Aratrika
The silence in the house was deafening, and the weight of it settled into my chest with every passing moment. It had been a long night, the kind where I'd had too much to drink and said too little. The wedding of Agastya and Yuktha was supposed to be a celebration, but it had felt like another act in a play I didn't want to be part of. Another performance. Another show of smiles and pleasantries for the world to see, while behind the closed doors, we were all wearing masks.
I walked through the halls, trying to ignore the way my head ached from the champagne and my thoughts scattered like broken glass. Yugarth's presence lingered in the house like a shadow I couldn't escape. Even though he had barely spoken to me the night before, I could feel him watching, waiting for something. His eyes always held a challenge—an unspoken demand for me to be more than the cold, distant wife I'd chosen to become.
But I wasn't playing his games. Not anymore.
The door to our bedroom creaked open, and I froze. I hadn't expected him to be awake yet. He hadn't spoken to me all morning, and I hadn't made any effort to do the same. The cold, unspoken tension between us was like a rope slowly tightening, but I didn't have the strength to pull it loose.
Yugarth was standing by the window, his back to me, as if the view outside was the only thing that mattered. He was dressed in the same tailored suit he'd worn to Agastya's wedding, his dark hair tousled just enough to make him look as if he had stepped out of a magazine. But there was something off about him today—something darker that I couldn't place. Maybe it was the way his jaw clenched, the tightness in his shoulders, or the fact that he wasn't looking at me.
I crossed the room slowly, my footsteps quiet on the marble floors. "What are you doing?" The question came out of my mouth before I could stop it. My voice felt small in the vast emptiness of the room, but I didn't care.
He didn't turn around. "Waiting for the storm to pass," he replied, his voice flat, almost too calm.
I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. The wedding yesterday had been filled with fake smiles and forced joy. Agastya and Yuktha had put on a perfect show, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted in all of us. Especially in Yugarth.
"You're not talking to me again?" I asked, my words sharp, testing the waters. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to talk to me, or if I was just tired of the silence between us.
He turned slowly, his gaze finally meeting mine. There was that familiar glint in his eyes—the same one that had unsettled me from the very beginning. "What's there to say, Aratrika? We both know this marriage isn't about anything more than convenience."
His words hit harder than I expected. It wasn't that I didn't know the truth; it was the way he said it, like it was something we should both just accept. But the truth was, I couldn't. Not after last night. Not after everything that had happened.
I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to let him see how much his words cut me. "Right. So, what now? We just continue living together like strangers?"
Yugarth's gaze darkened, his lips twisting into something that almost looked like a smirk. "Strangers?" he repeated, stepping closer, closing the distance between us. "You're not a stranger to me, Aratrika. You never were."
I swallowed, the heat of his proximity making it harder to breathe. His words were loaded, and I couldn't tell if he was taunting me or revealing something deeper. Either way, I wasn't ready to hear it.
"I don't need this from you," I muttered, stepping back, trying to regain control of the space between us.
His expression softened, just slightly, but there was something in the way he looked at me now that made my heart skip. A mixture of amusement and something else I couldn't define. "You never needed anything from me, Aratrika," he said quietly. "But maybe you will one day."
That damn line. It stuck with me. Because despite all my attempts to shut him out, I knew there was truth in it. He wasn't just some stranger anymore. He was a constant in my life, something I couldn't shake, even if I wanted to.
He didn't wait for me to respond. Instead, he turned toward the door, his footsteps deliberate as he made his way out of the room. "I'll be downstairs when you're ready. We have to start playing our parts again," he called over his shoulder, that same dark smile playing at the corners of his lips.
I was left standing in the middle of the room, my thoughts swirling like a storm I couldn't control. I should have been angry, but I wasn't. I was something else—something dangerous, and I wasn't sure if it was my desire to push him away or the desire to pull him closer.
Maybe it was both.
But I wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
===
The house buzzed with a different energy today—an energy that was neither entirely welcoming nor entirely cold, but something in between. The pehli rasoi—Yuktha's first meal as a Mehrotra daughter-in-law—wasn't just a ritual. It was a test, and everyone in the family seemed to be watching, waiting for her to slip, waiting for a sign that she wasn't up to the task.
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, watching her. The rhythmic sound of her stirring the dal was the only thing that filled the silence between us. But I could tell she was nervous. Her hands moved too quickly, her back a little too stiff. She was trying to make everything perfect, and yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing ever truly was in this house.
Amrita Mehrotra—Yugarth's grandmother—was the first to break the silence. She stepped into the kitchen with her usual regal air, sharp eyes and poised demeanor. Amrita had ruled this house with a quiet authority for years, and she wasn't one to soften for anyone. She had seen generations come and go, and yet, she held onto traditions like they were the very air they breathed.
"Yuktha, darling," she said, inspecting the food with a critical eye. "The family is expecting the best from you. Peheli rasoi is important. This is your moment. Don't let anything slip."
