Chapter 1- Chapter 5

Dedication,

Dedicated

To all the women whose silence was taken for granted—

To those who dared to carry unfinished dreams forward,

and

To those whose lives were never counted,

yet whose absence shaped the world we live in.

This book is my first attempt. I wrote this on my phone, previously it was on Wattpad . You may find mistakes because it was a journey of transformation. English is not my first language. i have tried to translate maximum.

This is a work of fiction.

©khyati_J 2025

Real name : jyoti

No part of this story may be reproduced or used without the author’s written permission.

Book cover is made using canva. so images are not mine.

Chapter 1

The Silent Burden

The brass pot clanged against the stone floor as Meera hurried to catch it before it rolled away. The noise echoed in the dimly lit kitchen, but no one paid attention. She bent down, picked it up, and went back to grinding spices, the rhythmic motion of her hands steady despite the ache in her wrists.

Outside, the heavy monsoon clouds hung low, promising rain. The house smelled of damp wood, turmeric, and burning coal from the clay stove. It was a large, sprawling haveli with high ceilings and wide courtyards, but to Meera, it always felt smaller than her childhood home-a place that no longer existed.

A voice broke her thoughts.

"Meera!" Kamla's sharp tone rang through the corridor.

Meera wiped her hands on her saree and rushed to the veranda, where her mother-in-law stood with a deep frown.

"Shalini's tea is cold," Kamla snapped, nudging the brass tray toward her. "Warm it again. She's not used to drinking stale tea like you."

Meera's fingers curled around the tray as she lowered her gaze. Shalini, her sister-in-law, sat comfortably on the wooden swing, adjusting her silk dupatta. She wasn't cruel, but she never defended Meera either. It wasn't her place.

"Ji, Maaji," Meera whispered, taking the tray back to the kitchen.

She placed the kettle over the stove, staring at the rising steam. Once, she had dreamed of being more than this. A girl who sat in school under the neem tree, solving sums faster than anyone in her class. A girl who wanted to study, who was meant for more.

But that girl had been left behind in another life.

She wasn't supposed to be here-not like this. Her father, a man with modern ideas, had wanted more for her. But fate had other plans. He had gone abroad for work, promising to return, only for news to come that he had died in a distant land. Her grandparents, the ones who had once dreamed of getting her married to Arvind as part of an old friendship, had passed away soon after.

Meera's mother, alone and frightened, had done what society expected-she had taken her daughter to Arvind's family, reminding them of the old promise. And so, at seventeen, Meera had arrived in this house as a bride, carrying nothing but the weight of that promise.

The tea was ready. She placed it back on the tray and walked to the veranda. Shalini took it without looking up. Kamla didn't acknowledge her.

Inside, Arvind sat on the wooden cot, flipping through a medical journal. He didn't look up when Meera entered. He never did.

She set his tea down carefully. He reached for it absentmindedly, eyes still on the pages.

"How was your day?" Meera asked softly, like she did every evening.

Arvind took a sip before answering. "The dispensary was busy." A pause. Then, without looking at her, he added, "Did you give Ma her medicine?"

"Ji," she replied.

That was it. That was their conversation.

She turned to leave, but as she did, her eyes caught a small, folded letter peeking out from under the journal. The paper was delicate, the handwriting neat. A woman's name at the bottom.

Meera knew who it was.

Even after years of marriage, she was still a stranger in his heart.

She left the room without another word, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Chapter 2

The rooster crowed just before dawn, its call stretching through the still air. Meera's eyes opened instantly. She had long stopped needing an alarm. The darkness outside was heavy, the first hints of morning barely touching the horizon.

"baba, I want to sleep more."

oh is that? fine sleep I will handle your mom.

she still remember, the days when she was princess.

She shifted carefully, making sure not to wake Arvind. He lay on his side, his breath steady, the thin cotton sheet draped loosely over his chest. For a brief moment, she watched him, trying to remember if he had always slept like this-turned away, unreachable.

The tiled floor was cool beneath her feet as she stepped out of the room, pulling her saree over her head. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of a ceiling fan and the occasional creak of wooden beams settling with the breeze.

From the kitchen, the faint sound of metal utensils clinking reached her ears. Meera's fingers tightened around the end of her pallu. Maaji was already awake.

Kamla sat in the veranda, chewing betel leaves, her silver hair tied in a tight bun. Even in the dim light, her sharp eyes scanned the courtyard like a queen surveying her kingdom.

