Chapter 5

**The Shattered Facade**

Ayesha woke early, the soft morning light filtering through the heavy curtains of her room. Her first few weeks in Arman’s household had been a whirlwind of routine, criticism, and quiet rebellion. She had started to find small victories, like organizing the staff more efficiently or handling household finances better than Priya had anticipated.

But each step forward felt precarious, as though she were walking on a tightrope. Priya’s disapproval still lingered, and Arman’s continued emotional distance made it hard to feel like she truly belonged.

She sighed and pulled on her dupatta before stepping out of her room, determined to face another day.

The morning passed uneventfully until a commotion near the front door caught Ayesha’s attention. She moved toward the source of the noise, finding Priya speaking in hushed, urgent tones to an unfamiliar woman.

The woman was elegantly dressed, her makeup flawless, and her expression calm but firm. There was something about her presence that unsettled Ayesha, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Who is that?” Ayesha whispered to Rupa, who was passing by with a tray of tea.

Rupa hesitated, her eyes darting to the scene before her. “That’s... Natasha Madam,” she said cautiously. “She’s an old family friend.”

“Family friend?” Ayesha repeated, sensing there was more to the story.

Before she could ask further, Priya noticed her lingering nearby. “Ayesha,” Priya called, her tone sharp. “Go to the kitchen and check on the preparations for lunch. We have guests coming later.”

The dismissal stung, but Ayesha nodded and left without protest. As she walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something Priya didn’t want her to hear.

That evening, Ayesha sat at the dining table with Arman and Priya. Conversation was minimal, as usual, with Priya making a few remarks about the household while Arman responded distractedly.

“Who was the woman who visited this morning?” Ayesha asked, keeping her tone casual.

Arman froze, his fork hovering mid-air. Priya’s eyes narrowed slightly, though she quickly composed herself.

“She’s a family acquaintance,” Priya said curtly. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

Ayesha glanced at Arman, but his expression was unreadable. Sensing the tension in the room, she dropped the subject.

Later that night, curiosity got the better of her. She waited until the house was quiet, then slipped out of her room. She made her way to the study, where she had seen Priya place a folder earlier.

Her heart pounded as she flipped through the papers, unsure of what she was even looking for. Then she found it—a photograph tucked inside the folder.

It was Arman and Natasha, standing close together, their expressions warm and intimate. The picture was dated only a few months before their wedding.

Ayesha’s hands trembled as she stared at the photo. Who was Natasha to Arman? And why had she come here today?

The next morning, Ayesha waited until Arman returned from work before addressing what she had found. She didn’t want to involve Priya; this was between her and her husband.

“Can we talk?” she asked, her voice steady but firm.

Arman looked surprised but nodded. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Ayesha closed the door to the sitting room, ensuring they wouldn’t be overheard. She pulled out the photograph and handed it to him. “Who is Natasha?”

Arman’s expression darkened as he looked at the photo. For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw tightening.

“She’s... someone I used to know,” he said finally.

“Someone you used to know?” Ayesha pressed. “This picture was taken a few months ago. And yesterday, she was here. What’s going on, Arman?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“Then explain it to me,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I deserve to know.”

Arman hesitated, then finally spoke. “Natasha and I were... involved. Before our marriage was arranged. We were together for almost three years.”

The words hit Ayesha like a blow. She stared at him, struggling to process what he had just admitted. “So, what happened? Why did you marry me?”

“It wasn’t my choice,” he said bitterly. “My mother disapproved of Natasha. She insisted I marry someone ‘appropriate,’ someone who fit the family’s expectations. And that someone was you.”

Ayesha felt her throat tighten. “Does she know about this? About us?”

Arman hesitated, and his silence was all the answer she needed.

Over the next few days, Ayesha noticed the subtle tension between Arman and Priya. She began piecing together the larger picture: Natasha’s return wasn’t a coincidence. She had come back to reclaim something—or someone—she believed was hers.

A week later, the situation escalated. Ayesha overheard an argument in the study, Priya’s voice raised in anger.

“I told you she doesn’t belong here, Arman! Why can’t you understand that?”