Yuktha didn't flinch. She simply nodded, offering a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course, dadi. I'll make sure it's perfect."
Amrita didn't soften her gaze. "It better be," she said with a slight, pointed smile. She looked over at me, her eyes sharp and assessing. "Aratrika, dear, you should sit with your devrani. She needs all the support she can get."
I could sense the pressure mounting in Yuktha's shoulders. Support? It felt more like an unspoken demand for perfection. But I knew better than to challenge it. I gave Yuktha a brief nod, offering her a smile that hopefully conveyed some measure of reassurance.
Before I could say anything more, Vidhita, our mother in law, entered the kitchen with the same air of silent authority. Vidhita was a woman of grace, but behind her polished exterior, she held a sharpness that could cut through steel. I saw her glance at the dal and then at Yuktha, assessing her with a quiet but intense scrutiny.
"Not bad, Yuktha," Vidhita said, her voice calm but carrying the weight of expectation. "But remember, this isn't just about food. It's about the family you're joining. Perfection is expected, not just from the food, but from everything you do here."
Yuktha nodded again, but I saw the tension in her hands as she carefully placed the dishes on the table. The smile she gave Vidhita was polite, but I could tell it was a mask, a way of hiding the strain of trying to please everyone. The weight of their words hung heavily over her, and I couldn't help but feel for her.
"Everything seems fine," Vidhita continued, her tone softening just a touch, though not by much. "But I expect you to live up to these standards. You're not just a guest here, Yuktha. This is your home now."
Amrita's sharp gaze flicked to Vidhita for a brief moment, a silent exchange passing between them. "Exactly," Amrita added, her voice carrying that same quiet authority. "This is the life you've chosen. It's a life of expectations, of perfection, and of family. Don't forget that."
The table was brimming with the usual suspects—family members sitting in their usual places, some more eager than others. The food was spread out in front of us, the pehli rasoi ceremony in full swing. .
I caught a glimpse of Yuktha's discomfort but said nothing. After all, it was her moment to shine, to prove herself with the meal she had prepared. And despite her quiet anxiety, I had no doubt she would rise to the occasion.
Amrita, sitting at the head of the table, gave Yuktha an appraising glance. The silence in the room seemed to stretch as each person took a bite. Amrita took the first forkful, and her gaze didn't leave Yuktha's face. The pause that followed was unbearable, but then Amrita's lips tightened.
"Hmm," she said, not looking up from her plate. "It's... acceptable."
Vidhita, sitting beside Amrita, also sampled a spoonful. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, offering only the smallest of nods. It wasn't praise, but it wasn't a reprimand either.
Then there was Avyan, who, unlike the others, didn't hide his opinion behind polite silence. He dug in with enthusiasm, his face lighting up as he chewed. "This is amazing!" he exclaimed, his voice genuine and full of praise. "Seriously, Bhabhi, this is better than half the stuff we eat here."
I noticed Yuktha's shoulders relax at the compliment, the tension in her face easing for just a moment. The last thing she needed was to feel judged or scrutinized further. But of course, Amrita and Vidhita weren't going to make it that easy for her.
Just as Amrita was about to say something, her mouth opened, but I beat her to it.
"Give her a break, Dadi," I said, my voice steady and firm. "It's not easy stepping into this family and suddenly being expected to perform like a seasoned chef. If it were up to me, I'd say this is exactly what it needs to be—homey, simple, and full of effort."
Agastya, who had been quietly observing from the other end of the table, added his own support. "Bhabhi's right," he said, a small but pointed smile on his lips. "Maybe you can teach her your secret recipes, Dadi, but let's not forget that this is a step, not the finish line."
His words were a clear attempt to diffuse the tension that Amrita's cold gaze seemed to throw on Yuktha's every movement. Amrita's frown deepened, but she didn't reply, her mouth set in a tight line.
I could tell it wasn't just about the food for her. She was testing Yuktha, just as she tested everyone else who entered this house. It was a rite of passage, but I wasn't going to let her be the one to make Yuktha feel smaller.
"Don't worry about her, Yuktha," I added, my tone softer this time, turning to the girl beside me. "You've done great. No one can be perfect from the start, right? Just keep being yourself."
Yuktha's lips trembled slightly, but she smiled, the warmth in her eyes finally starting to shine through. "Thank you, Aratrika," she whispered, the relief evident in her voice.
And though Amrita didn't say another word, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Was it a shift? A tiny, almost imperceptible change in the way she viewed Yuktha? I wasn't sure. But I wasn't going to stop fighting for Yuktha just yet.
The meal continued, but the dynamic in the room had shifted slightly. Avyan's praise had made all the difference. And as for Agastya, his subtle defense of Yuktha had been enough to keep the atmosphere from spiraling too far into the cold.
For a moment, it felt like a small victory.
===
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