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This chap is affectionately dedicated to -
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"I hope the people and the things you are choosing are choosing you back............"

Vatsal stared at his phone, his father’s words echoing in his mind. He felt tense and clueless, a familiar sensation whenever he dealt with his father. It wasn’t just the harshness of the scolding; it was the underlying message that he was never good enough. This wasn’t new; his father had always been displeased with him. Phone calls from his father never meant care or concern—only complaints and comparisons.

Growing up, his elder brother Vishal had been the perfect son in their father’s eyes. Every achievement of Vishal’s was a measuring stick against which Vatsal was unfavourably compared. Now, it seemed there was a new competitor on the board: his wife. It was as if he could never win.

“Which father in the world does that?” Vatsal muttered to himself, his mood growing increasingly sour. He agreed he was worthless, good for nothing. But if that was true, why did his father care to expect anything from him? Why the constant complaints, disagreements, and insults?

His thoughts turned bitterly to Shubhita. She never had anything to say to him, yet she apparently had plenty to say to his father. Why did she behave like a goddess, an untouchable epitome of virtue?

In the noisy room, surrounded by friends who were now more of a distant blur, Vatsal felt utterly alone. He put his phone away, his mood ruined, his mind swirling with resentment and frustration. The party continued around him, but he was no longer a part of it, lost in his own storm of emotions.

Vatsal’s phone buzzed again, a message this time, but he ignored it. The laughter and chatter of his friends felt miles away, drowned out by the storm in his mind. His father’s scolding had always left him feeling hollow, but this time it was different. This time, the scolding was laced with comparisons to his wife.

He knew he wasn’t perfect. His father’s words had drilled that into him from a young age. Vishal had always been the golden child, the one who could do no wrong. Every time Vatsal fell short, his father would remind him of Vishal’s successes. And now, with Shubhita, the comparisons had taken a new turn.

His father’s words stung, not because they were new, but because they were true in a way he didn’t want to admit. Yes, Shubhita was managing a lot. Yes, she was working hard. But why did his father have to rub it in his face? Why couldn’t he acknowledge that Vatsal was trying, even if he was failing?

He thought back to the last conversation he’d had with Shubhita. It was clipped, as always, their words few and far between. She had said nothing to him about her struggles, but apparently, she had plenty to share with his father. Why was she opening up to him and not to her own husband? It made no sense.

“Why does she act like she’s perfect?” he muttered under his breath, bitterness creeping into his voice.

His friends noticed his sour mood. Ojas, ever perceptive, approached him. “Hey, everything okay?”

Vatsal forced a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

But it was more than that. It was the weight of unspoken words and unmet expectations. It was the constant feeling of not being enough, of always falling short. And now, it seemed like even his wife was against him.

As the party continued around him, Vatsal felt increasingly disconnected. The noise, the laughter, the camaraderie—it all felt like a facade. He excused himself and stepped outside, needing a moment to breathe. The cool night air did little to calm his racing thoughts.

Why couldn’t things be different? Why did he always have to be the one at fault? He glanced at his phone, contemplating calling his father back, but he knew it would be pointless. The same complaints, the same accusations—it would only make things worse.

In that moment, standing alone in the dark, Vatsal felt a profound sense of hopelessness. He was tired of trying and failing, tired of never being good enough. And as much as he wanted to resent Shubhita, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. She was struggling too, and maybe, just maybe, they were both victims of circumstances beyond their control.

As Vatsal stood alone in the dark, contemplating his frustrations and feelings of inadequacy, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at it, expecting another message from his father or a notification from one of his many group chats. Instead, it was a message from Shubhita.

Shubhita:
Are you okay?

Vatsal stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the reply button. What could he say? That he was feeling crushed under the weight of his father’s constant disappointment? That he resented the way she seemed to be on his father’s side? He typed and deleted several responses before finally settling on one.

Vatsal:
I’m fine. Just busy. Why?

He hit send and waited, staring at the screen. There was a pause before her reply came through.

