The sight of the cloudy sky made her smile fade, but the cold breeze brushing against her skin brought a strange sense of calm—something she had been craving for days. The water from her bath still clung to her skin, leaving her feeling refreshed, almost reborn.

As she turned, sensing someone's gaze on her, her eyes landed on the guards nearby. Quickly, she looked away. Of course, she thought bitterly, they would never leave me alone.

She began drying her damp hair, her gaze drifting to her sister’s wedding saree and blouse that she had washed herself. It had only been two months since she came here, and in that short time, she had received so much love from her father and her sister. But even in that warmth, there was always a hollow space—her mother’s absence. And it hit her the hardest whenever she looked at Pallavi. Pallavi wasn’t just a sister; she was like a second mother. Her habits, her tone, even her warmth—everything reminded Avni of the woman she lost. That’s what made Pallavi irreplaceable.

"I hope she’s alright," Avni murmured to herself, brushing her hair back with her fingers.

Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, which felt painfully hollow. She hadn’t eaten all day, and now the hunger gnawed at her with full force. She sighed and glanced around, searching for someone—anyone—who might help her. Her eyes darted to every corner, looking for an escape, a hiding place... and then they landed on a flower pot.

I could hit someone with that, she thought grimly.

“Bhabhi…”

“Huh?” Her eyes widened. Jai was standing before her, holding a plastic bag.

“Yeh aapke liye khana…” (This is food for you…)

She blinked, trying to process his words, then silently took the bag from his hand.

She opened it and the aroma hit her immediately. Her mouth watered. She had expected they might starve her—or worse—but this was unexpected.

Taking out a piece of aloo paratha, she took a bite.

“Ahh… I love it,” she mumbled with a smile, tearing off another piece. But then a dark thought struck her.

Poison?

But no. They wouldn’t kill her so easily. And definitely not like this.

“I’m done,” she whispered to herself and dropped onto the bed, lying on her back. Her stomach now full, she took a deep breath and rested her palm over it.

First, they gave her good clothes. Now food? Was something wrong? Or was he—Guru—planning something?

Her gaze wandered around the room and stopped at the old almirah. The last time she opened it, she had seen an old saree hanging inside. That memory hadn’t stopped bothering her.

Whose was it? His lover? His ex-wife? Someone else?

Getting up, she walked over to the almirah. She tied her hair into a loose bun, then opened it and scanned every corner inside.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps.

“Bhabhi, aapko Sanjay bhai ne aapke ghar le jaane ko kaha hai...” (Bhabhi, Sanjay Bhai has asked us to take you home...)

For a moment, she stood there frozen, confused.

“Ghar? Mera ghar?” (Home? My home?) she asked, pointing at herself. Soori nodded hesitantly. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, but Avni didn’t notice. A wide smile broke out on her face—shocked, yet relieved.

“Abhi?” (Right now?) she asked. He nodded again.

“Okay…” she whispered.

Soori asked her to follow, and she did, her eyes scanning the house one last time before stepping into the jeep. Finally—finally—she was leaving this hell.

She didn’t ask any questions, and he didn’t speak either. Her joy was overflowing. She looked at him, wanting to ask the reason, but when she saw him talking on the phone, she decided against it.

A tear welled up in the corner of her eye as her house came into view. As the jeep neared, a strange emotion bloomed in her chest—too complex to name. She giggled through her tears when she saw her father standing outside the house, just like he did when she came here for the first time. That day, he had welcomed her with the warmest hug.

The jeep stopped.

Without wasting a second, she jumped out and ran to her father, wrapping her arms around him. But something was wrong—he didn’t hug her back.

Startled, she pulled away and looked up at him. A tear rolled down his cheek, but this one wasn’t of joy—it was sorrow. Fear gripped her when someone’s fingers wrapped around her arm, yanking her away.

She struggled to comprehend what was happening. And then… her world stopped.

An old man emerged from the house, surrounded by a group of armed men.

He sat down on the sofa, looked at her, then at her father—whose hands were tied behind his back. Another tear slid down her cheek.

"Main tumhare papa ka bachpan ka dost hoon… par ab dushman." (I was your father's childhood friend… but now, I'm his enemy.)

“Seedhe shabdon mein kahun toh, log mujhe ‘Sanjay Bhai’ bolte hain.” (In simple words, people call me ‘Sanjay Bhai’.)

He pointed and a lawyer placed papers before her father.

“Tujhe yahan isiliye laya gaya… taaki tere baap ko in papers pe sign karwana aasaan ho.” (You were brought here so it would be easier to make your father sign these papers.)

“Yeh zameen ke papers hain. Sign karo.” (These are land papers. Sign them.)

Her father didn’t move.

Sanjay's eyes flicked to Avni, then to his men. One of them stared at her with clear, disgusting intent. Sanjay chuckled.

“Sign kar warna teri yeh jo beti hai… isse in jawaan ladkon ke beech chhod dunga. Waise bhi sundar hai, jawaan hai—bohot kuch ho sakta hai.” (Sign or I’ll throw your daughter among these young men. She’s beautiful and young—anything could happen.)

“Dekh… teri dushmani mujhse hai. Use jaane de… bachchi hai woh.” (Look, your enmity is with me. Let her go… she’s just a child.) Her father pleaded, folding his hands.

“Agar meri jagah tu hota, aur wahan meri beti hoti toh?” (If you were in my place and it was my daughter there?) Sanjay mocked him, then burst into laughter when he didn’t get an answer.

