Chapter 9

The car engine hummed softly as the village slowly disappeared behind them.

The roads stretched ahead, long and familiar,

yet something about the journey felt…

different.

Zivah kept her eyes on the road, her hands steady on the wheel,

but her awareness, quietly, constantly rested on the person sitting beside her.

Eraya sat near the window.

Her posture was composed,

but not relaxed.

Her fingers rested lightly on her lap,

occasionally tightening around the edge of her kurti without her realizing it.

And her gaze,

it stayed outside.

Fields passed by in long stretches of green and gold,

the wind brushing through them in gentle waves,

bending them and lifting them again.

Eraya’s eyes followed them.

Not casually.

Not absently.

But with something deeper.

Something that looked almost like…

longing.

Zivah noticed.

She didn’t speak immediately.

Because she was learning,
Eraya needed time before words.

But after a few minutes, when the silence had settled into something softer,

Zivah spoke.

“You like fields?”

Her voice was light.

Careful.

Not intrusive.

Eraya blinked slightly, as if pulled out of her thoughts.

Her gaze shifted, hesitant, before settling somewhere between the window and Zivah.

“I… do,” she said quietly.

A pause.

Then, almost as if the words slipped out before she could stop them,

“I always liked planting.”

Zivah’s brows lifted slightly.

There was something gentle in that admission.

Something almost… childlike.

“Really?” she asked,
her tone warming slightly.

Eraya nodded faintly.

“When I was younger,” she continued slowly,

“I used to grow small plants… near the back of the haveli.”

Her fingers moved slightly, as if remembering the act.

“I didn’t know much,” she added, a faint, almost self-conscious smile touching her lips.

“Most of them didn’t survive.”

Zivah smiled softly.

“That’s how everyone starts,” she said.

“Even I’ve killed more plants than I’ve grown.”

Eraya glanced at her.

Just briefly.

But there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes.

“They used to grow sometimes,” she added quietly.

“When they did… it felt like I had done something right.”

The sentence lingered.

Zivah felt it.

That quiet need,
to feel like something you touch doesn’t break.

“That feeling doesn’t change,” Zivah said gently.

“Even now… when something grows because of you, it stays with you.”

Eraya didn’t respond.

But she didn’t turn away either.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was… shared.

After a while, Zivah reached forward and turned on the music.

A soft song filled the car.

Not loud.

Not overwhelming.

Just enough to hold the space between them without forcing conversation.

And for the rest of the drive,
they stayed like that.

Not strangers.

Not close.

But… somewhere in between.

By the time they reached the city,

the sky had turned a deep shade of evening.

Streetlights flickered on, one by one, casting warm glows along the roads.

Zivah parked the car outside her building.

The engine turned off.

The quiet returned.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Zivah stepped out, walking around to open the door for Eraya.

“You can come,” she said softly, picking up the bags from behind.

Eraya stepped out slowly,

her gaze lifting toward the building.

It looked… different from anything she was used to.

Not grand.

Not overwhelming.

But… calm.

Zivah walked ahead, reaching her floor,

unlocking the main door,

then paused near her apartment,

shifting the bags slightly as she searched for her keys.

“Wait, they should be…”

She checked one pocket.

Then another.

Then the side of the bag.

Her brows furrowed.

“I just had them…”

Eraya stood quietly beside her.

Watching.

Then, without saying anything,

she reached toward the top of the bag Zivah was holding.

The keys were right there.

Clipped.

Visible.

She picked them up gently and held them out.

Zivah froze for half a second.

Then looked at the keys.

Then at Eraya.

Then back at the keys.

A faint flush crept up her face.

“Oh…”

Her voice held the smallest hint of embarrassment.

“I was… definitely looking for those.”

Eraya’s lips curved, just slightly.

Not a full smile.

But enough.

Zivah took the keys,

letting out a small, sheepish breath.

“Okay, this is a great first impression of my organizational skills.”

That,
earned a slightly clearer reaction.

A softness in Eraya’s eyes.

Zivah unlocked the door quickly.

“Come in.”

The apartment was warm.

Soft lighting filled the space,

the faint scent of something floral lingering in the air.

It wasn’t extravagant.

But it was… lived in.

Cushions placed carelessly yet perfectly.