Shubhita:
Just checking. You seem off.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. Her concern felt like another weight on his shoulders.

Vatsal:
Lots on my mind. How’s everything for you there?

Another pause. He could almost see her hesitating, choosing her words carefully.

Shubhita:
Managing. It’s... a lot.

He clenched his jaw. Her clipped responses mirrored his own frustrations.

Vatsal:
Yeah. Same here.

Her next message took a moment longer.

Shubhita:
You’ll get through it. Don’t worry!

Vatsal stared at the screen, feeling the weight of her expectation. He wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

Vatsal:
Hope so. Good night.

There was a longer pause this time before her reply came through.

Shubhita:
Good night.

_

_

_

Back in Bareilly, Shubhita lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark and quiet, but her mind was anything but calm. The events of the past few weeks played over and over in her head, each thought tugging at her already frayed nerves.

She glanced at her phone, re-reading the brief conversation with Vatsal. It hadn’t brought her the reassurance she hoped for. His curt responses only added to her worries. She turned on her side, the emptiness of the bed beside her a stark reminder of his absence.

The house was still, but Shubhita’s thoughts were restless. The tension, or tensions precisely, in the house was palpable. Mrs. Kashyap and her sister-in-law, Jeevika, Vatsal’s elder brother’s wife, had barely have a proper one-on-one with her since the wedding. Though their disapprovals were subtly evident in her every action. And that was a sharp reminder for her that trust was a fragile thing in this new household.

Shubhita’s responsibilities felt endless. Though, Jeevika was there but being a mother of two, she already had enough on her plate. And Shubhita used to understand that. She woke up before dawn to start her chores, barely finding time to eat a proper meal before rushing to school. Her students provided a brief respite, their innocent faces and eager questions a welcome distraction from her domestic struggles. But the exhaustion was taking its toll.

She missed her parents, missed the uncomplicated warmth of her childhood home. The freedom she had once taken for granted now seemed like a distant memory. Here, she felt like a puppet, constantly pulled by the strings of others’ expectations. Her confidence was waning, replaced by a gnawing doubt about her place in this new family.

As she lay there, her mind kept circling back to Vatsal. Their interactions were minimal and strained, his absence only making things harder. She had hoped marriage would bring them closer, but instead, it felt like another challenge to navigate. His father’s constant complaints about him had only added to the strain.

Shubhita sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. For now, all she could do was try to get some rest and hope that tomorrow would bring some clarity and peace.

_

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_

The kitchen was bustling with activity as Jeevika prepared breakfast, Kuhu and Krish seated at the table, chattering away. Shubhita hurriedly entered. The familiar clatter of utensils and the aroma of cooking filled the air, blending with the soft murmurs of conversation.

“Good morning, Chachi,” Kuhu greeted, her tone bright.

“Good morning, Kuhu.” Shubhita responded with a soft smile, her eyes lighting up. While Krish remained quiet, focused on looking at car advertisements on the newspaper his father was holding whilst sitting at the table.

Jeevika glanced over, giving Shubhita some acknowledgement. “Could you help with the parathas?”

“Of course, Bhabhi,” Shubhita replied, moving to the stove.

As they worked side by side, Kuhu watched intently. “Chachi, can I help?” she asked, her voice soft but hopeful.

Shubhita smiled warmly. “Sure, Kuhu. Can you hand me that plate?”

Kuhu quickly obliged, her small hands carefully picking up the plate and passing it to Shubhita. “Thank you,” Shubhita said, her smile encouraging.

Jeevika glanced over, noticing the growing bond between Kuhu and Shubhita. “You’re becoming quite the helper, Kuhu,” she remarked, trying to keep the tone light.

Kuhu beamed, looking at Shubhita for approval. “I like helping Chachi.” Just then, the kids’ grandparents entered the room.

During breakfast, all of sudden, Kuhu looked up at her grandmother. “Dadi, when is Chachu coming back?”

Before anyone could answer, Krish chimed in, his voice curious. “Yeah, Dadaji, when will Chachu be here? I miss him.”

