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Malini's first meeting, with a stranger so dear,
A marriage arranged, with expectations unclear.
Her heart's fire, a flame that burns so bright,
A desire for knowledge, snuffed out by societal might.
She vents her anger, on her husband so fine,
Blaming him for her lost dreams, her education's confine.
But little does she know, he's a kind soul so true,
A shield from the world, a love that will see her through.
In a world that's harsh, he'll be her gentle breeze,
A support for her dreams, a love that will bring her to her knees.
Malini's fire, a passion that will ignite,
With her husband's help, she'll soar, and shine with all her might.
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14th April 1846
Calcutta, Bengal
MALINI'S POV~
My heart skips, and my breath catches in my throat as I snap my head toward the door.
That's it!
I'll demand my rights!
My breathing hitches when I see the unknown man— who's now my husband, enter the room.
I gulp down, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe.
My fingers clutch the bedsheet so tightly that the fabric digs into my skin, as if holding onto it could anchor me in a world that's suddenly spiraling out of control.
He closes the door with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the stillness.
My lips dry out, and I lick them nervously, the salt of my anxiety making them taste bitter as my eyes remain locked on him.
As he turns to face me, I roll my eyes seeing his smile.
Fake!
"So you are my wife, hmm" He chuckles softly, a sound too light for the heaviness in the air, and his small smile makes me bristle.
There's something off in the way he holds himself—too calm, too composed.
It's all an act.
I can feel it in my bones, but I refuse to let him see my doubt.
"Unfortunately, yes," I scoff, the words bitter in my mouth.
I cross my arms, a feeble attempt to shield myself from this situation, from him.
The gesture feels more like a defense against my own helplessness than any real protection.
"You should rest. You look tired," he says, his voice smooth, almost too considerate.
I frown, confusion flickering in my chest.
His words feel like a subtle command, as if he's trying to lull me into compliance.
I don't trust him—not for a second.
"Um..huh?" I frown, not expecting him to say this.
"Hmm? Do you want to say something?" He says, slowly walking to the bed and sits on the edge.
I jerk up and stand on the bed, seeing him sitting on the bed.
"Y-yes! YES! I want to say something!" I stammer, the words rushing out before I can stop them.
My heart pounds in my chest as I quickly force myself to compose.
This is my moment.
I can't show him weakness.
I can't let him see how much this frightens me.
"Okay, tell me, what do you want to say?" He hums softly with a small knowing smirk on his face, watching me with an amused expression.
"Um…wait—" I say, raising my index finger to silence him, my hand shaking slightly as I reach for the knot in my veil.
The fabric feels too heavy in my fingers, as though it's mocking my attempt to hold onto any semblance of control.
I tug it loose and pull out the small chit, the paper crinkling with the weight of my unspoken thoughts.
Opening the chit, I clear my throat to read the words I wrote to speak to him.
"Dear unknown husband— I hope you're ready. Because I'm not the kind of wife you can tame with bangles and silks. I read Kalidas before I learnt to tie a saree. I know the world beyond these four walls. And I won't give it up just because you offered sindoor and a last name.
I don't care if your family calls me unruly. I don't care if the neighbors whisper. I will fight for my right to learn, to grow, to breathe.
And if you dare to raise your voice, I'll raise mine louder.
Your dear unknown wife"
I read the chit aloud, the words spilling from my lips like a spark that refuses to be contained.
Each line burns with defiance, but as the last word leaves my mouth, I feel a flush of heat creeping up my neck.
His chuckle—light and soft—makes my chest tighten with a mix of anger and embarrassment.
"Hey!! I'm serious! Why are you laughing?!!" I demand feeling embarrassed, stomping my foot on the mattress.
He smirks, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he tilts his head slightly.
"You're cute yet fierce—like a phoenix," he says, the words wrapping around me like a venomous coil.
His tone, far too casual, sends a shiver of indignation through me.
I feel a mixture of frustration and heat rise in my chest, making me want to hurl the nearest object at him.
