4.
Kanika
Two and a half years are so difficult to spend in these four walls, and while I try to find a way to step out—Uncle never allows it because of the danger. According to him, he wants to save the only connection he has left to his brother and Bhabhi: me. Until one day, Shaurya tells him that he wishes to marry me, to take care of me, and to make sure I stay safe. It was a year and a half ago. At that time, I thought I’d finally get to see the outside, but Shaurya says my safety lies here.
“Kanika?” Aunt Lara’s voice brings me back from the world of imagination as I look at her through the mirror’s reflection. She wears a red silk saree, a bright smile on her lips that doesn’t fail to deepen her smile wrinkles. After Maa passed away, she has always loved me more than I expected; however, no one can fill the emptiness of a mother—she is a motherly figure to me.
She steps closer, a box clenched in her hand as she slides it into my palm. The velvet box feels warm, giving me a clear assumption that she has been holding it for a while now. I look at her cluelessly. “This belongs to your mother,” she says, giving a squeeze to my hand. “She always wanted you to wear this at your wedding. Now, I am handing it over to you.”
Something inside my chest squeezes, the voice of the music getting muffled as tears blur my vision. My fingers tremble as I open the box.
It is a ring—a green emerald diamond ring. My mother was a jewelry heiress; she would often say that she wanted to give me the best and most unique stone.
This ring isn’t just a stone; in the depth of this stone hides the warmth, the touch of my mother, and the sight of her gaze. “This is the reason I wasn’t giving it to you. I was so sure you would cry and ruin your wedding makeup.”
Yes, the wedding day is finally here. We haven’t invited a lot of guests, and with the security so tight, I am getting married to Shaurya today; as much as it excites me, I am also worried.
The fear ignited by Achyut still burns in my soul. The kind of fear that makes your fingers tremble and your throat dry? Exactly that. I still can’t erase the memory of that day from my thoughts. I turn to look at myself in the mirror for the final time; the pink lehenga looks pretty on me, and while I am not a fan of heavy jewelry, this set also looks pretty.
“Kanika! Kanika!” The door of my room flies open, making me flinch as I whirl around. Raghav storms inside, his hair a mess, matching the worries on his face.
“I have always told you to stop being in such a rush, Raghav. You’ll give me a heart attack already.” Aunt says, earning a chuckle from me as I fix my nath. It is more like trying to divert myself from thinking; perhaps I am nervous today. Aunt said even she was nervous on her wedding day, so I assume it’s normal to feel such a way.
“Mummy,” he says. My smile slips away the moment I realize Raghav didn’t glance at her. Instead, he sounds more serious than he usually is. I step forward, smacking the back of his head as I say, “Stop the dummy act—”
“Kanika.” My head turns in that direction as I find Shaurya standing at a distance. He is wearing the sherwani, a varmala around his neck, and his lip is split open. Did they welcome him with a varmala? I am sure Raghav must’ve played this stupid joke.
Just before I can part my lips to speak, a female figure steps in. Astuti walks in wearing a red lehenga, the same varmala around her neck, but that doesn’t catch my attention.
The vermillion in her hairline and the way my Shaurya has his fingers intertwined in hers do. “I need to talk to you, Kanika.”
Baby. He didn’t call me that. Instead, he is using my name, and Shaurya has rarely used my name—not unless the matter is serious, and not unless it ends with me in tears.
***
“You are saying… you married h-her?” My voice cracks at the end as the velvet box slips down my clutch. Shaurya looks up at me; he tries—I can see in his eyes to at least sound guilty, but he doesn’t.
He nods his head, looking over his shoulder toward Astuti before smiling at her for a second and turning his gaze back to me.
I step closer, my hands cupping his cheeks as I scoff, trying to calm my sobs but failing. “I told you to stop drinking, Shaurya, and stop messing with me. Baby, you know how much these… types of j-jokes scare me.” He lifts his hand, the cold touch sending chills down my spine as he yanks my hand off him.
”I am not kidding, Kanika.” The air in the room feels suddenly thin, as if the oxygen has been sucked out the moment he touches my hand like I am a stranger. I look down at his hands—the same hands that have held mine through nightmares, telling me that I matter to him, that he loves me, and that he will fulfill all our promises.
