SOHINI
"Sohini, get dressed!" Maa's voice ripped through the air, trembling with rage, and the next second, her hands were on me, shaking me violently.
My eyes flew open, heart pounding like a drum. I jolted up, yanking the bedsheet around my bare body. My skin still smelled of him. Of us.
What—why were they here? They weren't supposed to be back until evening.
"You're back so early?" I stammered, the fear crawling into my throat. My voice was barely a whisper.
Maa's eyes—usually warm and tired—were dark, glassy with disbelief and disgust. "Get dressed and come out. You're so dead," she spat, her voice hoarse with fury. She slammed the door behind her, the sound like a gunshot in my ears.
I stood there, still frozen, the silence after her exit louder than any scream. My heart felt like it would collapse in on itself. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe if I closed my eyes, I'd wake up.
I pinched my arm.
Pain.
Reality. No escape.
I moved like a robot, dressing in a hurry, pulling on clothes that suddenly felt too small for my shame. My hands trembled as I tried to cover the blue-red hickeys blooming on my neck and collarbone. My lips were still swollen from his kisses. Vedant. Where was he?
I glanced at the mirror. I didn't recognize the girl staring back. Her eyes were wide with terror. Her cheeks already flushed with guilt. Her soul was cracking.
I stepped out into the hall, my steps heavy, throat dry.
Papa sat on the sofa, arms crossed. His eyes—cold, hard—locked on me like I was filth. Maa stood beside him, her mouth tight, her hands clasped. Even Chinu, my little brother, stood still, confused, afraid. But Vedant—he was gone. Of course, he'd left. He was safe.
"Papa?" I whispered, my voice quivering like a leaf.
He didn't speak. He stood up.
Then came the slap. So hard. So fast. The sting exploded across my face, blinding.
I gasped, my hand flying to my cheek. The world tilted. My heart shattered. He knew.
Before I could even process it, the second slap landed—hotter, crueler. The other side of my face burned.
"Papa!" I cried, but my voice broke like glass.
"Don't you dare call me that," he roared. "I am not your father. Not anymore."
I couldn't lift my eyes. The shame strangled me around my neck.
"How could you be so shameless?" he hissed. "So ungrateful. We gave you everything. And this—THIS is how you repay us?"
"Papa—" My knees felt weak. "I—I'm sorry."
"You're not sorry," he shouted. "You're ruined. Filthy. Sleeping around like a cheap girl off the streets!"
My hands trembled as I covered my face. I could feel my body shutting down, my ears ringing.
"You've dragged our family name into the gutter!" he bellowed. "You destroyed your mother's dignity. My reputation. Chinu's future!"
"Please—I love him," I murmured. "I love Vedant."
Silence fell. For a split second, I thought maybe—just maybe—he'd listen.
Then came the third slap.
"LOVE?" he thundered. "You dare call this love? Opening your legs is love? Is that what they teach you in college?"
"Did he force you?" he barked suddenly, grabbing my arm so tight I whimpered.
"No," I said, barely able to breathe. "He didn't. I—I wanted it. I love him. I chose it."
Papa stumbled back, clutching his chest as if the words themselves stabbed him. His eyes glazed over, like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
"You're not my daughter. No daughter of mine would be such a whore."
"Enough!" Maa cried out, stepping in front of me. "She's still your daughter. Don't say such things!"
He turned to her with eyes that didn't look like Papa anymore. "Don't you dare interrupt. This is your fault. You raised her."
"She made a mistake. She's still a child," Maa whispered, tears forming.
"CHILD?" he shouted. "How many men has she spread her legs for? Do you even know?"
"Stop it!" Maa cried. "You can't talk like this!"
Before she could say more—SLAP—he struck her.
Maa staggered back, clutching her face.
"Don't interfere! You let her become this. You let her dress like that. You never scolded her—never watched her!"
"You're hurting me!" she screamed as he twisted her wrist, rage blinding him.
