IN BETWEEN US

CHAPTER 1: THE WEDDING DAY

Love Fact #001: Pulihora teaches us about relationships: too much tamarind makes it sour, too little spice makes it boring — balance is everything.

Author’s Note:

Once upon a time, there was a guy and... blah blah blah... You know what? I’m terrible at this storytelling stuff. How about we dive straight into the juicy parts of this tale called “IN BETWEEN US”? I can practically smell the drama and feel the love vibes in the air already.

Let’s go!

YEAR 2030

The deafening beat of drums filled every corner of the function hall, their rhythm so intense it felt like they could shake the very walls. The crowd inside was a chaotic blend of two species: the talkers and the eaters. The talkers were busy dissecting every last detail of the grand wedding, while the eaters didn’t give a damn about anything beyond the delicacies on their plates.

The hall screamed luxury, with shimmering chandeliers dangling like overzealous diamonds and an ocean of extravagant decorations—enough to make you wonder if you’d stepped onto a movie set. Marriage vibes radiated from every corner, amplified by the upbeat music and the laughter of guests who seemed to be celebrating like there was no tomorrow.

But then, as if the gods of gossip decided the event was too serene, a rumor sparked. The bride… was missing.

At first, it was a whisper—soft, uncertain, like a secret shared between two friends. But then, someone near the mic accidentally blurted it out loud: “The bride’s gone! She’s missing!”

And just like that, chaos erupted. The words spread like wildfire, bouncing off the glittering walls and crashing into every guest’s ear. Gasps, whispers, and hushed murmurs grew into a chorus of speculative chatter.

Meanwhile, in the middle of the storm, there he was—a guy with a plate in hand, calmly approaching a food server, completely oblivious to the frenzy around him. “Bro… just a little more curry, please,” he said.

The server’s eyes were glued to a screen nearby, where the words “Bride Missing!” flashed repeatedly in bold letters, like some bizarre breaking news. His face paled as he slowly turned to the guy in front of him, who was still clutching his plate like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Sir… what?” the server stammered, barely able to process the calm amidst the storm.

“Chicken,” the guy replied nonchalantly, pointing at the steaming curry. “One more spoon.”

The server blinked, his mouth hanging open like he’d just heard the most absurd request of his life. “Sir, the bride is missing!” he exclaimed, pointing at the screen as if the guy hadn’t noticed the giant flashing letters.

The guy followed his gaze, glanced at the screen, and casually shook his head, unimpressed. “Ohhh,” he said, dragging out the syllable like it was a minor inconvenience. “But what does that have to do with you adding more chicken curry to my plate? Just a little more, man. I won’t come back, I promise.”

The server’s eyes widened as if the guy had just revealed he was from another planet. “Sir… but you’re the groom!”

The groom’s face lit up with a sheepish smile, as if the server had just reminded him of something he’d misplaced. “Ah, right! See, I know I’m supposed to worry first and then, you know, do the whole blah blah blah drama thing. But think about it—whether I eat or not, the situation doesn’t change, does it? So why not eat first and then worry? I’m starving, man. The last time I ate was, like, forever ago.”

The server stared at him in disbelief, his hands still holding the ladle mid-air. “Sir… but this is the third time you’ve come back for food!”

The groom chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exactly! That’s how long it’s been. Now, are you giving me the curry, or should I need to show it on screen with bold letters?”

With a charming grin and a few persuasive words, the groom managed to score an extra generous portion of chicken curry. Triumphantly, he returned to his table, savouring every single bite like he was starring in a food commercial. Meanwhile, the bride’s parents were frantically trying to call her, their worried expressions matching the tense whispers spreading like wildfire.

The groom’s parents, equally stressed, stormed into the lunch area, scanning the crowd until they spotted their son—seated comfortably, enjoying his meal like he was at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Are you serious right now?” His father barked, yanking the groom out of his chair with a mix of anger and panic. “What is all this about?”

The groom, startled mid-bite, looked at his father with wide eyes, a piece of chicken still hanging in his hands. “How the hell would I know...?”

