Ipshita

The glow from the laptop screen stretched across the darkened room like a pale sheet, illuminating only the sharp angles of my face and the scattered mess of papers around me. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly despite the cold air from the AC. Every line I typed felt like a lie pressed into a document that didn't belong to me, something that could destroy everything I had built with him, everything I was supposed to be as his wife.

The files were almost ready, just a few more clicks and they'd be sent. But the cursor blinked at me like an accusation, waiting for me to finish what I shouldn't be doing. My eyes burned from staring too long at the screen. My back ached. I rubbed my temples, trying to focus, but the guilt crawled over me with every breath.

Kanishk's face kept flashing in my mind, the way he looked at me with trust, with something softer, something that called me his home. Every time I smiled at him, every time I reached for his hand, it felt like I was slicing deeper into myself.

The silence in the room wasn't quiet; it was sharp. Every small sound from the hallway made me flinch, as if footsteps could break through the door and expose everything. Even the soft hum of the laptop's fan felt like a reminder that I was on the edge of something I couldn't undo.

I pressed my palm against the desk, steadying my shaking hand. Every interaction with him lately, every smile, every word exchanged, felt like walking on broken glass. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to continue. I had to finish this. I didn't know how much longer I could keep balancing both worlds, wife and deceiver, without shattering completely.

I don't know how much longer I can keep looking at him, keep being around him, and keep pretending I haven't come here to ruin his life, under my father's orders. I can't even meet his family's eyes. The warmth, the affection they show me, the way they trust me, it's unbearable. Their care holds me hostage, because every time I see it, my heart refuses to shatter the faith they've placed in me. As a bahu, as a bhabhi. And the hope, the trust Kanishk holds in me as his wife, it's even harder to carry.

Every day feels like a game of hide and seek. I search for something, anything hidden right under his nose, something that could destroy him. Meanwhile, he chips away at the shield I built around myself, the brick wall I erected to keep every feeling, every softness out of my heart. And yet... day after day, act after act, he's already breaking those walls down.

And now, as a result, I've fallen for him. I've lost, hard and irrevocably, my husband.

My hands tremble as the cursor flits from window to window, supply sheets, project ventures, future assemblies, everything laid out before me. Every file, every detail, the result of his hard work, his relentless dedication. Everything he's spent his life building. Everything he's lived for, grown for.

My fingers clench at the thought of sending them to my father. My chest tightens, knowing that one click could strip him of everything he's fought for. It would've been easier if it were my father-in-law's work, if it weren't something so deeply personal, so sacred. Everyone knows, deep down, that karma waits patiently for those who deserve it.

He isn't a good father. And it takes having one to know one. It takes having one to know one. My own father isn't any better. Using your children as pawns in a game is the lowest a parent can fall. And mine is already wallowing in the depths of hell.

A sharp vibration slices through the silence, jerking me out of my spiralling thoughts. My eyes snap to the corner of the desk where my phone lights up, my father's name flashing like a threat.

For a moment, my breath catches. My heart lurches in my chest, as if I've been caught mid-sin.

I stare at the screen, frozen, before a bitter, helpless laugh escapes me.

Speak of the devil...

My thumb hovers over the call button, hesitating, as though answering could make everything real. But I know I'll pick up. I always do.

I take a deep breath, steadying my hand before I swipe to answer the call. My lips part before I can stop them.

"Hello..." I whisper, my voice dry, brittle.

The silence on the other end lasts a heartbeat, just enough to make my skin crawl, before his voice cuts through.
"Is it done?"

It's like being slapped. Cold, sharp, and without mercy. The words aren't loud, but they don't need to be. There's a venom in his tone, a cruelty that doesn't bother hiding itself. His voice drips with contempt, as if the world, the people around him, and even I, are tools to be used or discarded.

I close my eyes for a brief second, the nausea rising. I know that voice. I've heard it when he's berated others, when he's plotted and schemed with those who'd sell their souls for profit. It's not the voice of a father, it's the voice of someone consumed by power, by ambition stripped of compassion. Cold, calculating... hateful.

I don't know why he's after the Rajvanshis. I don't know what vendetta he's nursing or what grievance he's twisting into justification. But I know this: it's never about justice, or righting a wrong. He doesn't care for fairness or the lives he's tearing apart.