"You're late," she muttered.

Meera didn't argue. She never did.

The kitchen was larger than most-wooden cabinets lined the walls, and a steel gas stove stood at the center, replacing the old coal chulha that still remained unused in the corner. A brass water filter gleamed next to the sink, and stacks of neatly arranged spice boxes sat on a high shelf, away from careless hands.

Meera moved quickly-boiling the milk, kneading the dough, grinding fresh chutney. The quiet rhythm of work steadied her, until a voice broke the silence.

"Meera, bring tea." Kamla's voice floated in from the veranda. "Shalini must be tired."

Meera's hands stilled for just a second.

Shalini.

She was awake now, sitting on the wooden swing, adjusting the pleats of her silk saree. Her two sons clung to her as she smoothed down their hair, her lips curving into a soft smile.

Kamla sat beside her, nodding approvingly. There was pride in her eyes-but not the kind that came from love. It was the pride of possession, of having something enviable to present to the world.

Shalini, with her fair complexion and educated manner, was the perfect daughter-in-law to show off at family gatherings. "my choti Bahu studied till tenth," Kamla would often say, emphasizing the tenth as though it were a university degree. "And from such a good family.

In those days it was rare for women to study.

It wasn't affection-it was vanity.

Meera turned back to the stove, pouring the tea into cups. She placed them carefully on the brass tray and carried them out to the veranda.

Kamla took a sip and glanced at Shalini. "Too much sugar?"

Shalini shook her head. "No, Ma, it's perfect."

Meera said nothing. She turned to leave, but before she could step away, Kamla spoke again.

"Arvind's tea?"

"I will take it to him," Meera replied quietly.

Inside, the house was waking up.

Her eldest son Vikram ran into the kitchen first, his hair messy, his face still marked with sleep.

"ma," he said, puffing his chest out. "I'll go to Baba's clinic today."

Meera smiled, smoothing down the front of his kurta. "You'll have to ask him first, beta."

"He'll say yes," he declared confidently.

Her second son entered next, his tiny feet making light tapping sounds on the tiled floor. "ma, guess what?"

Meera raised a brow.

"I saw a rat in the storeroom!" he giggled. "It was this big!" He stretched his arms wide, exaggerating.

Meera sighed, shaking her head. "And what did you do?"

"I named him Kallu!" he grinned.

Before she could respond, her third son walked in, rubbing his eyes. He didn't say anything, just clung to her saree, his small hands wrapping around the fabric. Meera ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him close.

The youngest yash was still asleep in the other room.

Breakfast was a quiet affair-at least for her. Kamla directed the household like always, ensuring Arvind and Akash had the best portions, placing an extra piece of mango on Shalini's plate, while Meera's stayed untouched. The men discussed politics, the children chattered, but Meera moved through it like a shadow, refilling plates, pouring water, cleaning up crumbs before they even fell.

She had long stopped waiting for someone to serve her.

By the time the table was cleared, the afternoon heat had settled over the house. The stone walls trapped the warmth, the air thick with the scent of drying chillies and turmeric from the spice room.

Meera sat in the courtyard, fanning herself with the end of her saree, watching her sons chase each other around. The sight of them-free, laughing-made her heart lighter.

"ma," her second son suddenly stopped, tilting his head. "Why doesn't Dadi scold Chachi?"

Meera looked up. "What do you mean?"

"She always scolds you," he said, his brows furrowed. "But never Chachi. And never Baba."

Meera opened her mouth but found no words.

"Because Chachi is educated," her eldest son answered before she could speak. "And she's from a rich house. That's why Dadi likes her."

The words struck something deep in her chest.

Her second son pouted. "But maa, you read too! You read to us!"

Meera swallowed. That's not the same thing, beta.

She had only studied until Class 5, but she had loved it. She had understood things faster than anyone in her class, had dreamed of reading more, learning more. But that dream had ended the day her father never came home.

"Reading is different from studying," her eldest declared with authority. "Baba says to become something, you need to study properly. Not just stories."

Meera nodded slowly, ruffling his hair. "You're right."

The boys ran off again, their laughter echoing in the courtyard.

Meera sat back, her fingers tracing the cracked bangles on her wrist. The sun was beginning to lower, casting long shadows across the walls. Soon, the house would demand her again-more tea to make, dinner to cook, clothes to fold, oil to warm for Kamla's aching knees.

