Arati's interactions with Rishi had grown more strained, but there was a quiet, unspoken understanding between them. They still shared meals, exchanged pleasantries, and moved through the house together like two strangers trying to avoid stepping on each other's feet. But the walls had grown taller between them. The words she longed to hear, the promises that seemed so full of hope just months ago, now felt like echoes in an empty room.

Rishi was still caught between his love for her and his obligations to his family. He had tried to stand up for her—tried being the key word—but every time he did, his resolve crumbled under the pressure of his father's gaze, his mother's disapproval. The conflict inside him was eating him up, a gnawing tension that refused to fade. But in the quiet of the night, when the rest of the house had fallen asleep, Rishi began to act in ways that no one could see. Ways that no one could criticize.

Late one evening, as Arati sat near the window, her thoughts once again tangled in the impossibility of her dreams, she heard Rishi's footsteps. He appeared in the doorway of the small room she had claimed as her own, carrying a bundle wrapped in plain brown cloth.

"Yes?", she said softly, her voice unsure. He had been distant, so distant, that his presence now felt foreign to her.

He didn't speak immediately. Instead, he walked over to her and placed the bundle on the table beside her. 

"I know you've been feeling... stifled," he said quietly, avoiding her gaze. His fingers were still trembling slightly as he brushed the cloth back, revealing several books—old, weathered, their spines creased and faded, but their titles unmistakable. The Art of Cinematography, Film Directing: Shot by Shot, Understanding Visual Storytelling.

Arati's breath caught in her throat as she gazed down at the books. 

"Where did you find these? Aren't they very expensive?", she whispered. She had only ever read about such books in articles or dreamed about getting access to them—never had she imagined they would be so close, so tangible.

"I... I found a place," Rishi muttered, his voice strained, like he was unsure of his own actions, "You don't need to worry about the expenses, Arati. But... you deserve to have them. You deserve to know everything you can about this. I want you to have what you need to learn."

Arati looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest.

"You... you bought these for me?", her voice faltered as a mixture of gratitude and disbelief overtook her. She couldn't understand why Rishi was doing this. He had stood silent in the face of his family's opposition, yet here he was, quietly undermining their control, doing the very thing they had forbidden.

Rishi nodded, his face soft with a sadness she hadn't seen before. 

"I know I haven't been able to... stand up to them," he said, his voice thick with guilt, "But I can't stop you from learning. Not like this. Not when you have so much in you." 

He paused, glancing down at the books again, as if he were trying to steady himself, "I can't change their minds, not yet. But I can give you something—something they can't take away."

Arati's hands trembled as she reached for the books. She ran her fingers over the titles, the weight of them grounding her, as though they were a bridge between her and a world she thought was forever out of reach. But her heart was conflicted, torn between the burning hope his gesture gave her and the crushing weight of her situation.

"Why... why are you doing this?",  she whispered, barely able to keep her voice steady.

He exhaled deeply and looked her in the eyes, "Because I've always seen the fire in you, and it's not something that can be snuffed out. If you want this—if you want to learn, to create—then I will help you, however I can."

The silence between them stretched out, full of unspoken promises. Then Rishi moved toward the small bookshelf in the corner of the room, and Arati watched as he pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. They were old, rusted, the metal worn from years of use.

"This...", He hesitated for a moment, the keys clutched tightly in his hand, "This is the key to grandfather's study. I know you liked it. You've always wanted a quiet space, away from everyone, where you can just think and write. So, these are yours."

Arati stared at the keys, her mind reeling. The study. The one room in the house that no one went to. It was a place shrouded in mystery, a place where her curiosity had always lingered. But it had been off-limits most of the time, an area of the house no one dared trespass into. To be given access to it now—by Rishi, no less—was a gesture that felt so monumental, so personal, that she could hardly comprehend it.

"I—" She stopped herself, unable to put her feelings into words. 

She wanted to say thank you, but it didn't seem enough. This was more than just a gift; it was an act of defiance, an act of love. She had never felt more deeply connected to him than in this moment, when he was offering her a space to dream, a space to grow, even if he couldn't fully stand up for her in front of his family.

"I just want you to have a chance, Arati," he murmured, his eyes earnest, "A real chance."

And then, as if in an attempt to break the tension, he added softly, "Maybe... maybe it's not much. But it's a start."

Arati took the keys from his hand, her fingers brushing his. 

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "This... this means more to me than you can imagine."

For a moment, there was nothing else to say. They just stood there, the room heavy with the weight of their shared understanding. It was a fragile bond, but it was something.

Rishi stepped back, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

"I'm going to bed," he said, his voice light now, as though to mask the seriousness of the moment,"You... you should rest too. We both need it."

As he turned to leave, Arati stood still for a moment, the keys in her hand a promise she hadn't known she could make to herself. She would take this step, no matter how small. She would find a way to keep learning, to keep growing, to keep fighting for the woman she wanted to become.

She didn't know if she would ever be able to escape the constraints of her family's expectations or break free from the roles they had assigned her. But for the first time in months, she felt like she had something to hold onto—a secret, hidden space where she could be herself. A small, quiet rebellion.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could have it all.

As Rishi left the room, Arati turned toward the window, her eyes lingering on the dim glow of the house around her. The storm had passed, but she knew that her fight was only beginning.

And with the keys in her hand, she was ready to start.

