"Jeea, where's my green silk blouse? The one with the gold embroidery?" Himanshi's voice cuts through the morning calm, sharp and demanding. I tighten my grip on the edge of the countertop, willing myself not to snap back.
"It's in your closet, Himanshi," I reply as evenly as I can manage. I can already feel my headache worsening.
Himanshi storms into the kitchen anyway, her perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently against her phone. "It's not. I looked everywhere. Just go find it."
I suppress a sigh. It's easier to comply than argue, especially with her. I dry my hands on a dishcloth and head to her room. The blouse, of course, is hanging neatly in her closet, exactly where I told her it would be. I grab it and return to the kitchen, holding it out to her.
Himanshi doesn't even bother with a thank you. She snatches the blouse from my hands and holds it up against herself, examining her reflection in the glass of the microwave. "Do you think Dhruv will like this?"
The question catches me off guard. I hesitate, not sure how to respond. Dhruv Singh Rathore—the man my father has been bragging about for weeks—is supposed to meet our family today for lunch. He's wealthy, handsome, and everything my father has ever wanted in a son-in-law.
Himanshi doesn't wait for my answer. She tosses the blouse over her shoulder and says, "Never mind. I know he will."
I don't reply. Himanshi has always been the star of this family, the one who gets everything she wants without having to ask twice. Meanwhile, I'm the shadow—the quiet, dutiful daughter who does as she's told.
It's always been this way. Since the day I was born, I've been a burden. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father has never forgiven me for it. I see it in the way he looks at me, the coldness in his eyes whenever I'm near. I see it in the way he dotes on Himanshi, as if pouring all the love he should have given us both into her instead.
"Jeea! Are you even listening?" Himanshi snaps, dragging me back to the present.
"Sorry," I mumble. "What did you say?"
She rolls her eyes. "I said, set the dining table. Make it look nice. Dhruv is going to be here any minute, and I don't want him thinking we're some second-rate family."
I nod and get to work, arranging the plates and glasses with care. My father strides into the room just as I'm finishing. He doesn't acknowledge me, his focus solely on Himanshi.
"Himanshi, you look beautiful," he says, beaming with pride.
"Of course, I do, Papa," she replies, twirling in her dress.
He chuckles and pats her on the head. "Dhruv is a lucky man."
I lower my gaze, pretending to adjust the placement of a fork. The doorbell rings, and my father claps his hands together. "He's here. Himanshi, go and greet him."
Himanshi grins and heads for the door, leaving me behind to blend into the background, as always.
Dhruv Singh Rathore hovers in the doorway, covering almost all of it with his tall, broad-shouldered frame. There's something about his presence that always feels more imposing than it needs to be — like he's not just entering a room but claiming space within it.
He's dressed in a charcoal grey designer suit, perfectly tailored to his build — the kind of fit that doesn't just suggest wealth, but discipline. The material clings to him like it was stitched on his skin, effortlessly hiding — and yet somehow emphasizing — the sculpted strength beneath. Anyone could tell that underneath that polished exterior is a body built for control, not aesthetics.
His jaw is sharply cut, clenched just enough to make it clear he doesn't want to be here. His lips, pressed into a near-permanent scowl, do little to soften the hardness of his face. Even his eyes — a dark, unreadable shade — scan the room like he's checking for exits rather than people.
He's always like this. Always distant. Always borderline hostile.
I've only seen him a handful of times — once at a Diwali dinner, another time when he dropped Himanshi off with barely a word of goodbye. He only ever shows up when he has to. And even then, it's with this same expression — like someone holding their breath underwater, just waiting to come up for air.
There's no warmth. No curiosity. No trace of the charm people usually expect from a man about to marry into a family. He's Himanshi's fiancé, yes — but he moves like a stranger, speaks like a lawyer giving a statement, and looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here.
And yet, here he is — standing in our doorway like an unfinished sentence.