“And what about what I want, Ma?” Arman retorted. “Do I have no say in my own life?”

“You had your chance, and you ruined it,” Priya snapped. “This family has a reputation to uphold, and Ayesha is your wife now. You need to act like it.”

Ayesha backed away before they noticed her, her heart pounding. The cracks in the family’s polished facade were growing wider by the day.

That evening, Ayesha confronted Priya. “I know about Natasha,” she said, her voice steady despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

Priya’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly do you think you know?”

“I know she and Arman were together. I know you forced him to marry me instead. And I know she’s still in his life,” Ayesha said, her voice rising.

Priya stepped closer, her tone icy. “Listen to me carefully, Ayesha. You are my son’s wife, and you have a duty to uphold. What happened before this marriage is irrelevant. You will do as you’re told, or you will leave this house in disgrace.”

For the first time, Ayesha didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, meeting Priya’s gaze. “I am not a pawn in your game, Maaji. If you think I’ll stay silent while you control everyone’s lives, you’re wrong.”

Priya’s expression hardened, but before she could respond, Arman entered the room. His eyes flicked between the two women, sensing the tension.

“What’s going on here?” he asked sharply.

Ayesha turned to him, her voice firm. “We need to talk. All of us.”

The three of them sat in the living room, the atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions. Ayesha took a deep breath and spoke first.

“I’ve tried to fit into this house. I’ve tried to make this marriage work. But I can’t do it alone, especially when I’m being treated like an outsider.”

Arman looked down, guilt etched on his face. Priya, however, remained stoic.

“Arman,” Ayesha continued, her voice trembling slightly, “if you’re still in love with Natasha, you need to tell me. I won’t stay in a marriage where I’m not wanted.”

Arman met her gaze, his expression conflicted. “Ayesha, I...” He hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know how I feel anymore. Natasha was my past, but you’re my present. I didn’t choose this marriage, but I’m willing to try—if you are.”

“And what about Natasha?” Ayesha pressed.

“I’ll talk to her,” Arman said firmly. “I’ll make it clear that my life is here now—with you.”

Priya’s expression softened slightly, though she remained silent.

The following days were tense but marked by small steps forward. Arman kept his word, cutting ties with Natasha and beginning to show more effort in their marriage. While their relationship was far from perfect, Ayesha saw glimpses of a partnership that could grow stronger with time.

As for Priya, she maintained her distance, though Ayesha sensed a grudging respect forming between them.

For the first time since her wedding, Ayesha felt a flicker of hope. The journey ahead would be challenging, but she was determined to face it with strength and courage.

Days turned into weeks, and the household settled into an uneasy rhythm. Arman kept his word and distanced himself from Natasha, though the process was not without complications. There were whispered phone calls, brief visits that Ayesha suspected Priya had facilitated, and the lingering shadow of Natasha’s presence in their lives.

One evening, Ayesha found herself alone in the study, going through the household accounts as Priya had instructed. She heard a faint knock on the door and turned to see Arman entering, his expression tired.

“How’s it going?” he asked, gesturing toward the papers spread out before her.

“Fine,” Ayesha replied, her tone clipped. She hadn’t fully forgiven him yet, though she noticed he was trying.

Arman hesitated before taking a seat across from her. “I wanted to thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For not walking away,” he admitted. “After everything, you had every right to leave. But you stayed, and... I don’t think I deserve that.”

Ayesha looked at him, her heart softening despite herself. “I didn’t stay for you, Arman. I stayed because I refuse to let anyone decide my worth—your mother, Natasha, or even you. This is my life too, and I’ll fight for it.”

Her words seemed to hit him like a wave. For the first time, Arman’s defenses cracked, and he nodded slowly. “I want to make this work, Ayesha. I don’t know how, but I want to try.”

The sincerity in his voice stirred something in her, though she remained cautious. “Trying is a good start,” she said simply.

As the days passed, Ayesha noticed small but meaningful changes. Arman made an effort to include her in conversations, to seek her input on decisions, and to respect her boundaries. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.