One morning, as Arati was sorting through a pile of laundry in the living room, she overheard a conversation between Rishi and his father. His voice, though low, carried an unmistakable weight of unease. It was as if he were treading carefully, testing the ground under his feet.

"Rishi, you cannot keep enabling her like this," his father's voice was sharp, direct, like a whip cracking in the air, "She is a woman. She has responsibilities. Her place is in this house, helping you run it, not wasting time on these... fantasies of yours. You're setting a dangerous example."

Arati froze, her hands stilling over the fabric she was folding. She knew that tone. She had heard it countless times directed at her. The words hit her like stones.

"Father, it's not like that. I just..." Rishi's voice faltered, caught between his desire to protect Arati and his fear of his father's disappointment, "She can set an example for so many other women who wish to pursue her passion. Calcutta is changing Baba, women are no less than men now, and we need to keep up with the times."

"World, time and society can only change so much, son", his father scoffed, the words dripping with disdain, "You know as well as I do that no decent woman would dare to think of such a thing in public, let alone study it. And you want to let her waste your time—and money—on this nonsense?"

Arati's stomach twisted. Her pulse quickened, and her hands trembled in a mix of anger and shame. 

"You're weak, Rishi," his father spat, "You think this will end well? Letting her have her way will only spoil her. And you're letting her run the show like a child."

Rishi fell silent. Arati could hear him shift on his feet, the discomfort clear in every movement. She could picture the helplessness in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped under the weight of his family's expectations. He wasn't going to win this battle—not with his father, not with anyone in this house.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

She knew that the moment Rishi left for work, she would have to face his mother and father, and they would know. They would see it in her eyes—the quiet rebellion, the defiance she could no longer hide.

When Rishi left, Arati stood by the window, watching him disappear down the narrow lane. The house was still and quiet for a few moments, but she knew it would not last long. Her mother-in-law, appeared in the hallway, her steps slow and deliberate.

"Arati, come here," Chhaya called out, her voice tinged with an authority Arati had learned to heed without question.

 She turned, walking toward the source of the voice. Chhaya was seated in the living room, her eyes fixed on the thin curtains swaying in the breeze. She was waiting for something, and Arati felt the weight of her gaze as soon as she entered the room.

"Sit," Chhaya ordered, her eyes narrowing. Arati obeyed, her body stiff, her palms pressed against the fabric of her sari. The silence stretched, and Arati knew it was only a matter of time before the conversation they both dreaded began.

"I see the way you've been acting," Chaya finally spoke, her voice laced with thinly veiled judgment, "The books Rishi brought home for you. The way you lock yourself in your room. You think we don't notice, but we do."

Arati lowered her gaze, her heart pounding. She had no response. What could she say? She had no excuse, no defense, not in a world that so clearly limited her possibilities.

Chaya leaned forward, her eyes piercing. 

"Do you think this is what you were meant for, Arati? Do you think that you, as a woman, can stand in a man's world and make something of yourself? No, my dear. Your place is here. With us. As Rishi's wife. And if you think otherwise, you'll only hurt yourself. And him."

Arati's throat tightened. She had heard these words too many times before. And yet, they felt like daggers now. The idea of Rishi's mother—who had been so kind to her when she first arrived in the house—now regarding her like this was almost too much to bear.

"You should be thinking of a child, Arati," Chaya continued, her tone turning softer, almost coaxing, "The time for your dreams is over, you need to understand this. You are a wife now. A mother soon, I hope. We have all been waiting for the day when you will give Rishi what he deserves—a grandchild, a son, someone to carry on the family name. Instead, you sit in that room of yours, lost in books that will never amount to anything."

Her words struck Arati harder than any insult. A child? Was that what she was supposed to be? A vessel to give Rishi a son? Arati had thought she might be allowed to hold both her dreams and her duties, but it seemed that in this house, the latter was all that mattered.

"I—I'm sorry, Mother," Arati stammered, her voice shaky, though her heart was in turmoil, "I never meant to disappoint you. I just... I thought that maybe—"

Chaya's expression softened with a hint of pity, but it only made Arati feel smaller, less significant. 

"It's not about what you thought, Arati. It's about what's right. You've done your part. Now it's time for you to do what every good wife does—give him a child. The rest is nothing."

Arati bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears, trying to maintain the dignity she had so carefully built over the past six months. She wanted to argue, to scream, to tell Chaya that her world, her dreams, were just as important. But she knew she couldn't. Not here, not with these walls closing in around her.

She opened her mouth to speak but found that nothing came out.

Chaya stood up, her expression satisfied. "

I'm sure you'll understand in time. Rishi is a good man, and he deserves a wife who gives him what he wants, not some silly ideas."

"I understand," Arati whispered, barely able to keep the words from breaking into sobs, "I won't disappoint him."

Chaya nodded approvingly, as if this was the answer she'd been expecting. But Arati's thoughts were far from the reassurance Chaya sought. Her mind, her heart, were still with the keys Rishi had given her. The books he had brought. The promise of something more.

"I'll be in my room," Arati said, her voice steady despite the storm inside. 

Chaya didn't answer, but Arati could feel the weight of her disapproval pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. She turned and walked away, her steps slow, as if carrying the weight of every word that had just been spoken.

And as she closed the door behind her, she felt something stir deep inside. The room was quiet. No one would come looking for her here.

No one, except for her dreams.