"A-and— And you are a— devil! A witch!" My voice cracks with frustration as I point an accusatory finger at him, but inside, I'm cursing myself for sounding so weak.
I want to lash out, to hurt him with my words, but my trembling hand betrays my fury.
He's not just a man—I realize he's a symbol of everything that threatens to steal my future from me.
"I want to study and I will! No one can take that right away from me! Not even you!"
"Because of you, my study got snatched away from me! I want my studies back!" I yell, jabbing at him, feeling more frustrated to watch him smiling at me with a calm expression.
"Sit" He says softly, his voice a gentle command that slices through the air with unnerving precision.
His calmness is like a stone wall, and I want to slam against it, to break it, but I know it will never move.
I scoff, refusing his words "No! I'll not!"
"Sit, Malini" He gently yet firmly says, causing me to shiver hearing my name roll off his lips.
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.
His gaze is intense, burning with something unreadable, and I find myself drawn into it despite myself.
Before I realize it, my body moves, crouching back onto the bed, as if his unspoken command has unlocked some primal part of me that craves submission.
A satisfied smirk curls at the corner of his lips, and it's like a blade twisting in my gut.
The sight of it makes my teeth grit with barely contained rage, but deep down, I know I can't erase it—yet.
But I will.
One day, I'll wipe that smirk off his face.
"Do you know my name?" He asks, his voice low, almost teasing.
He tilts his head and leans in slightly, the proximity unnerving as his gaze locks with mine.
"N-no" I say, sliding back to create the distance between us.
"Good. My name is Abhishek Mukherjee" He introduces himself.
I flinch violently as his fingers graze mine to take the chit from my grasp, the brief touch searing through me like a brand.
I pull my hand back as if his skin is fire, heart hammering in my chest.
A deep shiver runs down my spine with an unknown charged electricity.
"You wrote these lines?" He asks, checking the crunch paper.
"Yes. Why?" I question, raising my eyebrows.
"Your words are gold, wrapped in coal" He says, his gaze steady, piercing through me as he lifts his eyes from the note to meet mine.
The weight of his words lingers in the air, thick with an unspoken challenge.
"Means?" I ask, frowning.
"It means your words are precious with so many qualities having their own meanings hidden beneath the layers which is wrapped in coal, which can ignite fire when placed in right place— the forge… means the society, which can be a boon or else a doom, according to a person's thinking" He says with a faint smile while folding the paper to wrap it in my veil again.
I stare at him, my mind racing to unravel the layers of his words.
His metaphor makes no sense to me, yet something about it lingers in my chest, making me uneasy.
I can't tell if I should be angry or impressed.
The air between us grows thick, heavy with unspoken words and the scent of sandalwood clinging to his skin.
I feel his breath against my cheek, warm and unsettling.
His calmness unsettles me, like watching a storm calm a raging fire.
I want to lash out, but he doesn't flinch.
He only watches, as though waiting for me to burn myself out.
Part of me wants to scream at him, to dismiss his words as nothing more than a game.
But another part of me—one I can't quite silence—feels a flicker of curiosity.
What does he see in my words?
Why does he look at me like he understands something I can't even begin to grasp?
"And… What's your thinking?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, unsure whether I truly want the answer or if I'm just trying to break the silence that thickens between us.
I shift a little to create more distance between us but he firmly yet gently tugs my saree's hem, making it impossible for me to move back.
"What are you doing?! Leave my dress" I snap, pushing his hand away, but he holds firmly.
His touch on my saree feels possessive, pulling me back in a way that sends a cold shiver crawling down my spine.
He suddenly pulls me closer by my saree, making me gasp with his sudden move.
"My thinking is a boon," he mutters, his voice low, almost too calm, as his fingers trace the hem of my saree. "I'd love to see you burn the society's perspectives. Will you?" The question hangs between us, heavy with challenge and something I can't quite place.
~ Your words are your weapon.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻.✾.჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻
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