All he cares about is growth, his empire, his dominance, his greed. He thinks stealing from others, breaking what they've built, is the quickest way to climb higher, faster. He believes power comes from stripping others of theirs, and that fear, manipulation, and betrayal are the tools of a king. And now, his ambition sits heavy in my hands, like I'm holding a blade that could cut through everything Kanishk has built, everything he loves.

My throat tightens. I grip the edge of the desk, trying not to shudder as I force myself to answer again, "Not yet..." My voice barely carries, but I know he heard it.

He doesn't ask for more, doesn't soothe or coax. He only breathes through the line, impatient, expectant, and filled with a darkness that makes my skin crawl.

"How much longer is it going to take, you useless child?" he spits into the phone, his voice sharp like a whip. The words hit me harder than the volume; my ears sting, as if his hatred alone could burn through the line and into my skin.

I flinch, my jaw tightening. A bitter sigh escapes me, more from exhaustion than anger. I want to run. I want to vanish from this room, this desk, this body that carries the weight of two worlds. I want to be someone who can live freely, make choices without betrayal, without lies poisoning every step.

My eyes drift to the desk tucked neatly into the corner of the room. The sight of it twists something inside me. Kanishk had brought it himself, insisting I work comfortably in our space. Small, thoughtful gestures like that allow him to notice the little things without ever making them seem important. How carefully he cares without overwhelming, how effortlessly he builds a home around me without asking anything in return.

The thought makes the ache in my chest worse.

"Dad..." I exhale, tired and defeated, the word barely more than air.

"Do you realise how much work this is?" I snap, my voice sharper than I intended, frustration and helplessness leaking through. "I'm trying my best! It's not something I can just finish in a day!"

Even as I say it, guilt claws at me, but so does the desperate urge to push back. I'm drowning in expectations, and the last thing I need is to be stripped of what little strength I have left. I press my fingers against my temple, closing my eyes. For a moment, all I want is to disappear into sleep, into silence, into nothingness, away from his harsh commands, away from this duplicity that's slowly devouring me.

"You're not doing anyone a favour, Ipshita," his voice sneers, cold and cutting through the phone like a blade. "This is what you're born to do. This is how you repay your family for the years we've provided for you. Stop being a brat and send me the file. Now."

The words hit me like another wave crashing against a shore already crumbling beneath it. My chest tightens. My breath catches. I stand frozen in the middle of the room, my figure trembling as though every muscle in my body is trying to break free. My legs shake, pain, fury, and the sheer exhaustion of trying to hold myself together pool at once.

A muffled sob escapes before I can stop it. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes, blurring the edges of the desk, the screen, the walls that feel like they're closing in on me.

Born to do this?

Was I brought into this world only to be a spare? A tool to be used, shaped, and discarded at will? A shadow thrown aside while my brother, Aditya, was handed dreams, encouragement, and freedom? This isn't the first time I've heard such words. I've heard them enough times to memorise their sting.

I remember the arguments. I remember how my voice shook when I told him Aditya got to chase his dreams while I was locked into someone else's expectations. I begged him to let me build something of my own—to start a company, to carve a life that wasn't handed to me like a sentence. I pleaded when he tried to force me into marriage, into selling myself away to another person's whims.

Each time, his words came sharper than before. Useless. A spare. A brat. Ungrateful. A liability. And more. Words that became scars pressed into my skin, deepening with every passing year.

Even after hearing them countless times, each one still cuts, fresh, raw and merciless.

I close my eyes tightly. Every time the bitterness floods back, every time I crumble, I wonder why I still hope. Why I wish, still, that he would love me as he loves Aditya. Why I ache to be his son, just so I could be free to live as I want, to follow a path not dictated by bloodlines and pride.

But hope is a cruel thing; it thrives where it shouldn't, grows in the cracks where love should have been, and leaves me breathless every time it dies.

I bite down on my trembling lip, but the words still escape me, "Maybe if you cared for me even half as much as you care for Aditya," I spit, my voice edged with spite, "you wouldn't be treating me like this. Maybe you wouldn't need to use me as a pawn."

There's a beat of silence on the other end of the line, as if he's stunned I dared to say it. Then his voice erupts, louder, harsher, more venomous than before.

"Don't you dare compare yourself to him!" he snarls. "You're nothing but dead weight. A burden dragged along because we have to. You should be grateful you're still breathing under this roof. Do as I say before I decide you're not worth the air you waste!"

