As I entered the house, it was filled with joy and laughter. Mumma was in the kitchen, cooking something delicious, and Babu was decorating the hall with flowers and colorful ribbons. The whole place smelled of food and warmth. It almost felt like a festival — except I didn't know what the celebration was for.
The moment Babu saw me standing at the door, he came running and hugged me tightly.
"Ohh, you came! I was waiting for you for so long, my old Didi!" he said, teasing me as usual, his grin wide and mischievous.
I smiled faintly but didn't say much. His teasing had become a daily routine — he would say something silly, and I would ignore him. That was our way of showing love, I guess.
"Hey, stop disturbing her! She just came home. Mini, are you okay?" Mumma called out from the kitchen, her voice filled with concern. She came out, wiping her hands on her apron. There was atta all over her palms, and her face had that peaceful glow she always carried when she cooked for us.
It looked like she was preparing something special for Papa. The smell of ghee and spices floated through the air.
"Whatever, Mumma! I'm not leaving her today," Babu said, clinging to me dramatically. "After all, she'll be paraya in a few months!"
He rested his head on my shoulder, pretending to cry fake crocodile tears. I sighed, standing frozen in place. Something about his words hit me differently today. The house looked cheerful, but a strange discomfort started creeping inside me — like everyone knew something I didn't.
"What do you mean?" I asked suspiciously, looking at both of them.
Mumma's smile faded. She lowered her head and, without saying a word, came forward and hugged me tightly.
"Your dad fixed your marriage," she whispered. "They're coming tonight."
My eyes widened. "What? You didn't even tell me!"
"I did, Mini," she said softly. "Last time you came home, I told you I'd found someone for you. Don't you remember?"
"I… remember," I murmured, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. "I'm tired. I'm going to my room."
"What happened to her?" I heard Babu whisper as I turned away.
"She's tired… Go call Tej to come down," Mumma replied.
"Okay…"
I walked to my room with heavy steps, my heartbeat racing faster with every breath. Papa fixed my marriage? The words echoed in my head like a storm.
For the first time, my home — the place I always called safe — felt strange and distant. My parents had decided something so big without even asking me. Why? Was I not old enough to decide for myself?
I sat on my bed, my hands trembling. I didn't want to marry anyone. I wasn't ready. After spending so many years alone, how could I suddenly share my life with someone?
Why was I so afraid of marriage — something I once dreamed about? Maybe because I didn't know the man? Because I hadn't met him, hadn't shared even a single conversation?
Or maybe the real reason was something else — buried deep inside me.
My thoughts drifted to Tej. Did he know about this? Maybe he did. Maybe that's why he hadn't called or texted lately. We weren't together, we were nothing now — just strangers with unspoken feelings.
Then why couldn't I forget him? Why did his face appear every morning the moment I opened my eyes?
Why did his words, his silence, his every little habit still live in my heart?
Why couldn't he let me move on? Why did he still hold a place inside me when he had clearly let me go?
Enjoy life, I once told myself. But this life — it had already given me enough pain. So why did he add more to it? Wasn't I already broken enough?
Tej knew what I felt for him. He knew I loved him. But he rejected me. Not through harsh words — through silence. Through indifference. Through walking away.
I had cried the entire night after that day, and he didn't even turn back to see me once. Wasn't that the biggest rejection of my life?
People come and go — but I always stay behind, holding onto what's gone. It's like I'm trapped in a never-ending loop of loving and losing.
First Abhay, then Rajveer, then Gaurav, and now Tej. They all walked out of my life as if I never existed at all.
"Mimi, open the door, beta," Mumma's soft voice broke my thoughts.
I opened the door slowly, my eyes lowered. I didn't want her to see the tears in them. She came inside, sat beside me on the bed, and took my hands gently.
"Listen, Mini," she said quietly. "I know you've gone through a lot. You never share what's happening in your life, and maybe I haven't been a good mother to you. But if you want to talk, I'm here. You're our only daughter. And if you don't want to get married, we can stop this rishta. Nothing is more important than your happiness."
"Mumma… I… don't know what I want…" I broke down, crying like a child.
She pulled me close, her arms wrapping around me tightly. Her hug felt warm — so warm that it melted everything inside me. For a moment, I felt safe again. Like all the pain and loneliness were being slowly taken away by her.
"Mimi, we're not forcing you," she whispered. "Take your time."
Her voice was gentle, every word soaked in love and understanding. I could feel her heart beating against mine, her warmth comforting the coldness in me.
How would I tell her that I wasn't afraid of marriage — I was afraid of being hurt again? That I was too weak to face another heartbreak? That the loneliness I carried every single day was slowly eating me alive?
"Now get ready for the evening," she said softly, brushing my hair back. "They'll be here soon."
She closed the door quietly behind her and went back to her kitchen.
I sat still for a few moments before standing up. Then I opened my wardrobe and pulled out a dull pink suit. It had open sleeves and soft embroidery on the neck — simple but elegant. It was the first time I was wearing it after buying it months ago.
I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My face looked pale, my eyes tired. I forced a small smile — it looked fake, even to me.
Mumma came back into the room, carrying a box of bangles. She smiled faintly as she stood behind me.
"Mimi, you've grown up so fast," she said, placing a small red bindi on my forehead and slipping green bangles onto my wrists. "You'll soon go to your sasural."
I looked at her through the mirror, trying to read her face. Was she happy? Or sad? I couldn't tell. Maybe it was both.
Parents always dream of marrying their daughters, yet when the day comes, they cry silently. What kind of world is this? They happily welcome new brides, but can't happily let go of their own daughters.
If separation hurts so much, maybe it's better not to let them go at all.