, but don't move, don't say anything, because I realize I don't want him to stop.

He kisses another bruise on the arm, slightly higher than the previous one. His lips lingering for a moment before moving to the bruise over my shoulder. His lips trail down my arm, kissing every bruise, every cut, as if he's trying to kiss away all the pain.

He then moves down to my leg.

Clutching the edge of my saree and underskirt near my ankle, he looks up at me. "May I continue?"

I nod, my throat too tight with emotion to speak.

He slowly raises the saree up my legs, exposing more of my wounds.

I feel his hands shaking slightly as he applies the ointment to the bruises there. And, after finishing applying the ointment, he leans down again, pressing soft kisses to the bruises on my legs, moving up to the wounds over my thighs.

A shiver runs through me and I feel my body trembling from the intensity of the moment.

He then leans back and slides the saree down my legs before sliding to the side the pallu over my stomach.

Once he finishes applying the ointment there, he again leans down. I can feel his breath against my skin for a moment before he presses a kiss on my stomach, his lips lingering for a moment before moving to the next bruise.

After he is done, he lies down beside me and I scoot closer to him, craving his warmth.

I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it comforts me.

He strokes my hair, and it makes me feel safe. Knowing that I'm not alone, that he is here with me, gives me a small measure of comfort, even if it doesn't take away all the pain.

I pull back slightly, my eyes meeting his.

His gaze is soft, filled with concern and something else I can't quite decipher.

I love you. I want to tell him. I love you so much.

Yet, I keep quiet. Because I'm afraid it will break this moment, this closeness. He might remember—

No. Don't think about it.

Not tonight.

Tonight, I need to be close to him, to know that I'm not alone in the darkness.

Just this one night. And I'll live forever with the memory of it.

I tilt my head up, and before I can second-guess myself, I press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

Moving back slightly, I look up at him, and the softness I see in his eyes gives me the courage to lean in again. This time, I kiss his jaw, my lips grazing his skin before I move to the corner of his mouth, my heart beating faster with each touch.

Prathamji's hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb stroking my jaw. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead, then to my temple. His lips move down, kissing my cheek, my nose, my other cheek.

I close my eyes, savoring the feel of his lips on my skin. Each kiss filled with such tenderness that it makes my heart ache.

Encouraged by those kisses, I bring my hands up to rest on his shoulders, and I kiss his cheek again. Then, leaning into him, I try to get even closer, to press myself against him. I want to feel his strength. I need to feel connected to him.

But suddenly, Prathamji pulls back, his hands gently but firmly holding me away from him.

I freeze, feeling my heart sink.

The rejection is immediate and stings like a physical blow. It causes my breath to catch in my throat, and I feel my face flush with shame and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice shaking, I lower my head, unable to meet his gaze. "I... didn't mean to.... I just.... I just wanted to be close to you."

Keeping his finger below my chin, he tilts my head up so I'm looking at him again. "You don't need to apologize," he says. "It's just that you are vulnerable and in pain right now. I don't want to hurt you."

I stare at him, trying to process his words, but all I can feel is the sting of rejection. My mind twists his words, and I can't help but think he is just saying that to be kind.

I lower my head again. "You don't have to lie, Prathamji," I whisper. "I know you must be disgus—"

"Don't," he interrupts. "Don't ever think like that, Nitya. You are beautiful, inside and out, and what happened to you won't change that."

When he pulls me closer and cradles me in his arms, I lean into him. His words are so kind, so gentle, but it's hard to believe them. It's hard to believe that he can still see me as the same person when I myself don't feel like it anymore.

But his arms around me are warm and comforting, and I let myself believe, for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he meant what he said.