Page 68 of Protect my Heart
The living room is empty.
Thank God.
I plop onto a chair, my limbs heavy. Oh no, will the chair get dirty? I shake my head. Nah! I don't care. My body finally stops moving, but my thoughts don’t.
They never do. Especially not today.
I rest my elbows on my knees, bury my face in my hands, and just sit there, breathing hard. I try to blink the moisture away from my lashes. It doesn’t work. My eyes burn. My throat stings. My heart—well, it’s already in shreds.
“I hate everything,” I mutter to the universe. The words slip out like a whisper, but they feel heavy. Real.
I lean back and stare at the ceiling. “What the hell am I doing with my life?” I ask no one in particular. “I’m married to my best friend. The one person I waited for. The one person I never stopped loving. And I’m going to lose him again.”
The words are slow and messy. But they’re true. My vision blurs again. I press the heel of my palm into my eye and hiccup.
“I missed him so much, you know?” I say to the empty room. “I missed him for years. And now he’s back. And he’s mine. But with an expiry date.”
My mouth twists bitterly. “Six. Bloody. Months.” I think I hate the number six. Ironic, my birthday is on 6 June. A laugh slips through my lips.
I hiccup again, this one turning into a sob. “My life is a mess,” I sniff. “My job pays peanuts. Is it even a job?" I frown. I mean, I am just a freelancing graphic designer. "I can’t even help my own mother with her medicines properly. I depend on Aarav for that." I shake my head; that's so shameful. "I smile in front of everyone like I’ve got it under control. But I don’t. I don’t even know if I’ll have a place to live after this contract ends. ” I mean, my mother will take me in, but that house also belongs to my so-called husband.
I stare ahead, my vision a blur of pastels and pain. “I married him thinking—thinking maybe something would change. That maybe he’ll say something. Do something." My eyebrows furrow. "Wait, didn't we hate each other in the beginning?" I can't remember, "Whatever, but the fact is he’s still hiding behind that stupid contract.” I exclaim.
I pause. And then I whisper it out loud, like a secret I’ve never dared to speak before. “I love him. Still. Like a fool.”
The tears come harder now. I curl into myself on the chair, hugging my knees, letting the sobs roll out like waves I’ve been holding back since forever. I want him to say it’s more than a contract. I want him to look at me and say he can’t imagine a life without me.
But he doesn’t. He hasn’t. And maybe he never will.
“Anika?” My name breaks through the air like a whisper, soft and concerned. I freeze. It’s Maa. I don’t turn around as shame curls in my guts.
“Anika, what do you mean?” She questions again, walking closer.
I quickly wipe my face, but I know I look like a disaster. My cheeks are streaked with color and tears. My hair’s a nest, probably. My voice is slurred.
Too late to pretend.
“Maa,” I sob and stand up suddenly, stumbling straight into her arms. “Maa!”
She holds me instantly, catching me like only a mother can. Her arms are warm and safe, and they make everything worse and better at the same time.
“You know what, Maa?” I sniff. “I don’t like your son.”
“What?” she says, shocked, still patting my back gently.
I pull away and pout. “I love Aaru. But I don’t like him.”
She asks softly and rubs my back. “Why, beta?”
“Because he doesn’t love me back,” I say, words tumbling out in one breath. “He-he..." I stutter, "He made me sign a contract, Maa. A contract!” I yell.
Maa stiffens. “What contract?”
“A stupid, dumb, idiotic marriage contract,” I slur, raising my hand and counting fingers slowly. “Only six months. That means…” I do the math again, squinting. “Only two months left.” Maa looks at me like she has seen a ghost. Well, yes, your son was scary that day when he pulled out that agreement.
“Anika,” she whispers again, her voice suddenly sharp. “Are you saying the truth?”
I nod. “Cross my heart,” I say and then giggle, though nothing is funny. “Not really, I wouldn’t cross anything right now. My heart’s already in too many pieces.”