His words hit me like a slap across the face. Every muscle in my body tightens, every nerve screaming. I clench the phone so hard my knuckles whiten, but I say nothing. The silence between us feels suffocating, as if the room itself recoils from the cruelty in his voice.

For a moment, I want to scream back, to call him every name, to tell him how hollow his love is—but the strength drains from me. All that's left is the ache of rejection, the suffocating weight of despair, and the knowledge that his hatred isn't a momentary outburst, it's the core of who he is.

I keep my eyes shut, biting back tears and trembling harder, while his breath hisses through the line like fire waiting to consume whatever's left of me.

His voice came again, colder now but still sharp as ever, like a blade honed for cruelty.
"How much longer, Ipshita?" he snapped, as if time itself were an enemy he could punish.

"A bit longer," I whisper, my words hoarse, reluctant.

That was all it took. He shot back instantly, his tone rising with impatience. "A bit longer? How long does it take for someone like you? What's taking so much time if it's your job? Don't waste my patience."

Something inside me snaps.

My chest heaves as pent-up frustration and grief burst forth. My voice shakes, not with fear this time, but with anger.

"It took me days to get all this data in my hands!" I shout, my words spilling out uncontrolled. "Days of sneaking around behind my own husband's back, stealing pieces of his life like some criminal! You already have half the things you wanted, Dad! What more do you want from me?!"

I stagger back a step, heart racing, fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

"I'm doing my best!" I hiss, the desperation finally cracking through my composure. "Kanishk looks at me every single day with suspicion in his eyes, like I'm a criminal! Like I'm lying to him! I'm scared to death he'll find out!"

I can feel my entire body trembling, anger, exhaustion, shame, and grief twisting together like a knot I can't untangle.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before his voice returned, low, mocking, and cruel beyond reason.

"Typical wife behaviour," he sneered. "Drama, whining, clinging to that useless man as if he's some treasure. You're pathetic."

The word hit me harder than any blow. My jaw tightened. My eyes burned. My breath came fast, ragged.

"Shut up, Dad, just shut up!" I scream, my voice cracking but full of fire.

The last thread of restraint snaps. I hurl the phone across the room. It hits the floor with a sharp clatter, bouncing once before lying still. The sound echoes like a gunshot in the silence that follows.

Tears flow freely now, hot and unrelenting, streaming down my cheeks as I slump against the desk. My chest heaves with ragged breaths, my body trembling from the storm I've unleashed. For the first time in hours, I allow myself to be completely undone, to feel the weight of guilt, fear, and anger crushing me at once.

Then, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. Footsteps. Quiet, deliberate, deliberate enough to make my heart jerk in my chest.

I snap my eyes open.

And there he is.

Kanishk, standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the hallway. For a moment, it's as if the world has stilled; his presence fills the room, silent but impossible to ignore. I see him properly now: the sharp line of his jaw, the way his brows are pulled slightly together, the tension in his shoulders that mirrors the storm inside me. His eyes are fixed on me, wide, steady... burning, yet unreadable.

I want to look away, to pretend I haven't been exposed, to hide behind the veil of tears and exhaustion. But I can't. His gaze pins me in place, slicing through the wall I've built around myself. It's not just curiosity or concern; I can feel the weight of judgment, the hurt, the disbelief, and something deeper, something I can't name.

I swipe at the tears streaking my cheeks, trying desperately to restore some composure. My fingers tremble as I dab at the wetness, as if the motion could somehow scrub away the guilt, the shame, the exposure I feel.

"I'm... I'm fine," I murmur, my voice small, brittle, but intentionally casual, as though saying it aloud can make it true. I take a cautious step forward, inching toward the phone lying on the floor. My hands reach down, hovering above it, still shaking from adrenaline and grief.

But before I can grasp it, a voice stops me, low, steady, and ice-cold.

"I'm sure you are."

It's not a question. Not even a reproach. Just the statement, and it lands on me like a physical weight.

I freeze. My eyes snap up, meeting his.

What I see stops my heart. His expression has shifted; gone is the stunned pause I half-expected. What remains is something far worse: a burning calm, a controlled fury that runs like fire beneath his skin. It makes my spine shiver, my body feel simultaneously rooted and ready to flee.