The question hung in the air until Mrs Kashyap answered turning soft, “Soon. I’m waiting for him too. Your Chachu is busy with work.”

“Work or parties?” Mr Kashyap sharply offered a look to his wife.

Sensing the sudden brewing tension, Jeevika quickly interjected. “He’ll come when he can, kids. Now finish your breakfast.”

Vishal, sitting at the head of the table, watched the exchange silently. He knew his father’s stance on Vatsal and didn’t want to stir the pot. “Eat up, both of you. School is waiting,” he said, his voice firm. His eyes flicked to their father, gauging his reaction, ever careful not to cross any lines.

The children fell silent, focusing on their food. Shubhita felt a pang of sympathy for them, their innocent questions revealing the underlying strains within the family.

The day started with its usual rush, but the unspoken tensions lingered.

_

_

_

Vatsal woke up the next morning with a heavy head, the aftermath of the previous night’s chaos still lingering. The harsh words from his father echoed in his mind, adding to the mounting frustrations that had been building up. He dragged himself out of his mattress, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him as he prepared for another day at work.

His apartment in Noida felt claustrophobic, the small space a constant reminder of his unfulfilled promises to himself and to others. The thought of moving to a bigger place seemed like a distant dream, overshadowed by the immediate pressures of life.

As he dressed for work, Vatsal’s mind kept drifting back to his father’s phone call. The old man’s voice had been harsh, filled with the usual litany of complaints and comparisons. Once, it was Vishal who had set the bar, the perfect elder brother whose achievements Vatsal could never match. Now, his father had a new benchmark: his own wife, Shubhita.

His father’s words had cut deep. Vatsal clenched his jaw as he recalled the conversation, frustration bubbling up inside him. He knew he was far from perfect, but the constant criticism wore him down. His father’s expectations felt like a noose around his neck, tightening with each passing day.

At work, things weren’t much better. Vatsal worked at a bustling news channel, a place where the pace was relentless and the pressure unyielding. As a news producer, he was responsible for coordinating segments, managing reporters, and ensuring everything ran smoothly. It was a demanding job that left little room for error, and the constant stress was taking its toll.

His colleagues greeted him with the usual barrage of questions about his recent marriage, their curiosity thinly veiled by friendly smiles. Vatsal answered mechanically, his mind elsewhere. The truth was, he didn’t have much to say. His marriage felt like another obligation, another set of expectations he was failing to meet.

Throughout the day, Vatsal found it hard to focus. His thoughts kept returning to Shubhita. Her messages from last night had been brief and to the point, but he sensed her underlying frustration. He couldn’t help but feel resentful. She seemed to have his father’s ear, something he never managed to achieve. It irked him that she, the new bride, was already being held up as an example while he continued to disappoint.

Every task at work felt like a burden. His boss’s constant demands, the tight deadlines, and the chaotic newsroom environment only added to his sour mood. The news cycle was relentless, and Vatsal struggled to keep up, his mind clouded by personal turmoil.

As the day dragged on, Vatsal’s frustrations grew. He felt trapped between a job that consumed him and a family that never seemed satisfied with anything he did. His father’s constant comparisons and Shubhita’s perceived perfection were like salt in the wound. He longed for a moment of peace, but it seemed increasingly out of reach.

By the time he returned to his apartment that evening, Vatsal was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He threw his bag down and slumped onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. His phone buzzed with a message from his father, another reminder of his perceived inadequacies. He ignored it, unable to deal with more criticism.

Vatsal’s thoughts turned to Shubhita. He wondered how she was coping, back in Bareilly, dealing with the household and their overbearing family. Despite his resentment, a part of him worried about her. But the bitterness and frustration clouded his ability to reach out, to offer any kind of support.

As he lay there, he realized that something had to change. He couldn’t continue like this, caught in a cycle of dissatisfaction and unmet expectations. But for now, all he could do was try to get through each day, one at a time, hoping that somehow, things would get better.

~~~

This is it for now. Hope you liked it. I am sorry for the mistakes.

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