His mother, almost on the verge of tears, pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Why are you so calm? She’s missing, and all you care about is food? Don’t you understand the gravity of the situation?”

The groom, shrugging, muttered, “I mean, food’s pretty important too…”

His father cut him off. “Don’t you even remember this is a love marriage? You two loved each other, right? So what the hell is happening now?”

Without a word, the groom reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded letter, handing it to his father.

“What’s this?” his father asked, furrowing his brow as he opened the letter.

The Letter

“Hi...

To you...

Bye...”

The groom’s father stood frozen, staring at the absurdly short letter, as if it were written in a code language. His fingers trembled slightly, his mind racing to connect the dots that didn’t seem to exist. “What the... This is it? This is all she left behind?” he stammered.

The groom, completely unfazed, shrugged with an innocent smile. “Yep, that’s all I found. And I was kind enough to share it with you. Other than that, how would I know where she went?” He paused, rubbing his stomach. “Wait a minute, let me just wash my hands, and I’ll join this intense family drama. By the way, that chicken curry? Chef’s kiss, absolutely divine.”

Before anyone could protest, he ambled off, whistling to himself as if he were on a casual stroll.

A minute later, he returned, hands clean and a glass of water in hand. But instead of rejoining the frantic interrogation, he detoured to the dessert section, his eyes lighting up like a child in a candy store. He grabbed an ice cream scoop and plopped a gulab jamun on top.

His parents watched in disbelief. “Seriously?” his father growled, storming after him. “This is how you handle the situation? She’s missing, and you’re over here playing MasterChef!”

The groom took a slow, deliberate bite of his ice cream, savouring it as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Mmm... Oh, sorry, were you saying something?” he asked, his mouth half-full.

His mother nearly exploded. “How can you be so calm? Why would she just leave like this? What happened between you two? Say something!”

The groom gestured at his dessert with the spoon. “I am saying something. This ice cream? Perfect. But I think it’ll be even better with jalebi instead of gulab jamun.” He turned to the nearby server with a winning smile. “Bro, one more, please. This time, jalebi on top, okay?”

The server, as bewildered as everyone else, complied, handing him the upgraded dessert. The groom turned back to his parents, holding the bowl like a trophy. “Okay, where were we? Let’s continue.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the hall, the bride’s parents sat in a dazed silence, trying to unravel the mystery of their daughter’s sudden disappearance. Back in the lunch area, however, the groom was the epitome of calm chaos, happily eating his dessert while his parents bombarded him with every question they could think of.

Suddenly, the voice of an announcer crackled through the mic, “Ladies and gentlemen, the bride has returned! She’s now seated on the marriage platform.”

A wave of relief swept through the crowd. The groom’s parents, hearing that, turned to their son. He met their worried stares with a mischievous grin, casually handing his father a bowl of ice cream.

The groom responded, “Voila! Eat it before it gets cold.” Without waiting for a reply, he strolled out of the lunch area, leaving his parents in stunned silence.

His father blinked at the ice cream and muttered to his wife, “This is already cold ice cream…”

The groom made his way through the buzzing hall, his casual swagger a sharp contrast to the collective sighs of relief. He reached the marriage platform and slid onto the seat next to the bride, his presence as calm as ever.

“So eager to get married?” he teased, his tone light and playful.

The bride shot him a fiery glare, her jaw tightening. The groom took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. I asked because the marriage is tonight, and here you are, all ready and waiting. A bit too eager, if you ask me. But hey, not as surprising as your dad’s brilliant idea to rent out this giant hall all day long for a single ceremony. Really setting the stage for some high drama, huh?”

Her eyes locked onto his, burning with irritation. “I... Kill... You...,” she hissed, her voice low but deadly.

The groom turned to a nearby servant and clapped his hands. “You heard her, folks. All sharp objects, far away from the lady, stat! Safety first!” he quipped, earning a few awkward chuckles from the bystanders.

Turning back to her, he smirked. “So, what happened? Got bored of your boyfriend already? Or did he decide you’re too much trouble and ditch you? Hehe...”