The warmth of guilt and fear rises, pooling in my stomach. I open my lips, my voice barely more than a whisper, fragile and quivering, "Kanishk... how much... did you hear?"

My hands shake as they hover over the phone, not daring to pick it up, not daring to move too quickly. I can feel the heat of my own shame and terror pressing against my ribs, suffocating me, while his gaze dissects every fragment of my fear, every thought I can't hide.

The silence stretches. I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears, rapid and uneven, each thump a reminder that the façade I've been maintaining has cracked, and he's standing there, seeing the pieces fall apart before him.

I can't tell if his quiet fury is anger at me, at my father, or at the world itself, but whatever it is, it's enough to make me falter, enough to make me wish I could shrink into the floor and disappear completely.

His eyes never leave mine, unwavering, cold, and heavy with something I can't name. Finally, his voice cuts through the thick silence, quiet but full of authority, slicing through me like steel.

"I heard enough."

The words hit me harder than any shout, heavier than any scolding. My chest tightens, and I feel a wave of shame wash over me. I can't meet his gaze any longer. My eyes drop to the floor as I slowly bend to retrieve the phone, my fingers trembling as I wrap around it.

"It's not... it's not what you heard..." I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, cracking in the middle. Words fail me. "...It wasn't..."

Step by hesitant step, I move closer to him, the distance shrinking yet feeling like miles. Every movement feels loud, every breath a confession. My hands shake violently, and I can feel tears welling up again, blurring my vision.

I falter, searching desperately for the right way to explain, to undo the damage, but nothing fits. My lips part, close, and part again as if the truth is just beyond reach. Every syllable feels wrong, every pause weighted with my fear.

I glance up briefly, meeting the intensity of his gaze, and my throat tightens. I can't form the words fast enough, can't shape my thoughts into sentences that could make him understand, and yet I try. The tears that threaten to fall make it worse; they betray me, reveal me, strip away any control I thought I had left.

Before I can react, his hand is over mine, gently but firmly taking the phone from my trembling fingers. I look up at him, heart pounding, searching his face for some hint of what he's feeling, but it's impossible to read. His jaw is tight, his eyes locked on me, the faintest tremor in his breath betraying the storm he's holding back.

Without a word, he turns and walks to the trash can. My stomach twists as I watch him, frozen, powerless. With a swift, deliberate motion, he tosses the phone into the bin. The clatter of it hitting the bottom echoes far too loudly in the room, and I flinch, tears threatening to spill again.

He stands there for a long moment, his back to me, silent. I can see the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, heavily but measured, like he's forcing himself to contain what he truly wants to do.

Finally, he speaks, low, calm, and controlled, yet each word cuts through me sharper than any scream, "I'll get you another one."

The casualness of it terrifies me. There's no anger in the words, not really, but in the silence behind them, in the weight of his gaze still fixed on the empty trash can, I can feel the intensity, the danger, the quiet fury simmering just beneath the surface.

I swallow hard, my throat dry, and take a small, hesitant step back, unsure whether I should run, cry, or collapse. Every nerve in my body is on edge, and I realise, with a shiver, that whatever happens next, nothing will ever be the same between us.

"Kanishk..." I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, teeth clenched as I struggle to hold back the tears. The guilt, the pain, the unbearable weight of my own actions, it's all raging in my eyes, threatening to spill over.

He shakes his head softly, almost imperceptibly, as if he's not ready to hear another word from me. His back rises and falls with each measured breath before he finally turns to face me.

"Was this... why you set up our contract?" His voice is low, but every syllable drips with pain, cutting through the room like ice.

"I..." I hesitate, my throat tight, my own heart shattering at the sight of him. His eyes, usually my anchor, look broken, like the weight of betrayal and disbelief is pressing down on him from all sides.

"Ipshita." He says my name slowly, as if each letter carries a sting. "Was this why... You stepped up the marriage contract?" His gaze pins me in place, heavy and relentless.

I can't hold it in anymore. All the secrets, all the lies, all the guilt that's been suffocating me for months spills out in a single, fragile whisper, "Yes..." My voice cracks and splinters into pieces, tears spilling down my cheeks despite my efforts.

He lets out a laugh, soft and sad, like someone who's mourning a part of themselves they can never get back. Then, slowly, he lifts his head, and his eyes meet mine again.

