I Am His Bride… { An Indian Bl Saga } Would you have been here, had it not been for the lies?

DIVYANSH:

College was kinder to me than I had expected. Two days in and I was drowning in homework, but that was fine, considering all I had to do was draw. Now the challenge was to get a model. When I returned home that evening with Arthit from college, I found my father having tea in the living room with Mr. and Mrs. Ahuja. To say I was shocked would never suffice for the turmoil I felt within myself – why was this man here? Was the cat already out of the bag? Was I going to be thrown out? I was shaking from my nerves when maji called out, “Beta, idhar aao. Tumhare pitaji aaye hain. Ashirvaad lo.” (Dear, come here. Your father has come. Take his blessings.)

Caught, I went forward and touched his feet. His smile, fake as always, made me wonder what else he had in planning. “Khush raho. Isne sabko pareshan to nahi kiya na? Agar koi bhul ho gayi ho toh maaf kar digiye ga isse.” (May you be happy. Did she cause you trouble? If she has committed any mistakes, please do forgive her.) As if you care about this family at all, dad, I couldn’t help but think.

After he left, I was informed he had come to invite me and Ashwin for the ritual of Ashtamangala. I was demotivated to say the least when I plopped down on the couch in our room. My bag on the tea table was filled with homework, waiting to be completed. The very first one was an English essay on love. Yes, college professors are trying to be liberal, giving such controversial topics to write on and then, I didn’t know if she would be furious if I included any LGBTQ+ aspects in it. Frustrated, I tried to get it done, but ended up cutting the same line over thrice. I was seriously demotivated, and I knew I would never be able to get any work done, until I had returned from my father’s house, i.e., to say if I did.

“Just fuck it!” I swore under my breath, when I felt someone breathing down on my neck. I opened my mouth to let out a cry, but it was covered by a hand, calloused from using paintbrushes and pencils. “Shhh! Don’t scream. It’s just me.” And I was rewarded with my husband sitting down beside me, our thighs touching. “W-what are you doing here?”, I stuttered. “Well, it is actually my room if you have already forgotten”, came a frustrated reply. “Have you heard the news?” “About going to your house for those damned rituals yet again?” “Yes. But if you don’t want to, then it’s fine too. I’ll make up some excuse.” “Oh! No need for that. Probably a change in the landscape will do me good, like give me some inspiration, you know.” Not really knowing what else to say, I settled on nodding.

It was then Ashwin decided to address the elephant in the room. “Well, I have something I wanted to talk about.” I nodded, urging him to go on. “Can we at least try to be friends, considering that we will spend the rest of our lives together?” The relief flooded every blood vessel of my body as I extended a hand towards him, “To being friends?” He laughed, “To being friends!” His grip on my hand was comforting, warm. He was my first friend, to be truthful – well, first real friend. I have had pen pals before but he was the first actual one. His joy was contagious, and I was glad he didn’t think he was stuck in a ditch of a marriage, though I would not have minded to go out with a guy as hot as him.

“… is this?” “Huh?” was my intelligent reply as I had spaced out yet again. “I was asking what you are writing.” “Oh, my English homework, an essay on love.” “That’s tricky.” He frowned and it was kind of cute. “Well, I suppose it is. I never know how liberal minded the teacher will be or what they are trying to access about my character.” Silence overtook the room for a few moments. I observed each of his reactions – fiddling hands, bouncing legs and after a long sigh, he turned to me and leant in, “Have you ever been in love?” This was a question I never really knew the answer to. I have had a pen pal I liked, maybe a bit too much and I had fallen for his charisma, without knowing his actual details, not that I had given him mine. He could be a pedophile for all I know, having mistaken me for some young girl, but I had fallen for him hard. Scratching the back of my neck, I squeaked, “Not really!” Wow, way to be smooth, I complimented myself, internally cringing.

“Well, have you, Mr. Ahuja?” “Yes.” “I am so sorry.” “It is not your fault. I would suggest you write what describes your persona the best for your essay.” “Ahh, thanks.” “One more thing. Please, don’t call me Mr. Ahuja? It feels too odd, and I am too young for it.” “Then what should I call you?” “Ash.” “Ok, Ash.” The nickname rolled perfectly on my tongue. “So, Divya right?” His gaze bore into mine, and I realized there were dots of honey in those chocolate brown orbs. My throat felt dry and a sudden gust of wind from the window, made a lock of my hair, fall into my eyes. But I could bother to care as we slowly levitated towards each other. Would our truce be fucked up if we kiss because the atmosphere was certainly romantic. Ash tucked that naughty lock behind my ear. His gaze dipped to my lips, while mine was busy studying the perfect angles of his cupid’s bow. An inch or so separated us, and we both closed our eyes, nervous and anxious.

That was when a loud voice echoed in the silent room, “Ash, bhabi, come…” We jerked apart, jumping to the corners of the couch. The intruder was a very flustered Arthit. He had one hand covering his eyes and he continued shouting, “I’m so sorry! I should have knocked. I should not have intruded in a couple’s bedroom…” He was babbling away, so Ash reprimanded lightly, “Oh just shut the fuck up!” “Is it safe for me to look?” “We never did anything scandalous, you dumbass!” Arthit had a teasing glint in his eyes, “So, making up huh?” He raised his eyebrow at me and laughed, “Well, good for you. Ash, tujhe shayad dinner na khakar, direct desert chahiye hoga, par ghar ke baki sab log bhukhe hain! Neeche chal!” (Well, good for you. Ash, maybe you would rather skip dinner to directly get to the deserts, but everyone else in the house is hungry, so come down.) “Ruk, saale. Batata hun tujhe.” (Stop, fucker. I’ll show you.) The two of them raced out, leaving me alone to stew in my guilt. Would there be any chance for me to have such a family had my relation to them was not founded on lies crafted by my father for his own benefits? I couldn’t stop the single tear that rolled down my cheeks, wetting the page I was writing on, smudging the last fullstop in the shape of a heart. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I am so sorry guys, for ghosting you all for so long. You see being in an unrequited love, dealing with school when I am going to college in a few months, coping with the fact I would have to leave the school I have been attending for twelve years and the stress of getting a good score at the entrance exams to get a good college is really wearing me down. But I am pushing through.

BTW, you can watch “Class” and “Heartstopper”, both are available on Netflix, if you haven’t yet and I am a fan of both. Also, “School of Lies” on Disney+ Hotstar is pretty good too. 

Bye. Have a good time.

Signing off with lots of love,

Addie.