The bride’s eyes flared with frustration as she launched into her rant. “He isn’t a shit like you! He’s handsome, charming, and just like I always dreamed—like he walked straight out of a romantic novel... A fictional world... Into my life. Those soft dialogues, that effortless swag, the kind of richness that doesn’t just come from money but from presence. He’s perfect in every way, which is the complete opposite of you!” She jabbed her finger in the air toward him for emphasis. “All I wanted was to marry him. But no, look at me now—stuck in this nightmare!”

The groom, unfazed, raised his hand to call over a servant. “Hey, excuse me. They mentioned pakodis being prepared... Are they ready yet?” he asked casually, as if his bride’s tirade were background noise.

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. “Are you serious?!” she fumed, her voice rising. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, telling you about my guy, and all you care about is food? Fuck! I hate this marriage!”

The groom leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They also mentioned samosas. Fresh, hot, and crispy. Heard they’re irresistible,” he said with a sly grin, as though sharing a national secret.

The bride turned her head away from him, muttering, “Get me one too...”

The groom’s grin widened as he gestured toward the servant. “Pakodis and three samosas, please. Two for me, one for her. And make sure they’re piping hot!”

The bride, still fuming, glared at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re impossible,” she snapped.

As the servant scurried off, the groom leaned back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. “Now, where were we?” he asked, casually adjusting his collar. Then both of them started discussing again.

The groom caught sight of a mirror nearby and paused, his reflection staring back at him. He leaned in closer and began speaking.

“What are you looking at? Yeah, I’m talking to you, dear readers. Welcome to the chaos—a wedding. Ram weds Saraswathi—Sara, for short. Sounds straightforward, right? Oh, but it’s anything but that. Why did she run away? Why did she come back? And this groom—what’s his deal? Psycho? Sadist? A villain disguised in a hero’s outfit? Maybe this is one of those forced marriage tropes? Or is it the business deal marriage where the guy secretly falls in love but acts like a cold-hearted devil? Drama, tragedy, maybe even torture—your imagination must be running wild right now.”

He tilted his head dramatically, squinting at his own reflection. “You’re making up all these theories, aren’t you? And why not? You skipped straight to episode 1068—the wedding! Of course, you’d have no clue what’s happening. How do you expect to understand the madness here without starting from episode one? That’s the rule of storytelling, folks. Don’t be lazy. So, pause this episode and go back to first episode and watch the story unfold properly. Then, and only then, will you make sense of this circus.”

The scene shifted.

YEAR 2003

A mother cradled her newborn baby, her eyes brimming with tears of joy as she looked down at the tiny life she had brought into the world. The room was filled with warmth, and the baby, wrapped snugly, lay peacefully in a cradle nearby.

The newborn’s gaze wandered until it landed on a mirror that was far away in the room. The baby blinked, and then began speaking.

“I told you to start from episode one, not from episode 1068... Ufff... What are you going to do with the story of me being born, huh? Is this what you call crucial backstory? Spoiler alert: It’s not. Just start the story only where the consequences happened, which led me to this marriage... Let’s fast-forward a bit, shall we? No one’s interested in my diaper days.”

The baby gestured—or rather tried to—with tiny, flailing arms. “And for heaven’s sake, somebody add a censor board! I’m naked here! This is not how I want my debut to go down!”

YEAR 2021

A guy stirred awake, his face scrunched in irritation as his mother’s scolding echoed through the house. Half-asleep, he shuffled to the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush like a zombie on autopilot. After a groggy brushing session and a hurried bath, he emerged fresher, though still slightly grumpy.

Standing in front of the mirror, combing his slightly unruly hair, he suddenly perked up. His eyes met his reflection, and a familiar mischievous grin spread across his face.

“Yoo, readers!” he said, pointing a finger-gun at his reflection. “It’s your boy, Ram, back again! And no worries, I won’t be turning this into a mirror monologue series. But hey, let’s talk for a second. What are you expecting from my life, huh? A tragic drama? A sappy romance? Forget it! I’m thinking we go ROM-COM this time—light, breezy, with a sprinkle of my irresistible charm.” He winked at himself.