And yet, as she watched her sons play, a thought settled in her mind.

They still see me. Even if no one else does.

That had to be enough. For now.

Chapter 3

The evening was quiet, the heat of the day settling into a heavy stillness. The scent of jasmine from the veranda mixed with the lingering aroma of ghee from dinner.

Meera sat on a low wooden stool in the courtyard, rolling up freshly washed clothes, her hands moving methodically.

The night air was thick, the only relief coming from the occasional breeze that rustled the banana trees outside the high walls of the haveli.

Inside, voices floated through the corridors-soft, familiar.

She turned her head slightly.

Akash and Shalini were on the veranda, sitting close to each other on the wooden swing. A dim lantern cast a golden glow over them. Shalini's bangles clinked as she adjusted her saree, her voice light with laughter.

Akash leaned in, murmuring something too soft for Meera to hear. But whatever it was, it made Shalini smile-her real smile, not the polite one she wore in front of others. She reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, and in that moment, she looked... happy.

Meera wasn't watching them intentionally. She had simply looked up, but now she found herself unable to turn away.

Shalini rested her head lightly on Akash's shoulder, and he didn't move away. Instead, he let his arm slip around her waist in a way that felt natural, familiar-like he had done it a hundred times before.

Meera swallowed.

It wasn't just the touch. It was the ease of it. The quiet understanding. The way Shalini spoke, unafraid to be heard. The way Akash listened, as though her words mattered.

The way he looked at her.

Something stirred in Meera, something old and quiet, buried beneath years of habit. A thought-one she had stopped thinking long ago.

Did Arvind ever look at me like that?

A movement in the shadows caught her attention. She turned her head slightly.

Arvind stood near the doorway, watching them too.

His face was unreadable, his arms crossed, the dim lantern light casting sharp lines across his features. He wasn't the type to eavesdrop-he wasn't even the type to notice. And yet, he was standing there, silent, eyes fixed on his brother and Shalini.

Meera couldn't tell what he was thinking. She wasn't sure if he even knew himself.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The soft murmur of Akash and Shalini's conversation continued, punctuated by laughter, by the rustling of silk against wood.

Then, without a word, Arvind turned and walked away.

Meera lowered her gaze and went back to folding clothes.

some people are lucky because they get everything. Almost everything.

Chapter 4

The night settled over the house like a heavy quilt. The courtyard, usually buzzing with movement, lay still under the dim glow of an oil lamp. The scent of jasmine mixed with the lingering aroma of ghee and burnt wood from the evening's cooking. Cricket, sang in the distance, their rhythmic chirping blending with the occasional bark of a stray dog beyond the haveli's walls.

Inside, the house had quieted, but it was never truly silent.

The slow creak of a ceiling fan, the muffled sound of Kamla clearing her throat in her room, and the occasional cough from one of the children filled the air.

Meera finished her last chore-placing the remaining steel utensils back on the wooden shelf, ensuring everything was in its place for the next day. She wiped her damp hands against her saree, pressing the pleats flat out of habit. Just as she was about to leave the kitchen, she heard hushed voices from the veranda.

Curious, she stepped closer.

Kamla sat on a woven charpai, chewing her betel leaf thoughtfully, while an older woman, draped in a faded cotton saree, sat across from her, holding a brass plate covered with a banana leaf.

"I thought of you, Didi," the woman said, adjusting the pallu over her head. "My daughter's wedding is fixed for next month. You must come, and of course, bring both bahus."

Kamla clicked her tongue, half-smiling. "Why not? We always attend your family's functions, don't we?" She took the plate from the woman's hands and peeked beneath the banana leaf. Freshly made besan laddoos glistened under the lantern's light.

"You've made them yourself, Sharda?" Kamla asked, pleased.

"Of course," Sharda chuckled, wiping her forehead. "For special guests, only homemade sweets."

Kamla nodded approvingly, then gestured toward the inner rooms. "Shalini is resting. She had a long day. She takes care of the children so well, you know. Such a blessing."

Sharda's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "You're lucky, Didi. An educated, well-mannered bahu from a respected family-people still talk about how you found a gem for Akash."

Kamla beamed. "It's all about kismet, Sharda. Some are fortunate."

Meera, standing unnoticed in the shadows, lowered her gaze.

