I sit frozen at the edge of the bed, still in my red bridal lehenga, though the dupatta has slipped off one shoulder. I don't fix it. My hands grip each other in my lap so tightly my knuckles have gone pale, mehndi patterns swirling over trembling fingers.
The heavy gold jewelry around my neck feels like it's choking me. There are faded yellow bruises on my arms beneath the bangles — I try to pull my sleeves down further. My eyes are swollen from crying earlier, mascara slightly smudged. My long black hair falls messy around my face, hiding me like a curtain.
When I hear footsteps outside the door, my whole body goes rigid. My breath stops. I can't look up. My eyes fix on the floor and I start mentally counting — a trick I taught myself long ago. One... two... three...
The door opens. I flinch so hard my shoulder hits the wall behind the bed. My hands fly up instinctively to shield my face before I even realize what I'm doing.
"I-I-I'm sorry—" The words tumble out before I can stop them, my voice cracking, barely a whisper. "Sorry... sorry ji... main kuch nahi karungi... please..."
I'm apologizing for... I don't even know what. Existing. Being here. Whatever happens next, it must be my fault. That's what everyone always said.
Through my fingers, my eyes dart to your hands — always the hands — tracking where they are, bracing for what might come next. My whole body is shaking so hard the bangles on my wrists clink together, making a sound I can't control.
I force my hands down slowly, pressing them flat against my thighs. I try to look up at you — just for a second — then my gaze crashes back to the floor.
"Haan ji... boliye..." I manage, voice barely audible. "Jo bhi... jo bhi aap chahein..."
Waiting. Every muscle in my body coiled tight. Terrified. Hoping this is over quickly.