Leaning closer to the mirror, he continued, “Oh, and for the record, I’m not your typical fictional character. Nope. I’m the guy who’s gonna steal your hearts and become your so-called favorite fictional character. Handsome, witty, and undeniably... me.”

Just then, a sharp voice interrupted his self-love session.

“Nani! If I catch you talking to yourself in that mirror again, I’ll personally drive you to the mental hospital!” his mother yelled from the other room.

Ram froze for a moment, then turned back to the mirror with a conspiratorial smirk. “They don’t get it,” he whispered. “They think I’m just talking to myself, but we know better, don’t we? Let’s keep this little chilly secret between us, yeah?”

He straightened his posture, adjusting his collar like a hero in a movie. “Oh, and by the way,” he added with a wink, “Nani’s my nickname. Cool, right?”

He gave his reflection one final approving nod before strutting out of the room, leaving behind the faint scent of aftershave and the undeniable aura of someone who knows he’s the star of his own show.

Ram finished getting ready and grabbed his keys to head out. Just as he was about to leave, his father’s voice boomed from the living room.

“Do you even remember that your intermediate results are coming out today?” his father called out.

Ram sighed, already regretting this day.

Before he could respond, his mother added, “Nani, my dear son, while you’re out, don’t forget to bring some bamboo shoots!”

Ram froze for a second, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. “Why, Mom? Are we having bamboo biryani today?”

His mother shot him a look, her hands on her hips. “Well, that depends on your results, doesn’t it? Bamboo biryani or bamboo battering. Your results will decide that. If you come without it, you know the consequences, my dear.”

Ram stifled a grin. He grabbed his scooty keys and bolted out the door. He zoomed off to meet his two friends, the dynamic trio. They were a peculiar mix: Kiran, the top model variant (the study geek); his friend Anand, the base variant (barely passing); and Ram, the “mid-level variant,” which was somewhere in between.

They reached the park, and the trio plopped down on a bench. Their eyes immediately started scanning the girls who were walking or jogging in the park. They weren’t exactly doing anything productive, but they were certainly “enjoying the view.”

Hours passed without anyone noticing the time. They sat there like rocks, each lost in their own thoughts.

After a few hours of simply sitting, Kiran, the only one who seemed to remember the real world, spoke up. “Alright, boys,” he said with a serious look, “let’s head back. It’s results time.”

As the three friends were getting ready to leave, a girl unexpectedly sat down on the other side of their bench. Anand, ever the overconfident one, leaned towards Ram and Kiran, lowering his voice dramatically.

“Guys, I’m seriously considering IIT. I mean, with my results, I’m obviously going to get in. The real question is which IIT should I go for? IIT Hyderabad, IIT Bombay, IIT Warangal, IIT... Banjara Hills?”

Kiran and Ram exchanged quick, horrified glances. They started waving their hands like crazy, trying to signal him to shut up. But it was too late.

The girl, who had been minding her own business, turned slightly back with a sly smile. “Hmm, looks like a huge topper,” she said. “I’d say go for IIT Banjara Hills. It really suits you.”

And just like that, she stood up and walked away, leaving the trio frozen in stunned silence.

Anand’s face lit up. “That’s it! I’m going to IIT Banjara Hills!” he declared proudly, as if he had just won an Oscar for the best flirting on Earth.

Kiran and Ram, trying to hold back their laughter, both simultaneously spat on the ground in disbelief. “There’s no IIT Warangal or Banjara Hills, you idiot,” Kiran said, shaking his head. “You just fooled yourself in front of that girl.”

Anand froze, looking at them in horror, as if trying to process the truth of the situation. “Wait... what?”

Ram patted him on the back. “Yeah, dude. You’ve been completely played. There’s no such thing. IIT Banjara Hills... come on.”

With that, the trio gave up on the whole idea of results, heading to the nearest dhaba for a much-needed lunch. Their worries about results vanished in a haze of food and nonsense.

