Screams were muffled with heavy breathing, Viraj knew it was Meenakshi's first time but that did not stop him nor it made him any gentler. The only thing in front of his eyes were possession and complete dominance.

Being inside her made him feel powerful and made her even smaller. They did not know what they had started, and what life will look from now.

Meenakshi woke before dawn.

For a few seconds, she didn't move.

The room felt unfamiliar — not because it had changed, but because she had.

When she tried to sit up, her body resisted. A dull ache spread through her limbs, sharp in certain places if she moved too quickly. She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.

The curtains were still drawn.

They were always open by now.

She turned her head.

The bedsheet was twisted tight near the edge. One pillow lay on the floor. The lamp near the bedside had been knocked sideways. A glass lay shattered against the far wall.

She stared at it for a long moment.

Then she looked away.

A knock sounded.

"Meenakshi?" his mother's voice. "Abhi tak so rahi ho?"

Her throat felt dry.

"I'm coming."

Her voice sounded normal.

That frightened her.

She stood slowly, adjusting her dupatta higher, choosing a blouse with longer sleeves. In the mirror, she avoided her own eyes. There was faint redness near her collarbone — she covered it carefully.

When she opened the door, his mother's gaze swept over her.

"You look tired," she observed.

"I slept late."

"Why?"

Meenakshi did not answer.

His mother clicked her tongue. "Breakfast banao. Viraj uthne wale hain."

⸻

In the kitchen, her movements were mechanical.

Tea. Dough. Chopping vegetables.

When she bent to lift a heavy pot, she winced involuntarily.

The maid noticed.

"Kya hua?"

"Nothing," Meenakshi replied quickly.

Her hands trembled while pouring tea. A few drops spilled.

"Dhyaan se," the maid muttered.

"Yes."

⸻

At breakfast, Viraj entered last.

She felt him before she saw him.

Her spine straightened automatically.

She placed his tea in front of him without speaking.

He took a sip. "Cold."

"I'll change it," she said immediately.

He pushed the cup back. "Leave it."

She stepped away.

He ate in silence. Spoke to his grandmother about travel plans. About leaving again soon.

As if nothing had shifted.

As if she had not.

When she reached to clear his plate, he caught her wrist.

Not violently.

Firm.

She froze.

"Look at me," he said.

She did — briefly.

Her eyes were empty.

He released her.

"Clumsy," he muttered.

She nodded.

⸻

Mid-morning, a sharp voice cut through the house.

"Meenakshi!"

She hurried to the bedroom.

On the bed lay a small bundle of notes.

Her coins.

The tile in her cupboard had been lifted.

His mother stood beside the bed, expression cool.

"I was cleaning," aunt said. "Yeh mila."

Meenakshi's heart began to pound.

Viraj stood near the window.

"Whose money?" he asked.

"Mine," she said softly.

The room went quiet.

"Tumhara?" an aunt scoffed. "Tumhe kaun deta hai paise?"

"No one," she replied.

"Then?"

"I stitch," she said. "At night."

Viraj's eyes shifted to her fingers.

Thread marks. Small calluses.

"How long?" he asked.

"Before marriage," she whispered.

"And after?"

She nodded.

His mother crossed her arms. "At least she's doing something useful."

Viraj turned sharply. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew," his mother replied calmly. "Second week. I saw the thread. I told her if she wants to stay here properly, she contributes."

The air thickened.

"You charge her?" an uncle asked.

His mother's expression hardened. "She came with nothing. No dowry. No status. If she earns, she pays. For her room. For her food. Or do you expect us to feed a burden?"

Meenakshi stared at the floor.

The memory rose unbidden —

⸻

"You think this is a charity?" his mother had said weeks ago, standing in her doorway.

"No."

"You're not polished. Not educated enough for our circle. At least don't sit here useless."

"I don't have money," Meenakshi had whispered.

"Then earn. And pay monthly. If you want to remain here."

She had nodded immediately.

"Yes."

⸻

Back in the present, Viraj's voice cut through her thoughts.

"How much?"

She said the number.

The room shifted.

"You've been paying rent," he repeated.

"And food," she added, barely audible.

"Without telling me?"

She hesitated.

"I didn't think it mattered."

His jaw tightened.

"You don't ask for money," he said.

"No."

"You don't complain."

She shook her head.

"You pay to live in my house."

Her throat closed.

"Yes."

His mother spoke sharply. "Don't look at her like that. She needs to learn her place. Otherwise she'll always think she's entitled."

Meenakshi's pulse pounded in her ears.

"I didn't want to be sent back," she said suddenly.

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Silence followed.

Viraj stared at her.

"You think we would send you back?"

She did not answer.

That was answer enough.

His mother scoffed. "Drama mat karo."

Viraj's gaze lingered on Meenakshi longer this time.

She stood straight, but she looked smaller.

Not because of the money.

Because she had expected exile as punishment.

"You stop stitching," he said abruptly.

Her head lifted.

His mother frowned. "Why?"

"Because I said so."

"If she doesn't earn, she doesn't pay," his mother replied coolly.

"She doesn't pay," Viraj said flatly.

The room went still.

His mother's lips pressed thin. "This is unnecessary."

Viraj ignored her.

He stepped closer to Meenakshi.

"You don't work behind my back again," he said.

Her breath trembled.

"Yes."

"You don't hide money."

"Yes."

"And you don't decide your place here."

She nodded.

"Yes."

He walked out.

⸻

That night, she sat on the edge of the bed long after the house quieted.

Her body still ached.

The sewing kit lay in front of her.

If she stopped stitching, she would owe them everything.

If she continued, she would be punished.

There was no safe choice.

She touched the fabric once.

Then closed the box.

Outside the door, Viraj paused briefly.

He could hear nothing inside.

Not crying.

Not stitching.

Nothing.

And that silence unsettled him more than resistance ever could.