Meera's pov
The ticking of the clock echoed through the empty dining room, each tick slicing through the silence like a blade. Meera sat at the edge of her chair, fingers twisting tightly in her lap as she waited for the inevitable rumble of Rohit's car pulling into the driveway. She'd prepared everything just as he liked—his favorite dinner, the lights dimmed low, even his clothes laid out neatly in their room. But still, a familiar knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach. She knew that none of these gestures could guarantee a peaceful evening.
When the sound of his car finally broke through the stillness, Meera took a steadying breath, willing herself to stay calm. The door clicked open, and she tensed, forcing a small, welcoming smile onto her face as he entered.
"Meera," Rohit's voice echoed from the doorway, his tone sharp and impatient.
She rose quickly, approaching him with a quiet greeting. "Welcome home, Rohit," she said softly.
He shrugged off his coat, barely sparing her a glance as he scanned the room, his gaze landing on her with a hint of disapproval. "Did you get everything done that I asked for today?" he asked, his words laced with a sarcastic edge.
"Yes," she replied quickly, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "I made sure everything was taken care of. The reports for your meeting tomorrow are printed and placed on your desk, and dinner is ready. Just the way you like it."
Rohit gave a curt nod but didn't soften. Instead, he looked her over with a smirk. "Better be. Last time, you messed up the presentation slides, remember? I don't need you embarrassing me again. This deal is too important to be ruined by your… oversights."
Meera's heart sank, but she kept her expression calm, swallowing down the familiar sting of his words. "I double-checked everything. It's all set," she assured him, hoping it would be enough to keep his temper at bay tonight.
As he walked past her, she followed him into the dining room, hands trembling slightly as she poured him a glass of water. The weight of his gaze, sharp and scrutinizing, made her feel as though she were standing on trial. She watched in silence as he took a bite of the food she had painstakingly prepared, her breath held as she waited for his verdict.
He ate a few bites in silence before setting his fork down with an irritated sigh. "The curry's too salty. Can't you get one simple thing right?" His voice was low, biting, the irritation clear in every syllable.
Meera flinched inwardly, the words hitting like a slap, but she forced herself to stay calm. "I'm sorry, Rohit," she replied, keeping her tone soft and even. "I can make a fresh batch if you'd like."
He snorted, leaning back in his chair as he looked at her with an unimpressed expression. "You're going to waste more time? Great. You'd think after all this time, you'd at least learn how to cook. But I guess that's too much to ask." His voice dripped with sarcasm, each word cutting deeper than the last.
Meera bit her lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. She knew better than to show any weakness; it would only fuel his contempt. Instead, she sat across from him in silence, her heart heavy as she listened to his constant criticisms, his endless barrage of complaints. Every day seemed to erode a piece of her, leaving her feeling hollow, invisible. She had once believed love was meant to be gentle, that marriage would be a partnership filled with mutual respect. But now, she spent her days shrinking herself, trying to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.
After dinner, Meera cleared the table in silence, glancing over at Rohit as he settled into the living room with his laptop, barely acknowledging her presence. She washed the dishes, her hands moving automatically as her mind drifted to her conversation with Nisha earlier that day. A pang of longing twisted in her chest, a yearning to confide in her best friend, to tell her everything about the way Rohit controlled every aspect of her life. But shame held her back, shame and the gnawing fear that admitting the truth would make it all too real.
She remembered the days in college when she was the independent one, the friend everyone relied on for advice. Back then, she never could have imagined finding herself in this position—afraid, uncertain, trapped. How had she let it come to this? Each time she thought about opening up, her confidence wavered. She feared Nisha's reaction, the pity she'd see in her eyes, and the thought of anyone seeing her like this was almost unbearable.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Rohit's voice calling her from the living room. She dried her hands hastily, hurrying to see what he wanted.
"What took you so long?" he snapped without looking up from his screen. "I told you I needed my coffee twenty minutes ago. Are you deliberately trying to test my patience?"
Meera's heart sank, guilt and frustration swirling within her. "I'm sorry, Rohit. I'll get it right away."
He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. "Honestly, I don't know what I did to deserve such incompetence."
Fighting the sting of his words, Meera turned and headed to the kitchen. Each step felt heavy, weighted down by the loneliness that seemed to have become her constant companion. She felt like a stranger in her own home, a ghost drifting through her days, existing only to fulfill Rohit's endless demands. It was exhausting, draining her of any joy or light she'd once had. She had become so practiced in walking on eggshells, doing everything in her power to avoid triggering his temper, but it never seemed to be enough.
As she prepared his coffee, she couldn't stop the memories that flooded her mind—the hopeful days when she had believed that marriage would bring her happiness, that Rohit would be her partner in life. She had once seen something good in him, something worth cherishing. But now, she couldn't even recognize the person he had become.
Returning to the living room, she set his coffee down in front of him, careful not to make any sudden movements. He barely acknowledged her presence, giving only a curt nod before taking a sip. She stood there, waiting for any sign of approval, but he didn't spare her a glance. Instead, he leaned back, looking at her with a smirk.
"Make sure you're up early tomorrow," he said, his tone dismissive. "I don't have time to deal with your usual laziness. I need breakfast ready by seven, and make sure my clothes are ironed. Or do you plan on messing that up too?"
"Yes, Rohit," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Pathetic," he muttered, shaking his head as he returned his attention to his laptop.
Meera felt a wave of humiliation wash over her, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a stone. She retreated to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, finally allowing herself to release the breath she'd been holding. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she thought about her life, her choices, and the person she had once been.
She wanted to reach out to Nisha, to tell her the truth about her marriage, but a deep-seated fear held her back. She didn't want to burden her friend, especially when Nisha seemed so happy with Aarav. The thought of interrupting that happiness, of casting a shadow over her friend's life, made her hesitate.
Lying down, she stared at the ceiling, hoping for some comfort in the darkness. But peace felt like a distant memory, an illusion she couldn't grasp. Her heart ached with the weight of her loneliness, the crushing sense of helplessness that seemed to consume her with every passing day.
Tomorrow would come, and with it, the same routine, the same dance of quiet submission. She would continue to walk the delicate line, always one step away from his anger, his biting sarcasm, his endless disdain. And yet, in the quiet moments of the night, she held onto a fragile hope—a hope that maybe, someday, she would find the courage to break free.
But for now, all she could do was survive, enduring each day with silent resilience, hoping that one day, her life might hold a little more than shadows and silence.