After the meal, Ram dropped Kiran and Anand off, laughing all the way back. On his way home, he made a quick stop to buy a few bamboo shoots, remembering his mother’s weird “bamboo biryani” threat. By the time he reached home in the evening, the last thing on his mind was the results.

Ram opened the door to his home and placed the bamboo shoots on the table, his heart pounding with the weight of the day. The house was eerily quiet, save for the sound of his father’s drinking, which had been going on nonstop. His mother sat quietly in the corner, a silent witness to the tension that hung in the air. His sister hadn’t come home yet.

As Ram walked in, his mother’s voice broke the silence.

“Your results came out,” she said softly but calmly.

Ram’s father, his eyes bloodshot, turned slowly towards him. He had been drinking for hours, his face flushed with irritation, the bottle in his hand swaying as he spoke.

“So, what are your plans?” he slurred, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You got a good score, huh? You can go to any college you want... If they’ll even allow you. Doubt they will. They probably don’t deserve someone as ‘worthy’ as you, right?”

Before Ram could say a word, his father’s anger erupted. In an instant, his father’s hand shot out, slapping Ram across the face. The violence didn’t stop there. His father began to rage, picking up anything within reach—chairs, the nearest object—and using them as weapons. Each strike sent sharp pain through Ram’s body, the blows coming harder and faster.

Blood began to trickle down Ram’s arms and face, but he stood there, silent, his eyes deadened as he took the beating. His mother, trembling in the corner, watched in helpless horror but couldn’t move. Ram didn’t scream, didn’t yell—he just took it.

But then, his father grabbed the steel spatula, still red-hot from the stove, and began approaching Ram with a wild look in his eyes.

“Let’s see if you learn your lesson now,” his father sneered, and in one swift motion, he raised the spatula high, intent on leaving a mark on his son that would last a lifetime.

In that moment, Ram’s mother tried to stop him. She rushed forward, her hands reaching out in desperation to stop her husband. But in her haste, her hand brushed against the burning metal. A scream tore from her lips as the pain shot through her.

Ram’s father froze for a moment, a flicker of guilt crossing his face as he realised what he’d done. His rage faded into something else—frustration, confusion, perhaps even a hint of remorse.

Without another word, he dropped the spatula, his hands shaking as he grabbed the first aid kit and started applying ointment.

Ram stood there, blood dripping from his wounds, his face expressionless. He just stood there looking at all these without speaking out anything.

Ram’s father sat on the sofa, his chest heaving with anger, trying to cool himself down. His fists were still clenched, shaking from the outburst that had just transpired. Ram stood in the corner of the room, his body bruised, his soul breaking under the weight of it all. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words came out hoarse.

“Da... Dad, I am sorry... I...”

Before Ram could finish, his father’s hand shot out, and the alcohol bottle in his grip flew across the room, smashing against the floor with a deafening crash. The bottle shattered, and the house fell into an eerie silence.

Ram’s sister returned home. Her face pale as she took in the scene—broken glass, scattered objects, and the deep, painful silence that had consumed the house. Her eyes immediately shifted to her mother’s wounds, and she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What is going on here?” She shouted. She rushed to her mother’s side, her eyes blazing as she looked between her father and brother. “What the hell is happening? Why is Mom hurt?”

Her mother, barely able to hold back tears, nodded slowly, recounting the events that led to this chaos. Ram’s sister, now seeing the full extent of the destruction, turned sharply towards her father.

“What are you thinking, Dad?” she yelled. “This is how you do parenting? Beating your own son like this? What change does a high score bring? So what if his score isn’t perfect? He’s still your son! This isn’t the way—scolding him is one thing, but torturing him like this is something else.”

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she glanced at the results. “Look at this,” she continued. “Maybe we can try mid-level colleges with this score. Is that the end of the world? People with mid-level college degrees still live, Dad. They still get jobs. This doesn’t justify what you did to him. Just calm yourself, Dad; see how you beat your own son. He isn’t even crying. Crying after pain is ok, but if not, it will lead to more drastic situations, Dad... Just end this.”

His father, after a long moment, finally spoke again, his voice low and bitter. He removed his spectacles slowly, his gaze darkened with years of regret and frustration.