"And Meera?" Sharda asked, her voice a touch hesitant.

Kamla pursed her lips. "She manages. She's hardworking, takes care of the house. But you know, some women just don't bring luck with them. Sometimes I think I have done injustice with my arvind"

Sharda gave a knowing nod, her expression unreadable.

Meera turned away before she could hear more.

When she entered her room, Arvind was already there, sitting on the edge of the cot. His medical journal lay open in his lap, but his gaze wasn't on the pages.

The lamp flickered, casting soft shadows along the carved wooden walls.

Meera hesitated near the door. "Should I bring water?"

Arvind looked up as if noticing her for the first time. "No."

She nodded and quietly walked to the wooden dresser, pulling out the comb to untangle her braid. The thick black strands felt rough under her fingers, stiff from the heat of the day. She worked through the knots, aware of the weight of his silence.

Then, he spoke.

"bacche so Gaye?."

(Did kids sleep?)

The comb paused mid-stroke.

Meera set it down carefully. "Ji."

Arvind exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. " they talks a lot."

Something in Meera's chest tightened.

"Yes," she said simply.

She didn't say what she wanted to say. That talking wasn't the only thing. That Akash listened. That he looked at Shalini like she was someone worth looking at. That their bond wasn't built on duty alone.

Arvind lay down, turning onto his side. His back faced her, the way it always did.

Outside, the soft hum of distant voices carried through the courtyard-relatives who had stopped by unannounced, neighbors exchanging stories over the low walls, the village moving in its endless rhythm.

In another room, Shalini's quiet laughter rang through the corridors, followed by the murmur of Akash's voice.

Meera closed her eyes.

Beside her, Arvind remained silent.

chapter 5

morning sun painted the sky in soft shades of orange and pink as the first sounds of the village stirred the air—roosters crowing, temple bells ringing in the distance, and the rhythmic swish of brooms sweeping courtyards.

The smell of freshly made chai mixed with the earthy scent of damp mud as villagers sprinkled water outside their homes to settle the dust.

Inside the haveli, Meera moved swiftly through the kitchen, kneading dough for the morning’s paranthas. The brass water pot clanked against the stone counter as she poured water into a steel tumbler. Her saree pallu was tucked neatly at her waist, the cotton fabric already damp from the morning heat.

From the veranda, Kamla’s sharp voice cut through the air.

"Shalini, beta, don’t do that yourself. Meera can bring the water pots inside. Waise bhi tumne yeh sab kaha Kiya hoga pehle. You’ll tire yourself!"

Meera didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. She already knew that Kamla had never once stopped her from carrying water.

Just then, the wooden gate creaked open, followed by the loud, nasal voice of Lajwanti Chachi, their closest neighbor and the village’s self-appointed news reporter.

"Arre Kamla! I was just passing by and thought I’d stop for a moment."

Kamla’s voice immediately softened. "Lajwanti, come sit. Have some chai."

Meera, still in the kitchen, took a deep breath. Whenever Lajwanti Chachi visited, it meant one thing—gossip.

Sure enough, her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. "Did you hear about Chandrika’s daughter? She ran away!"

Kamla gasped. "Hai Ram! With whom?"

"A schoolteacher," Lajwanti said, shaking her head. "She’s ruined her family’s name. Imagine, running away for love." She spat the last word as if it were poison.

Kamla tsk-tsked. "These girls today have no shame. That’s why I always say, a woman should know her place."

Lajwanti nodded eagerly. "That’s why I praise you, Kamla. You raised such fine sons, and your Shalini—educated, yet so respectful." Her voice lowered slightly. "And Meera"

Meera’s hands stilled for just a second, the dough soft beneath her palms.

Kamla sighed. "She does her work. That’s enough."

Meera swallowed and went back to kneading.

Just then, Arvind entered the kitchen, adjusting the sleeves of his white kurta. He barely glanced at her as he reached for his glass of chai. "I’ll be late at the clinic today. There’s a village meeting about the new dispensary."

Meera nodded. "Ji."

She watched as he walked away, his

back straight, his mind already elsewhere.

Out in the courtyard, laughter rang out—Akash and Shalini. He was helping her adjust the dupatta that had slipped from her shoulder, murmuring something that made her cheeks flush.

Meera looked away.

She had learned long ago—this house was always full of voices. But somehow, no one ever heard hers.