Chapter 4: A House That Was Not Home

The bus rattled forward on the long road to Davangere, its windows open to the dry evening wind. Poornima sat stiffly by the window, her eyes fixed outside, watching fields and trees rush past—anywhere but him.

Veeresh sat beside her, silent.

She looked broken.

Her bangles were still on her wrists, the thali still heavy around her neck, but her eyes had lost their light. She looked like someone who had been dragged into a life she never asked for.

Veeresh watched her quietly.

For the first time since the mandap, guilt weighed heavier than determination.

I made a mistake, he admitted to himself.

A terrible one.

But even then, one thought burned stronger than all others—

I will win her trust. Even if it takes my whole life.

The bus hit a bump, and Poornima swayed slightly. Instinctively, Veeresh pulled her gently toward his shoulder, trying to steady her.

She pushed him away immediately.

“Don’t touch me,” she said coldly.

He said nothing.

After a long silence, her voice broke through again—quiet, but sharp.

“I will never forgive you, Veeresh. I will never accept this marriage.”

She wiped her tears fiercely, as if ashamed of them, and turned back to the window.

Veeresh closed his eyes.

He deserved every word.

They reached Davangere after nightfall.

The village lights were dim, unfamiliar, unwelcoming. As they walked toward his house, Poornima’s steps faltered. The weight of fear finally overcame anger, and without realizing it, she held Veeresh’s hand tightly.

He looked at her, surprised—but relieved.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

For a moment, she didn’t pull away.

But the moment they entered the house, warmth vanished.

His family members surrounded them instantly—faces hard, voices cruel.

“Shameless girl!” someone spat.

“Who knows what she did with him before marriage?”

“Such girls trap boys like this!”

Poornima froze.

Each word felt like a slap.

Before she could even react, Veeresh stepped forward, rage flashing in his eyes.

“Shut up.”

The room fell silent.

“Not one of you will insult my wife,” he said, his voice shaking with fury.

“I married her. She has no fault. If anyone is to be blamed, it is me.”

He grabbed Poornima’s hand and pulled her inside firmly, protectively.

“Light the lamp,” his mother said sharply, testing her.

Poornima nodded numbly and lit it, her hands trembling. But even then, the whispers didn’t stop. The curses didn’t end.

Her chest tightened.

Suddenly, it was too much.

She dropped the lamp and ran.

Out of the house.

Out into the dark.

She stumbled, her foot slipping on the uneven ground, and fell hard. Sitting there, she buried her face in her hands and cried—deep, broken sobs that shook her entire body.

Veeresh followed her immediately.

Seeing her like that—collapsed, alone, destroyed—something snapped inside him.

He turned back to his family, his voice loud, raw, unstoppable.

“Why are you all scolding her?!” he shouted.

“It is me who is responsible!”

Silence again.

“I never liked Sahana. That wedding was forced on me,” he continued.

“Poornima is my wife. She is a good girl. She came to attend my wedding—she didn’t know anything about this.”

His voice cracked.

“I married her without her consent. If you cannot accept her, that is your choice.”

He looked at each of them, his eyes blazing.

“But if anyone dares to disrespect my wife again—remember this—

I will not tolerate it.”

He turned back toward Poornima, who was still crying in the darkness.

Between a husband who had wronged her

and a family that refused to accept her—

Poornima stood alone.

And for the first time, Veeresh understood—

Winning her heart would be harder than defying the world.