How can he forget them all and throw me away like I am some sort of furniture that no longer fits the theme of his house?
I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of this nightmare. “Don’t do this,” I gasp, the words catching in my throat. “Shaurya, look at me. Look at us.”
He doesn’t.
He isn’t looking at the woman he claimed he loved; instead, he is looking through me.
”Kanika, stop,” he says. His voice is steady, completely opposite of my racing heartbeat, and yet I can feel his voice roar in my ears. “There is no ‘joke’ here. There is just a marriage. My marriage. I need you to accept that so we can both move on.”
“Move on?” I gulp the words, turning to look at Astuti—the woman who has finally snatched away all I had. All I feared to lose.
My vision blurs again, and even though I wish to slap her, to hit her, or better yet, kill him—all I do is stand and look at her. She isn’t looking like a villain but rather like a wife waiting for the guest to leave.
A sob slips from my mouth before I turn back to Shaurya. “So, I was right when I accused you a month ago?” I ask him.
Finally, he looks at me, and for a split second I see a flicker of hope, the glimpse of the man I fell for. Shaurya has guilt plastered on his face, but the moment he looks at Astuti, he sighs as if he’s too annoyed with me.
“Honestly, maybe it was always her, Kanika. I was just too late to realize,” he says, his voice dropping into a tone of cold exhaustion. I step forward, grabbing him by his collar before slapping him.
“Fucking asshole. You think playing with me was fun for you?” He lifts his gaze.
”This is exactly why I couldn’t tell you sooner. The theatrics. The accusations.”
Theatrics. The word feels like a physical slap. “Theatrics?” I repeat, my voice rising into a sharp, broken laugh. “Shaurya, I am standing in goddamn bridal attire. I have your mehendi on my hand, you idiot. I’m standing in the wreckage of four years of my life! And you’re… you’re annoyed?”
”Idiot? You are calling me an idiot when your life has been such a mess, Kanika?” Shaurya’s voice has lost every ounce of the melody I used to crave. Now, it is just sharp, jagged edges that do not fail to pierce my heart. This is getting bad, so bad.
”Lost your parents, began painting again, stayed dirty all day because of that shit of a paint and then you expect me to not lose my interest in you?” I stare at him through the haze of my tears, my breath hitching in my chest as I hope for him to tell me that he is lying.
”Women are supposed to stay pretty if they love their partner, but you?” He scoffs, the disgust rolling off him in waves. “You stay covered in paints.” My fingers curl into a ball. Astuti steps forward then.
”Do you have any idea what kind of fool you are?” Shaurya continues, leaning in, his front touching mine as he uses his finger to point at my forehead. “Staying locked in this house, in this fucking building.” A painful smile curls my lips; it hurts, it hurts so very much. Shaurya promised that the day we got married, he’d make me step out of this house.
He pushes my forehead again, harder this time, making me step back. “Besides, I want to live a peaceful life,” he hisses, his eyes cold and dead. “I don’t want to stay being a bodyguard to a woman who has so many people behind her trying to kill her—”
Astuti leans in, her silk saree rustling as she whispers something into his ear. He nods, passing her that soft, radiant smile he once used to reserve only for me. “Just a second, wifey,” he murmurs to her, the title working like a knife in my chest.
He steps closer to me again, leaning down to my ear as he whispers. “I’ll give you a piece of advice, baby. You will die too. All those hawks are behind you. They will all scratch you away, feast on your blood and flesh. And at last… you’ll die.”
I blink. He stands straight, his shoulders square and proud in his groom’s sherwani. “Sorry for ruining the wedding,” he adds with a smile. “You look pretty, by the way.”
He lifts his feet to walk away, his hand already reaching out for Astuti’s, when I speak. “You didn’t.”
Shaurya pauses, turning back to me with a look of bored disbelief. “The wedding day won’t be ruined. I’ll get married,” I say, lifting my gaze to meet his. My voice doesn’t crack this time. “Today.” Shaurya has forgotten one thing: if I am to be a feast, I will choose who sits at the head of the table. I have to choose a villain—someone powerful, someone who can protect me, someone whose shadow is darker than the ones chasing me.
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