I couldn't take it. I ran between them.
"Stop it! Papa, please, it was me. Don't hurt her! I did it—I'll take all the blame."
He pushed Maa aside like she was nothing. Like she was disposable.
"Who will marry you now?" he asked, seething. "Who'll take a used girl like you?"
"Vedant will," I said quickly, clutching at straws. "He promised. He loves me too. He said he'd marry me."
That made it worse.
"I'd rather burn your body and throw the ashes into the Ganga than let you marry him," Papa spat. "He's divorced. Different caste. Different background. I would kill you with my own hands."
"I love him," I cried, collapsing to my knees. "Please—Papa—I'm begging you."
He didn't move. He didn't look at me. He just turned to Maa.
"Lock her up. Take her phone. No food, no calls. No freedom."
"Please, don't do this—" I begged, but Maa grabbed my arm, tears running down her face.
"I'm sorry, Sohini," she whispered, before locking me in my room.
"Papa! Maa!" I screamed, banging on the door. "Don't do this. Please, I'm your daughter. I made a mistake, but please—don't hate me for it."
No response.
Just the sound of my sobs filling the silence. My forehead rested against the wooden door, and I cried until I couldn't breathe anymore.
"Papa—"
But he didn't come back. Not even once.
By evening, the house didn't feel like a home anymore. It felt like a cage. A prison with floral curtains and locked doors.
I hadn't moved from the floor since they locked me in. My throat was dry, my eyes raw from crying. I had screamed, begged, pounded the door until my fists ached—but no one came.
Then, a muffled commotion stirred beyond the door. Voices. I sprang up, pressing my ear flat against the wood.
"Khanna ji, what do you people think of us? What kind of girl do you think Sohini is?" Papa's voice boomed through the hall—sharp, angry, unforgiving.
Vedant's father answered cautiously, "Das ji, please—we're not here to argue. We know what happened was wrong—"
"Wrong?" Papa interrupted, his tone venomous. "Your son slept with my daughter under our roof, and all you can say is 'wrong'? This isn't a maths mistake, Khanna ji! It's characterless, disgusting!"
"Please—" Vedant's mother's voice trembled, trying to defuse it. "Our son is not that kind of boy. He truly loves Sohini. Let's not make this uglier than it already is. We're willing to take responsibility—to get them married—"
"Married?" Papa let out a scornful laugh that sounded like thunder "You want to marry my daughter to that used, divorced son of yours?"
There was stunned silence.
"Das ji—Vedant may be divorced, yes. But that doesn't make him bad. That woman ruined his first marriage—"
"And now he's ruining my daughter's life too!" Papa shouted. "Your son is a parasite. One woman threw him out, and now he's trapped another, younger girl to fill the void. How convenient of him!"
"You're crossing the line, Das ji—" Vedant's father snapped.
"Oh, I crossed the line? Your son crossed into my daughter's bed, Khanna ji! Into my house! Into our dignity! And you come here with sweet words and marriage offers like that will fix everything?"
"They love each other." His mother spoke again, gentler this time. "They've already crossed that line. Let us save what's left. She's a grown girl—"
"She's nineteen!" Papa barked. "Still studying, still under our roof, under our name—and you're calling her a grown woman? She doesn't even know how to boil rice but she knows how to undress in front of your son? That's your definition of love?"
I winced. My nails dug into my palms.
"We didn't come here to be insulted!" Vedant's father thundered back. "We came to talk, not beg. We have dignity too, Das ji."
I could barely breathe. I hit the door again with my fists, over and over.
"Papa! Papa, please! Let me talk!"
But no one heard. Or maybe they just didn't want to.
"Papa!" I sobbed, my voice cracking. "Please don't do this! Please—"
No answer. Only the sound of a door slamming, and then silence. As if everyone had disappeared. As if I didn't exist.
I sank to the ground, chest heaving, heart in my throat. I pressed my forehead against the wood and whispered through broken sobs,
"Papa—please—just listen to me."