Avni looked down, her tears falling silently.

With shaking hands, her father picked up the pen… and signed.

Sanjay clapped mockingly. “Accha kiya tune. Ek beti ko bacha liya… doosri toh bhaag gayi!” (Well done. You saved one daughter… the other one already ran away.)

“Pata hai? Guru shaadi nahi karna chahta tha. Par jaise hi bola dushman ki beti se karni hai… maan gaya. Thoda pathhar dil hai, lekin accha ladka hai. Tera kya? 13 saal mein apne baap ko maar diya tha!” (Did you know? Guru didn’t want to marry. But when I said it's to marry the enemy’s daughter—he agreed. Good boy, but stone-hearted. Killed his own father at 13!)

He laughed again, the sound sharp and cold.

Then he spotted Guru’s jeep pulling up.

“Tere pati ki lambi umr hai.” (Your husband will live a long life.)

Guru approached, observing everything silently. His eyes stopped on Avni, who stood trembling, tears staining her cheeks as two men held her arms.

Guru handed the papers to Sanjay.

“Yeh hui na baat!” (That’s more like it!) Sanjay beamed.

“Barish ho sakti hai… apni biwi ko ghar le ja. Seekhne mein waqt lagega.” (It might rain. Take your wife home. She’ll need time to learn all this.)

Guru nodded once.

“Aye ladki…” Sanjay called, “Bhagne ki koshish mat karna. Pata chala hai teri badi behen Canada mein hai. Agar usse kuch hua, toh galti teri hogi.” (Don’t try to run. We found out your elder sister’s in Canada. If anything happens to her—it’ll be your fault.)

“Jaa… le ja ise.” (Go… take her.)

...

From the corner of his eye, Guru glanced at Avni sitting beside him in the passenger seat. She was silent, staring at the window. Her tears had dried, leaving faint tracks behind.

“Gaadi roko…” (Stop the car.)

“Kya?” (What?)

“Gaadi roko!” she snapped. Her voice cracked, but her anger simmered beneath it.

Raindrops began to fall.

“Gaadi roko warna main kood jaungi!” (Stop the car or I’ll jump!)

When he didn’t react, she reached for the door. But he grabbed her hand and slammed the brakes. Without a moment’s delay, she jumped out.

Breathing heavily, she rested her hands on her hips, trying to suck in the cold, fresh air. But even nature seemed against her—it started raining harder, soaking her anew, hiding her fresh tears.

Guru grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. “Marna hai kya tujhe!?” (Do you want to die!?) he shouted.

She yanked her arm away. “Tumhare saath rehne se accha hai main mar jaaun!” (Better to die than live with you!)

He tried to grab her again, but she jerked back.

“Apun pyaar se bol raha hai… ghar chalne ko.” (I’m asking nicely… let’s go home.)

She shook her head violently.

He pulled out his gun and pointed it at her forehead.

She smirked. “Tumhare ghar mein kisi ladki ki saree rakhi hai… pata nahi kaun thi, par agar chali gayi toh uske liye accha hai. Kyunki tum logon ke saath rehna… maut se bhi battar hai.” (There’s a woman’s saree at your house… I don’t know whose, but if she’s gone, she’s lucky. Living with you people is worse than death.)

She stepped closer, pressing her forehead against the barrel.

“Tumne subah kaha tha na… ki main duniya ki aakhri ladki bhi hoti toh tum mujhe haath nahi lagaate? Par tumhare Sanjay bhai ne kya kaha?” (You said this morning, even if I were the last girl alive, you wouldn’t touch me. But do you know what your Sanjay Bhai said?)

“Ki woh chahe toh mujhe apne aadmiyon ke beech mein fek dega!” (That he can throw me to his men if he wants!)

She bared her teeth in rage. “Shukr hai tumhari koi family nahi hai. Kyunki tum log deserve hi nahi karte ho! Shaadi sirf isliye karte ho taaki apni biwi ka rape kar sako!” (Thank God you don’t have a family. You don’t deserve one! You marry just so you can rape your wives!)

“Dekh… apun maar dalega tujhe!” (Look—I’ll kill you!)

“Jisne apne baap ko maar diya… usse koi accha expect bhi nahi karta!” (Someone who killed his own father—no one expects good from him!)

“Tumhari maa ne toh marna hi behtar samjha hoga!” (Your mother probably thought dying was better than raising you!)

His finger twitched—he pulled the trigger.

A loud bang echoed.

Her eyes closed. Her body began to collapse.

But he caught her.

He had aimed at a tree.

Not her.

His breathing was ragged. He stared at the tree, gun trembling in his grip.

He couldn't kill her. Not yet.

Scooping her up in his arms, he placed her back in the passenger seat.

Later, he carried her into his room and laid her on his bed.

Her words echoed in his mind, over and over again.

And the bitter truth stung.

Everyone did look at her like prey. They had only stayed away because she was his wife. The moment that shield fell, they would tear her apart.

She was entertainment. A joke to them all.

And suddenly… a forgotten, horrifying memory rose within him.

He hated her.

But still… some tiny part of him didn’t want history to repeat.

“Apun tujhe in sab se nahi nikaalega… par promise karta hai… tere saath kuch galat nahi hone dega.”

(I won’t take you out of this mess… but I promise—I won’t let anything wrong happen to you.)