Books stacked in corners.

A blanket thrown over the couch like it belonged there.

Eraya stepped in slowly.

Her eyes moved across the room.

Taking everything in.

There was something about the place,

it felt safe.

Zivah closed the door behind them, setting the bags down before turning toward Eraya.

“I know it’s a bit messy,” she said casually.

“I left in a hurry.”

She walked ahead,

gesturing for Eraya to follow.

“This is the bedroom.”

Eraya stepped inside.

The room was slightly disheveled.

Clothes folded halfway, books lying open, a suitcase still partly unpacked.

Zivah paused.

Then immediately moved into action.

“Give me a second.”

She picked up clothes quickly, folding them properly this time,

clearing space in the closet.

“This side is yours,” she said, pushing her own things aside without hesitation.

No dramatics.

No hesitation.

Just… making space.

Eraya watched quietly.

Something about that simple act,
felt bigger than it should have.

Zivah turned back.

“You can freshen up,” she said gently.

“Take your time.”

Then she stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.

In the living room, Zivah stood still for a moment.

Her mind flickered between thoughts.

Food… should I cook?

She opened the fridge.

Closed it again.

“…I cannot cook.”

She sighed softly.

“Ordering sounds like survival.”

Just then,
the bedroom door opened.

Eraya stepped out.

Zivah turned.

“You want to eat something?” she asked gently.

Eraya shook her head.

“I’m not hungry.”

Zivah studied her for a moment.

Not pushing.

But noticing.

“Okay,” she said softly.

“You should rest then.”

A pause.

“I’ll take the couch.”

Eraya immediately shook her head.

“No… I’ll sleep on the floor.

You take the bed.”

Zivah frowned slightly.

“That’s not happening.”

“It’s fine,” Eraya insisted quietly.

“I’m used to…”

“That’s exactly why you’re not sleeping on the floor,”
Zivah interrupted gently, but firmly.

Their eyes met.

Eraya stilled.

Zivah’s voice softened.

“The bed is yours.”

A pause.

“No arguments.”

Something in her tone,
didn’t leave room for resistance.

Eraya nodded slowly.

A few minutes later, Zivah knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

“Yeah?”

She entered quietly, holding a glass of water.

She placed it on the bedside table.

“Drink this before you sleep.”

Eraya nodded.

Zivah hesitated for a moment.

Then said softly,

“Good night, Eraya.”

“Good night…”

Zivah stepped out.

On the couch, Zivah lay back,

staring at the ceiling.

Her stomach growled faintly.

She exhaled.

“Great,” she murmured.

“Heroic decisions, zero dinner.”

She got up, drank a glass of milk, and returned.

If she didn’t eat… I won’t either.

The thought came naturally.

Not forced.

And she didn’t question it.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet she was used to,
the one filled with tension,

with the possibility of footsteps approaching,

with the instinct to always be alert.

This quiet…
did not demand anything from her.

And somehow,
that made it harder.

Eraya stood near the bed for a long moment before sitting down.

Carefully.

As if the softness beneath her might disappear if she trusted it too much.

The mattress dipped slightly.

Welcoming.

Unfamiliar.

Her fingers pressed lightly against the fabric beside her.

Soft.

Too soft.

Her throat tightened.

Why does it feel like this…?

She wasn’t used to things that gave.

Things that adjusted to her instead of forcing her to adjust to them.

She slowly lay down, her back stiff at first,

her body not knowing how to relax into something that didn’t hurt.

Her hand moved instinctively toward her bag.

She pulled out the small folded blanket.

Old.

Worn at the edges.

But safe and clean.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded it.

“This… is mine.”

Her mother’s voice flickered faintly in her memory.

A day blurred by time,

warm hands wrapping the blanket around her small shoulders.

“You’ll sleep better with this.”

A promise.

One that had outlived everything else.

Eraya pulled it over herself now,
clutching it closer than necessary.

As if it could anchor her.

As if it could remind her that she still existed somewhere beneath everything that had changed.

Her gaze moved slowly across the ceiling.

This room…

No cracks.

No stains.

No shadows that felt like they were hiding something.

Just… stillness.

Why does it feel safe…?

The question came like a whisper.

Careful.

