Chapter 16: Poornima’s Night

Poornima didn’t sleep.

She lay on her side, facing the wall, listening to the soft rhythm of Veeresh’s breathing from the other end of the bed. The room was dark, but her mind was loud—memories moving in circles, refusing to settle.

They asked him to bring his wife.

The words replayed again and again.

Wife.

She closed her eyes, but the images came anyway.

The mandap.
The sudden weight of the thali around her neck.
Her mother’s slap.
Her father’s cold voice disowning her.
People whispering—no, shouting—about her character.
As if she had planned it.
As if she had trapped him.

Her chest tightened.

What was my mistake?

She had only gone to a wedding.
She had worn a simple green saree.
She had smiled.

And for that, her life had been torn apart.

Her phone vibrated slightly in her hand as she checked it again—no missed calls. No messages. She tried one more number, her fingers shaking.

No response.

She swallowed the sob that rose in her throat.

Amma… Appa… please.

She turned slightly and looked at Veeresh.

He was sleeping on the edge, careful even in sleep not to cross the invisible boundary she had drawn. She noticed that now—how he never touched her unless necessary, how he always waited, how he never demanded anything.

It confused her.

Why are you like this now? she thought bitterly.
Where was this care when you tied the thali?

And yet—

He had left his family for her.
He had taken her to Chennai.
He cooked for her.
He encouraged her studies.
He never stopped her from calling her parents.
He defended her, every single time.

She hated herself for noticing these things.

Because if she started seeing him as good,
then who would she blame for the life she lost?

Her heart was tired.

The party scared her—not because of people, but because of labels. Standing beside him as his wife meant accepting something she still hadn’t forgiven.

If I go… am I saying it was okay?
That what he did was forgivable?

Tears slipped silently into her hair.

She wasn’t rejecting him to punish him.

She was protecting herself.

Poornima hugged her pillow tightly.

I didn’t choose this marriage, she reminded herself.
But I am choosing how much of myself I give away.

Somewhere deep inside, a fragile thought formed—quiet and unwanted:

What if he really is trying?

She pushed it away immediately.

Not yet.

Forgiveness, she knew, was not a switch.

It was a journey.

And tonight, she was still standing at the beginning—
awake, wounded, and learning how to breathe with a broken past.