I don't remember when I cried myself to sleep. The tears had soaked into my pillow, my clothes, my skin—until I was numb. My throat felt raw from sobbing, and my eyes burned from the salt of too many regrets.
Then, finally, after hours of silence and isolation, the door creaked open.
My heart leapt. It was Maa.
She stood there in the doorway—her figure trembling slightly, her face pale and tight. In her hands, she carried a steel tray with a plate of roti and a cup of chai. Her eyes—once so warm, so full of love—were bloodshot and empty. No softness, no comfort. Just exhaustion and disappointment.
She stepped in and placed the tray down with a harsh thud, the sound slicing through the silence.
"Sohini," she said curtly. "Freshen up and eat this."
Her voice was coarse, low—like she had swallowed all her tears and anger overnight and it had torn her throat on the way down.
"Maa—" My voice broke as I reached for her hand, desperate for her warmth, her forgiveness. I gripped her fingers, but she pulled away like my touch disgusted her.
"Maa, I'm sorry," I whispered, before breaking down again. I wrapped my arms around her tightly. "I'm so sorry, Maa."
But she stood stiff in my embrace, her arms unmoving. And when she finally spoke, her voice was ice.
"Sorry won't fix this, Sohini," she said, each word sinking like a knife. "Sorry won't fix anything. Not the shame. Not your papa's condition. Not what you've done to this family."
I pulled back, trembling. "But Maa— Vedant's not like that. He's a good person—he—"
Her head snapped up, eyes blazing with fury. "A good person? Do you even know what he did last night?"
My heart stopped.
"What?" I asked, barely a whisper. My voice got lost in the space between us.
She stared at me with eyes full of betrayal and pain. "He hit your father. Do you hear me? He laid hands on him. Your papa is in the hospital with a broken leg. And as if that wasn't enough, the whole society knows about you sleeping with him."
Her voice cracked with the last part, her disgust so heavy it made the air feel toxic.
"You've ruined us, Sohini," she whispered, finally letting the tears fall. "You've humiliated this family in ways I never imagined. You've made us a joke."
I stood there, frozen.
But Vedant—He wouldn't. He wouldn't hurt anyone. He loved me. Didn't he?
"No—" I shook my head. "Vedant wouldn't do that. He wouldn't hurt Papa. There must be some mistake."
Her face twisted in heartbreak and disbelief. "How could you be so blind, Sohini?! After everything, you still defend him?! Are you that far gone?"
I wanted to argue, but the words lodged in my throat. Doubt, fear, guilt—they all clawed at me at once.
She picked up her dupatta and turned away. "Come. Let me show you what your 'good person' did."
She didn't wait for me to follow. She didn't even look back. I couldn't even process the words. I followed her like a ghost.
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and regret. I followed her through the hallway, each step heavier than the last.
And then—I saw him.
Papa.
Lying unconscious on the hospital bed, his leg in a thick plaster. Wires trailed from his arms. Machines beeped steadily in the background.
My breath caught. The sight of him broke something inside me that I didn't even know could still break.
"Papa—" I whispered.
Next to him, Chinu sat on a metal stool, hands clenched in his lap, face void of expression.
"Chinu—" I reached out.
He recoiled from my touch like it burned. "Don't," he said, voice flat. "Just don't."
I clenched my jaw, struggling to stay upright. "What happened to Papa?"
He looked at me, eyes glassy with restrained rage. "The man you love— the one you chose over us—he did this. He did this to Papa."
I couldn't speak. I just stared at Papa's broken body. My Papa—who always protected me, who always believed in me. And now here he was, silent, weak because of me.
I dropped to my knees beside his bed, my body wracked with sobs. "I didn't know—I didn't know, Papa—"
I had trusted Vedant with my heart. With my body. With my future.
And in return, he gave me this—a broken father, a grieving mother, and a shattered home.