CHAPTER 2

Zerina Mehra:

“Open it,” my mother said harshly, making me visibly flinch. She smirked in a sadistic way.

My fingers trembled as I opened the box hastily, as my mother’s patience was thinning every second as my hands fumbled. No matter how easy the task is, under people’s observation it makes it harder for me to do.  

Finally, I opened it, and my mouth parted to speak, but no words came out. The thing inside the box was a beautiful set of a silver necklace and a pair of earrings. But the question is, why is she giving me these now?

“You’re going to wear this to the wedding ceremony.” She cleared the confusion I had. And then she added, “I would have given you the gold jewelry, but I’m afraid you will lose it. And you better not run away with these jewels. Understood?” Her voice was stern, dripping with venom. 

How can I expect a person to be merciful to others if they aren't showing an ounce of mercy to their own daughter? 

I nod. “God made a mouth for a reason, didn’t he? Or shall I cut off that useless tongue?” She barked, making my hands sweatier than they were. 

“P-Please for-forgive me. Yes, I understood.” I stuttered, forcing myself to voice out. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I held the velvet box tighter. 

She looked me up and down with so much disgust that I don't know why, and she stood up to leave the room. Before she could open the door, she continued 

“And, I expect you to consider the things I said in the living room. I expect you not to be selfish and make us rich faster.” Her voice was ice cold, leaving no room for argument. 

Selfish? Have I been selfish for my entire life? Is asking a lovely parent being selfish? I suppose so. 

She didn't wait for my reply. She didn't have to. Just left me alone there with my thoughts like smoke curling around me. Suffocating.  

Tears blurred my vision, my fists clenching at my sides. 

God knows what she will do to me if I don't get a guy. Particularly from the groom’s family. She is eager to marry me off.

That's why she gave me this jewelry to be beautiful. To enchant. To tempt. To seduce. 

Tears rolled down my cheeks as the realization hit me like a bucket of cold water. 

After all, I have been a pawn in this chess game for my entire life. She raised me just to slaughter me. For a price. Of course, there will always be a price. 

I didn’t wipe my tears this time; I let them fall freely. It fell on the box that I am holding. A silent, cruel mockery of my prison life. 

I sat on my hard bed; the suitcase was still open, half-filled on the floor. Carefully I put the velvet box in one of the zippers. Because I don’t want to put it somewhere and forget it later. And they will blame me for stealing it. 

I am so exhausted. From their endless taunts and reminders of me being ungrateful and selfish. I put my head on the pillow; that’s all I knew before I drifted into deep, dreamless sleep. 

The sunlight—raw, unfiltered—poured right onto my face, making my eyes twitch in sleep. I groaned and opened my eyes slowly. The sun is casting down slowly after burning its energy for people all day long—still being unappreciated and deciding to take a rest.

I stared at the blue sky that was turning orange and pink by the passing minutes. There is a serenity in these minutes. It doesn’t last—perhaps that’s what makes it precious; as the second passes, it brings a different shade of blues and that purple, pink skies. Each of them is more beautiful than before. Before fading into nothing but a dark abyss. The Night.

Like the world is too tired to keep up being colorful and cheerful. It decided to show its heart. Hollow. Empty. A bottomless pit. But stars are the only things shining within its heart. 

I am not sure I will ever find my star in this abyss, a hollow and empty heart. To outshine my darkness. 

I finally tear my gaze from the sky and sit up. I checked my phone; it is 6:30 now. I have been staring at the sky for more than 30 minutes. It was worth it, honestly. 

It made me calm in a way no words could work; probably hugs have that power? I don’t know since I never experienced it. I almost forgot my reality. Almost. 

I looked at the commotion in front of me. The closet door opened, a half-filled suitcase and things I put near the bag so I wouldn't forget to take it. 

I sighed and went straight to the washroom to take away the drowsiness from my bones. They gave me a small, separate bathroom because they don’t want me to dirty their own bathroom. 

I splashed water on my face and went to my room. I can’t arrange the remaining things now; I have a lot of work in the kitchen to do. I took my dupatta from the bed and wrapped it around me and exited my room. 

As I entered the kitchen, I heard my bhabi talking with someone on the phone. It must be her mother; she always talks with her in the kitchen. Complaining about my family, especially me. 