*
The lunch is a carefully choreographed affair. Himanshi flirts and laughs, charming Dhruv with every word she says. He plays along, but there's a certain coolness to his demeanor, a reserve that makes me wonder if he's truly as taken with her as she thinks.
When the meal is over and Dhruv has left, my father pulls Himanshi aside to discuss the upcoming engagement. I'm clearing the table when their voices rise, loud enough for me to hear.
"I'm not marrying him, Papa," Himanshi declares.
"What are you talking about?" my father snaps.
"I don't want to marry Dhruv. I've been seeing someone else, and I've already decided he's the one I'm going to marry."
There's a stunned silence, followed by the sound of something breaking—probably one of the glasses I had just set on the table.
"You will marry Dhruv," my father says, his voice dangerously low.
"No, I won't, Have you seen how causally he treats me? I don't want that for the rest of my life!" Himanshi retorts. "I want someone who worships the ground I walk on, not someone who stands next to be because he's forced to."
I inch closer to the doorway, trying to stay out of sight while still catching every word.
"If you think I'm going to let you throw away this opportunity—"
"Then find someone else!" Himanshi shouts. "I'm not doing it."
A cold dread settles in my stomach. I have a sinking feeling I know exactly where this is going.
And I'm right.
My father storms into the kitchen, his face like thunder. "Jeea," he barks.
I freeze, a plate in my hands. "Yes, Papa?"
"You'll marry Dhruv," he says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
The plate slips from my fingers and shatters on the floor. My heart pounds in my chest, but I scramble to pick up the broken shards, trying to steady myself. Surely, I must have misheard him.
"What?" I whisper, still crouched on the floor.
"You heard me," he says coldly. "Your sister has made her decision. I will not let this alliance slip through our fingers because of her foolishness. You will marry Dhruv in her place."
I rise slowly, gripping the counter for support. "No," I say, my voice firmer than I expected.
His eyes narrow dangerously. "What did you just say?"
"No, Papa," I repeat, louder this time. "You can't ask me to do this. Himanshi—she's the one he was promised to. I'm not—I'm not some replacement you can just slot into her place."
"You are whatever I say you are," he snaps, his voice like a whip. "Do you think this family survives without sacrifices? Do you think I've worked this hard just for you to question me now?"
"I've sacrificed my whole life already!" I burst out. The words are out before I can stop them. "I've done everything you've ever asked, without complaint. I've taken care of Himanshi, this house, everything—but this? You can't force me into this marriage."
"You think you have a choice?" His tone is icy, calculated. "You owe me this, Jeea. After everything your birth cost me—after what you cost this family—you owe me."
I feel the blood drain from my face. The old wound reopens, raw and festering, just as he intended. He knows exactly where to strike.
"That wasn't my fault," I whisper, my voice trembling.
"But it was your doing," he says, unmoved. "Your mother died bringing you into this world, and we've been paying the price ever since. Don't forget that."
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I refuse to let him see me break.
"You can't keep blaming me for something I had no control over," I say, my voice shaking but resolute. "And you can't make me do this, Papa. I won't marry him. I won't."
"You will." He steps closer, his face looming over mine. "You'll do as I say, or you'll leave this house with nothing. Do you understand me? Nothing."
I stare at him, stunned. "You'd throw me out?"
"If you're no use to this family, what reason do I have to keep you here?" His words are brutal, final.
For a moment, I can't breathe. The room feels too small, the walls closing in. I glance at Himanshi, who is watching the exchange from the doorway with a smirk, as if this is nothing more than a game to her.
I swallow hard and meet my father's gaze. "You're asking me to ruin my life for someone who doesn't even love me," I say, my voice raw with emotion.
"You'll do as you're told," he says simply. "You're not here to find love, Jeea. You're here to do what's best for this family. And marrying Dhruv Singh Rathore is what's best for this family."
My hands curl into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. Every fiber of my being wants to scream, to fight, to run—but where would I go? What could I do?
I stand there, trapped by duty, by guilt, by the chains of a family that has never truly been mine.
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