Chapter 4

**The Cold Reality**

The first morning in her new home was a quiet but disorienting affair for Ayesha. She woke early, her body still accustomed to the sounds of her family’s bustling household. Here, the silence was almost deafening. Rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the elegant furniture that surrounded her.

For a moment, she allowed herself to forget where she was. But the weight of the gold engagement ring on her finger and the neatly folded red bridal lehenga on a chair nearby reminded her: this was her life now.

A soft knock at the door startled her. Before she could answer, it opened slightly, revealing an older woman dressed in a simple sari.

“Good morning, Bhabhi-ji,” the woman said softly, her eyes avoiding Ayesha’s. “I’m Rupa. I’ll be helping you with your meals and things. Breakfast is ready downstairs.”

“Thank you,” Ayesha replied, her voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

The woman nodded quickly and disappeared down the hall.

The dining room was just as grand as the rest of the house, with high ceilings, chandeliers, and a long table that seemed to stretch endlessly. Ayesha entered cautiously, unsure of where to sit or how to behave.

Arman’s mother, Priya, sat at the head of the table, sipping tea. Her posture was perfect, and her gaze sharp. She glanced up when Ayesha entered but didn’t offer a smile.

“Good morning,” Ayesha said politely.

Priya inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ayesha lied.

Arman entered a moment later, his phone in hand. He wore a crisp shirt and slacks, already prepared for the day. He nodded briefly at Ayesha before taking a seat opposite his mother.

“Your coffee, beta,” Priya said, sliding a cup toward Arman.

“Thank you, Ma,” he replied, his tone distant.

Ayesha felt out of place, like an intruder in someone else’s routine. She sat quietly, picking at the food placed before her. No one asked her what she wanted, and the conversation at the table was minimal, dominated by Priya’s reminders of the day’s events and Arman’s occasional monosyllabic responses.

After breakfast, Priya approached Ayesha with a clipped smile. “I trust you’re settling in well?”

“Yes,” Ayesha replied, though it wasn’t entirely true.

“That’s good,” Priya said, her tone polite but firm. “Today, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the household staff and show you the basics of how things run here. It’s important for you to understand your responsibilities.”

Ayesha blinked. “Responsibilities?”

“Yes,” Priya said, as if it were obvious. “This house requires order, and as the new bahu, it’s part of your role to maintain that. You’ll oversee the staff, manage the household accounts, and ensure everything runs smoothly.”

The weight of her words sank heavily into Ayesha’s chest. She had barely adjusted to being a wife, and now she was expected to take charge of an entire household.

“Of course,” Ayesha murmured, feeling a knot form in her stomach

By midday, Ayesha was exhausted from being paraded through the house and introduced to various staff members. Each introduction came with a list of their duties and what Ayesha was expected to supervise. Priya’s sharp gaze lingered on her the entire time, making it clear that mistakes would not be tolerated.

As she finally sat down for a moment in the kitchen, Rupa appeared with a glass of water.

“You’ve had a long morning, Bhabhi-ji,” Rupa said gently.

“Yes,” Ayesha replied, grateful for the water. “It’s... a lot to take in.”

Rupa hesitated, then leaned closer. “Don’t worry too much. Madam Priya can be strict, but she respects those who work hard. And if you ever need help, you can ask me.”

Ayesha looked at her, surprised. “Thank you, Rupa. That means a lot.”

The woman smiled faintly before hurrying off, leaving Ayesha with a small sense of comfort amidst the chaos.

By the time evening arrived, Ayesha had barely seen Arman. He had left for work shortly after breakfast and returned late in the evening, looking tired and distracted.

Dinner was another formal affair, with Priya leading the conversation while Arman responded tersely. Ayesha felt invisible, her presence barely acknowledged except when Priya reminded her to refill someone’s water glass or pass a dish.

When dinner ended, Arman stood abruptly. “I have some work to finish. Goodnight,” he said, directing the words more to his mother than to Ayesha.

“Goodnight, beta,” Priya replied, watching him leave before turning to Ayesha. “You should get some rest too. Tomorrow, we’ll review the monthly accounts.”

“Yes, Maaji,” Ayesha said softly

Later that night, as Ayesha prepared for bed, she heard a soft knock at her door. She opened it to find Arman standing there, his expression unreadable.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She nodded, stepping aside.

Arman entered, his gaze scanning the room briefly before settling on her. “I just wanted to check in,” he said. “How was your first day?”

“It was... overwhelming,” Ayesha admitted, her voice hesitant.

Arman sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not surprised. My mother has a way of throwing people into the deep end.”

Ayesha looked at him curiously. “You don’t agree with her methods?”

“She’s... efficient,” he said carefully. “But sometimes I think she forgets that not everyone operates the way she does.”

Ayesha hesitated, then asked, “Is this how it’s going to be? Formal meals, strict routines, no room for mistakes?”

Arman met her gaze, his expression softening slightly. “It’s how my family operates. I grew up in it, so I guess I’m used to it. But for you... I know it’ll take time to adjust.”

“Adjust,” she repeated, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. “That’s all everyone keeps telling me to do. Adjust to this house, adjust to your family, adjust to this life.”

He looked away, guilt flickering across his face. “I know it’s not fair, Ayesha. None of this is. But...” He trailed off, his voice faltering.

“But what?” she prompted.

He sighed. “But it’s the reality we both have to deal with. I can’t promise it’ll be easy, but I’ll try to make it bearable.”

Ayesha studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of warmth or sincerity. “Thank you,” she said finally, though her tone was tinged with uncertainty.

Arman nodded and moved toward the door. “Goodnight, Ayesha.”

“Goodnight,” she replied softly, watching him leave.

As she sat alone in her room once more, Ayesha reflected on the day’s events. The cold reality of her new life had begun to sink in, but there were small glimmers of hope—Rupa’s quiet kindness, Arman’s moments of understanding.

She wasn’t sure if these small comforts would be enough to carry her through, but for now, they were all she had.

Here’s the extended continuation of Chapter 4 with 300 more words:

The moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. Ayesha remained seated on the edge of the bed, staring at the door Arman had just closed behind him. His words lingered in her mind: “I’ll try to make it bearable.”

What struck her most wasn’t the lack of grand promises or sweeping reassurances. It was the quiet honesty. He hadn’t pretended to be a perfect husband or guaranteed happiness, but there was an earnestness in his voice that she couldn’t ignore. Still, the uncertainty gnawed at her. How long could she endure this cold, unfamiliar house where every step felt like walking on eggshells?

Her thoughts drifted to her family. She imagined her mother sitting in the now-quiet living room, sipping her nightly cup of chai, or Ali sprawled across the sofa, laughing at some comedy show. The pang of longing for her old life was almost unbearable.

She rose from the bed and walked to the window. The garden below was bathed in silver light, the flowers swaying gently in the night breeze. She thought back to Rupa’s kindness earlier in the day, the way the older woman had offered her support. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a small reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone.

Taking a deep breath, Ayesha made a decision. If this was to be her life now, she couldn’t let herself be consumed by despair. She had to find strength within herself, to carve out a space in this cold house where she could breathe.

Her hand brushed against her journal lying on the bedside table. She opened it, letting her pen flow across the page. The words came slowly at first but soon poured out, a quiet declaration of her resolve: I will survive this, and I will find myself again.