I frowned when I saw the Sabzi was burning on the stove. I rushed it and took the pan with a single layer of cloth, causing it to burn my hand slightly.  

I winced in pain, ran to the sink and opened the faucet, letting the water run on the burn. 

“Amma, do you know the drama queen?” Bhabi asked the person on the other side of the call.

“Zerina?” Her mother replied eagerly. I shut my eyes close; she had deliberately put the call on speaker so I could hear every word of the mother-daughter gossiping about me. 

“Absolutely. She brushed the little hot pan, and she was making a scene like someone shoved her hand in the fire. Such a drama queen.” She laughed, and her mother joined her too.

I saw the burn; it had turned red. My vision blurred for a moment. Pain receptors are telling me to do something to reduce the pain. But I paused. 

Was I making a scene? Was I acting?

Is blood needed for people to acknowledge my pain?

I bit the inside of my cheeks, almost tasting the metallic taste of the blood. All of their taunting banters turned into background noise I could no longer hear.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in my hand, I moved to the counter to make the new sabzi. Because I couldn't hear another taunt of me being useless.

I chopped the vegetables; my hands moved with practiced ease through the years. They shifted to another topic and finally decided to leave me alone.

“Yes, Ma. I heard they gifted an emerald set to the bride. Which is unbelievable.” She started. "Look at them, giving emeralds and diamonds to their daughter-in-law, but here I have to ask permission to go outside.” She continued. She again turned the phone on speaker.

"I don't even know why I married you into that family, Aahana. They are poor and have no sense in fashion. My poor child. Tell me na if anyone bothers you, okay bacha?” Her mother's fake concerned voice came in a higher octave. 

The truth is, my mother first refused their proposal, but Aahana bhabi’s mother practically begged to get her daughter married to my brother. 

Even her mother doesn't care about her; Aahana is aware of that too. But at least she provides emotional support to her daughter, unlike my mother.

“It's okay, Mom. I will insist that Rishab get me a maid after Zerina marries off. I can't do all the work, you know?" She said it casually, but it was a cruel mockery dipped in venom and loath.

"Of course, you should beta. I didn't let my daughter marry off to be a maid in another house.” Her mother said on the other lane.

She knew where to hit; she always knew. 

And she did a perfect job. It tore me apart to know that I was nothing more than a maid in this family. I always knew this fact, but it hurts every time I hear it. 

And when I get married, I'm just an asset to another family. Maybe I should just live alone?

Maybe I should just run away to the farthest corner of earth from here?

...

Maybe I should scream at them for once and ask, 'Why?'

...

Maybe I should just play safe and nod at whatever they say?

...

Maybe I should just stop breathing?

I dismissed the thought of self-harm. It was ridiculous. I hate my pathetic life, but I don't have the courage to draw blood from my own body. 

I added the vegetables and the spice and closed the lid so the vegetables could cook. I started to make the dough for roti and rolled it while the curry was simmering on the stove. My hand still hurts from the burn, but work doesn’t stop for anyone, especially for me. 

The faster I do it, the faster I can leave. That might seem like basic things to think about, but it's not. It's surviving to avoid having dinner with them.

Finally, the sabzi was ready—Aahana bhabi pried the spatula away from my hand and shoved me a little too hard, making me stumble backwards, but I caught myself holding the counter. 

I looked at her with a confused look by her sudden and weird behavior. 

“The dinner is ready?” Mother’s voice rang out in the kitchen, and I turned around to see my Ma glaring at me. Now I know why bhabi pushed me away. She always does that.

“Useless fatso, look at your bhabi doing all the house chores while you eat and sleep.” She sized me up and down while fat-shaming my body. I looked down, ashamed of myself. 

I didn’t say anything, as I truly don’t know how to answer my mother’s question. She holds the spatula in her hand and deceit in her mind. How can I defeat her while I have nothing to prove apart from the burn on my hand and truth in my heart?

As always, I ran away from them. I don’t know whether it’s bravery or cowardice…

Here's the chapter 2 guys. Tell me how was it, okieee? Byeeee<3 (for how mwheehehe)

Yours,

Safa💌💋