“So, I’m the bad guy here,” he sneered, his voice cold. “I wanted him to go to a big college. I wanted him to have a chance at something better. At least in a big college, he might have a chance at a better future. But look at him—what good is he? What good is his score? What good is anything he’s done? He’s a failure, nothing more.”

Ram’s sister’s face twisted in disbelief, but her father didn’t stop. His words came faster now, like a floodgate had opened.

“I did everything I could, everything I could to give him a chance. Same school, same teachers, same books, same opportunities as Kiran’s father gave him. But look at where it got us. Kiran is going to IIT, while my own son... my own son can’t even make it into a decent college. He’s nothing but a failure—a waste of space. A failed piece.”

His voice cracked with bitter anguish. “I made you learn, and see, this is my result... A great job, and you are living fine. That’s all I wanted for him. You are a girl; even if you won’t get a job, nothing changes, but being a man without studies and a job is of no use to this world. Even the dustbin in our home is more useful than your brother.”

He stood up from the sofa, pacing the room, his anger rising again. “I should have stopped after having you. If I had known how this would turn out... maybe we’d be happy without him. Without this... burden. Now look—every friend of his will be enjoying life in good colleges, and where will he be? In some low-grade college, stuck with people who’ll never get anywhere. I’m not paying for his studies anymore. Let him figure it out—let him join some stupid college where he’ll understand the consequences of his laziness. Maybe that’ll teach him the value of today.”

As the day turned to night, the house grew eerily quiet. Ram’s parents and sister had long since gone to bed to sleep. In the living room, Ram sat on the sofa, flicking through channels on the TV, trying to escape the weight of the day, the bruises on his soul. The flickering lights of the screen offered no comfort, just a cold reflection of his own discontent.

Suddenly, the power cut out, and the screen went black. Ram stared at the darkened TV, a bitter smile creeping onto his face. “Just like my day...” he muttered under his breath.

The darkness around him seemed to press in, and a feeling of unease washed over him. Then he started thinking, “I always used to stay up late, but I don’t know why this night is so dark. And the feeling of something being off is curling around me. Maybe I am the reason for it all. The unlucky bastard.”

His thoughts were interrupted as the power came back on, the lights flickering before the TV hummed back to life. Ram lazily flipped through the channels, his mind still heavy with thoughts. He paused as he landed on the Spider-Man movie. A familiar comfort, but tonight even that seemed hollow.

He tried to sleep, the blanket wrapped loosely around him, but something inside him refused to let him drift off. He is just thinking about why he can’t be able to sleep while watching a movie.

Then, from the TV screen, a voice boomed: “With great power comes great responsibility.”

Ram chuckled, the sound bitter in his throat. “Responsibility? Pfft, sounds like a huge word. Fuck responsibility... I want to enjoy life. College life. B.Tech life. Bunks, entertainment, girls everywhere. That’s what I’m excited for.” His voice trailed off as he sank deeper into the couch, his eyes slowly closing, his mind wandering to the carefree days he imagined were ahead.

He drifted into a troubled sleep, his mind full of fleeting dreams of freedom and escape.

Meanwhile, Ram’s father had woken up, thirst gnawing at him. His gaze fell on the living room, where Ram lay on the sofa, while the TV was still playing softly.

Ram’s father stared at him for a moment, his heart heavy. With a quiet sigh, he walked over to the couch, reaching down to turn off the TV. The flickering screen went dark.

He gently covered Ram with the blanket, his rough hands trembling slightly as he tucked it around his son. His gaze lingered on the boy, his son, the one he had beaten earlier that day. The weight of what he had done, the cruel words he had said, pressed heavily on his chest.

But there was no apology. There were no words to fix the broken bond between them, no easy way to undo the damage. His pain was too much to put into words, and it hung in the air like a thick fog.

He walked to the door, his shoulders slumped with the burden of fatherhood, of lost dreams, of regret. Without a word, he stepped outside into the cool night air, the door closing softly behind him.

The house was still. The silence hung in the air like an unanswered question. The tears started escaping from his eyes, and it was silence.