She wondered whether she had been chosen because she was gentle, because she would not question too much, because she would quietly fit into spaces already shaped by someone else's absence.
For several minutes after the revelation, no one in the room seemed to know what to say, and the silence that followed carried a peculiar heaviness, as though each person present understood that something fragile had cracked but were uncertain how to mend it without making the fracture worse. Her mother-in-law eventually stroked Shalini's hair again with hesitant tenderness, murmuring soft reassurances about misunderstandings and the past being behind them, while her father-in-law cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke about how every family carries some history that must eventually be left where it belongs.
Yet despite their attempts to soften the moment, the unease in the room refused to dissolve.
Shivani glanced once more at Shalini's pale face and tear-reddened eyes before quietly guiding Mimi out of the room, whispering to the child that her aunty simply needed some rest. Her parents-in-law lingered a moment longer, exchanging a brief look that suggested silent agreement, and finally her mother-in-law said gently, "You should lie down for a while, child. Your mind is overwhelmed. Everything will make more sense later."
They believed, perhaps sincerely, that time would smooth the edges of what she had just learned, that grief often arrives loudly but fades with patience, and that a young bride would eventually settle into her new life once the initial shock passed.
So they left her alone.
The door closed softly behind them, and the quiet that followed felt deeper than before, as though the walls themselves had drawn back to give her space for the storm inside her.
Shalini sat motionless on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at her hands resting in her lap. The dark henna patterns still decorated her palms, intricate vines and tiny flowers celebrating a marriage that had barely begun, and she found herself tracing the designs absentmindedly, wondering how something so carefully drawn could represent a bond that had been built upon silence.
Eventually, with slow deliberate movements, she reached for her phone.
Her fingers hesitated above the screen for several seconds before she pressed the call button beside her mother's name.
The ringing felt unbearably loud in the still room.
"Hello, Shalini?" her mother's voice came through after a moment, familiar and warm, carrying the gentle concern that mothers instinctively adopt when answering a call from a married daughter.
For a brief second, hearing that voice almost unraveled Shalini completely.
"Ma…" she whispered.
The single word carried more emotion than she intended, and her mother immediately sensed it.
"What happened, sweety? Are you alright?" her mother asked quickly, anxiety slipping into her tone.
Shalini closed her eyes.
A thousand thoughts pressed against her mind, yet only one question forced its way out.
"Did you know, mom?"
The silence that followed was not long in terms of time, but it stretched endlessly in feeling.
Through the faint static of the line, Shalini could hear the absence of words, the hesitation that often reveals more truth than any explanation.
When her mother finally spoke again, her voice had changed.
"Shalini… it's not like what you think," she said hurriedly, as though the explanation had been waiting somewhere just beneath the surface. "Aditya is a nice guy. It was that girl who refused to adjust and used to throw tantrums all the time, and that's why they got divorced. But Aditya is a good family man. His family is also good, they have a great reputation and they are wealthy. You won't lack anything there."
The words came quickly, layered one after another in an attempt to build reassurance.
Yet to Shalini they felt strangely hollow.
"So everyone knew," she said slowly, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it, "except me. The person involved."
A small laugh escaped her lips, brittle and mocking, though she could not tell whether she was laughing at the situation, at her parents, or at herself.
"Shalini, we are your parents," her mother said, the tone now shifting toward gentle persuasion. "We only want what's best for you. Try to understand."
Something inside Shalini tightened painfully.
"How long will you treat me like this?" she asked, her voice breaking as the emotions she had been suppressing spilled over. "Like an object. How long will I have to live like this?"
She had not planned to say those words, yet once spoken they felt impossibly true.
There was a rustling sound on the other end of the call, as though the phone had changed hands.
When the next voice spoke, it was deeper, firmer.
"Shalini, don't throw tantrums," her father said sharply, the impatience in his voice cutting through the fragile thread of vulnerability she had exposed. "We married you into the best family in the area. You will never lack anything in your entire life. You won't even have to lift a finger or do work. Now go and sit with your in-laws, spend time with them. Don't always cry."
The words landed heavily, stripped of comfort.
Before she could respond, the call ended.
The abrupt silence that followed seemed louder than the conversation itself.
Shalini lowered the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen as though expecting the voices to reappear.
Instead there was only quiet.
For several seconds she sat completely still, absorbing the realization that the people she had hoped would understand her confusion had instead dismissed it as childish emotion.
Her parents had not denied knowing.
They had simply decided that it did not matter.
The laughter that escaped her then was soft and empty, carrying none of the warmth laughter usually holds. It was the kind of sound that arises when pain becomes too complex to express in tears alone.
Outside her room, she could faintly hear Mimi's voice drifting through the corridor, asking Shivani whether aunty would come back to play later, and Shivani answering gently that she would, once she felt better.
Inside the room, however, Shalini felt as though she had been quietly placed within an invisible cage constructed from expectations, reputation, wealth, and silence.
And as the house settled into its ordinary rhythms and distant voices blended with the evening air, a quiet question stirred within her, fragile yet persistent. Would there ever come a day when she would not merely endure or adjust, but finally learn to live for herself?
Will she ever be happy?
...