"You know what's the worst thing, Mrs. Rajvanshi?" His voice is calm, almost chilling in its steadiness, yet it carries the weight of heartbreak. "Even after I just heard you admit that you are the reason behind my downfall... my heart still beats the same way it did for you before."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My chest tightens. My knees feel weak. I can barely breathe as I stare at him, the man I've betrayed, the man I've come to love, standing there, hurt, angry, and yet... impossibly tethered to me.

"I... Kanishk, I-" I start, my voice trembling, hands shaking as I take a hesitant step forward. "I never wanted... It's not like I wanted to hurt you. I-"

The words catch in my throat, fractured by guilt and fear. My lips quiver as I search his face, hoping for a crack, a hint that he might understand, might forgive. "I did what I had to... I didn't have a choice- my father-"

He lifts a hand slightly, stopping me mid-sentence. And then, slowly, impossibly, he smiles. Not a warm smile. Not a smile of joy. But a sad, knowing smile that cuts deeper than any anger ever could.

"You don't have to explain, Ipshita," he says softly, his voice low, heavy with heartbreak. "I know."

My chest tightens further. The weight of my confession, my betrayal, everything, feels like it's laid bare between us. I swallow hard, feeling like my words are meaningless against the calm, sad fury radiating from him. His smile fades just enough to reveal the ache beneath it, but it doesn't vanish. And in that look, I see it all: the pain I've caused, the love he still carries, and the impossible distance between us now.

I want to reach out, to touch him, to fix it, to explain it all... but the words die on my lips. Because even as he stands there, I know, some things can't be fixed with words alone.

He takes a step back, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, lips trembling as if he's swallowing back a storm of emotions. When he looks back at me, his eyes are steady, burning—not with anger, but with something fiercer, something unbreakable.

"My life... Ipshita," he begins, voice low, measured, yet weighted with emotion, "my life is yours. Everything I am, everything I do... It's all for you."

My chest tightens. I want to speak, to apologise, to explain... but the words stick, trapped by the lump of fear and love lodged in my throat.

He swallows, steadies himself, then continues, his voice firmer now, carrying a quiet, almost frightening resolve.

"If ruining me... if it somehow lets you succeed—if it helps you achieve anything, anything at all, I'm ready. I'll be ruined. I'll start over. Again and again, if that's what it takes. Because my life... It's already yours."

I feel my knees weaken, my breath catching as the weight of his words presses down on me.

He steps closer, his hands clenching at his sides, a storm held just beneath the surface. "And no matter what you decide, no matter what path you choose..." His voice drops, cold and sharp, but laced with protectiveness. "...I will bring down the man who forced you into this. The one who made you do what you've done. I swear it."

I can't speak. I can't move. All I can do is stare at him, the man I've betrayed, the man whose love I've risked and now see in its full, devastating weight. For the first time, I understand, not just his pain, but the immensity of what he's willing to endure for me. And in that moment, my heart shatters and swells all at once.

He doesn't wait for a response. His gaze lingers on me for a long, unbearable moment before he turns away. Each step he takes toward the door feels like it pulls a piece of my heart with him. The door clicks softly behind him, leaving the room heavy with silence.

I barely breathe, staring at the space where he just stood. Then, almost instinctively, I rush to my laptop. My fingers shake violently as I open it, scrolling through the files I've spent days gathering, every piece of information, every secret I've unearthed. My heart pounds in my chest as if it knows the magnitude of what I'm about to do.

With a trembling hand, I begin deleting everything. One by one, the files vanish into the void, and with each deletion, tears spill freely down my cheeks. The weight of my actions crashes over me, guilt and relief intertwining in a storm I can't stop.

Finally, the last file is gone. I close the laptop, my body shaking uncontrollably, and sink to the floor. The tears won't stop, and I bury my face in my hands.

"I've ruined enough... but for you, Kanishk... for you, I can start over," I whisper brokenly, my voice muffled by my trembling hands. "I'll be better... I'll do whatever it takes... for your love... for your trust... for us."

The room is silent except for my ragged breaths and the quiet sobs I can no longer hold back. The magnitude of what I've done and what I still feel presses down on me like a weight I cannot lift.

And in that silence, with my heart aching and my tears soaking the floor, I finally allow myself to feel it fully: the depth of my love for him, the depth of his love for me, and the pain that comes with both.