Afraid of its own existence.

Her chest tightened.

Nothing has ever felt like this.

Her thoughts shifted.

Unsteady.

Uncertain.

She gave me this bed…

Her fingers curled slightly into the blanket.

She didn’t even think twice…

Zivah’s voice echoed faintly in her mind,

“The bed is yours.”

Not asked.

Not negotiated.

Given.

Her breathing hitched.

Why…?

Her eyes closed briefly.

But her thoughts didn’t stop.

They never did.

People don’t just give things like this…

Her mind searched for the catch.

The condition.

The moment where this would turn into something she had to repay.

Something she had to earn.

But,
there wasn’t one.

Not yet.

And that scared her more than anything.

What if I don’t understand this…?

Her chest rose and fell unevenly.

What if I do something wrong…?

Her fingers tightened.

What if she realizes she made a mistake…?

The thought came sharp.

Fast.

Familiar.

What if she leaves too…?

Her eyes opened again.

Staring at nothing.

Because leaving
that was something she understood.

That was something she knew how to survive.

But this,
this quiet care,
this softness,

I don’t know how to stay in this…

Her lips parted slightly as her breath trembled.

I don’t know how to be someone who belongs here…

Zivah’s words returned.

“You don’t have to earn your place with me.”

Her throat tightened painfully.

How…?

The question broke inside her.

Not angry.

Not rejecting.

Just… lost.

How do you not earn something…?

Because everything in her life,
every small space she had ever occupied,
had come with conditions.

Be quiet.

Be invisible.

Be less.

And even then,

it had never been enough.

Her hand pressed against her chest.

As if trying to steady the storm building inside.

What if I break this too…?

Her breathing slowed.

Not because the thoughts stopped,
but because exhaustion finally began to weigh heavier than fear.

The softness of the bed no longer felt unfamiliar.

It felt…
dangerously comforting.

And that,
was something she didn’t know how to fight.

Her grip on the blanket loosened slightly.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

And somewhere between fear and comfort,

she drifted into sleep

In the morning,
The knock came sharp.

Loud.

Persistent.

Zivah jolted awake, her body reacting before her mind caught up.

“What—”

The knocking didn’t stop.

She stumbled toward the door, still half-asleep,

her hair falling messily around her face as she pulled it open.

“ZIVAH!”

Shivani pushed past her immediately, her voice loud, breath uneven with frustration.

“Where were you?! Do you have any idea how many times we called you?!”

Zivah winced slightly, immediately glancing toward the bedroom.

“Shivi—lower your voice.”

Anamika stepped in behind Shivani, her expression serious,

eyes scanning the room quickly.

“Why?” she asked.

Then—
she saw it.

The couch.

The blanket.

The pillow.

Her gaze snapped back to Zivah.

“…Zi?”

Zivah ran a hand over her face.

“Someone’s inside. Sleeping.”

Shivani froze.

Then slowly turned.
A smirk tugged at her lips.

“Oh… so that’s what’s been going on—”

“Shivi,” Anamika cut in. “Focus.”

She stepped closer to Zivah.

“You disappeared for two days,” she said, her voice lower but no less intense.

“No calls. No messages. Nothing. What happened?”

Zivah looked at both of them.

Her expression shifting.

Serious.

Grounded.

“Sit,” she said.

Something in her tone made them listen.

They sat on the kitchen stools.

Facing her.

Zivah inhaled slowly.

“Whatever I’m about to say… you need to listen completely before reacting.”

Shivani crossed her arms.

Already defensive.

Anamika nodded.

“Say it.”

Zivah didn’t look away.

“The person inside… is Eraya.”

Silence.

A beat.

Two.

Then,

Shivani choked on the water she had just taken.

“WHAT?!”

Anamika’s eyes widened, her lips parting in disbelief.

But Zivah didn’t stop.

“I married her.”

This time,
complete silence.

Anamika blinked.

“…You what?”

“Are you serious right now?!”

Zivah explained everything.

Every detail.

Every moment.

By the time she finished,

Shivani stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Zivah’s expression didn’t change.

“I’m serious.”

“No—you cannot be serious!” Shivani snapped,

her voice rising, hands gesturing wildly.

“You disappeared, come back, and casually say you married the most closed-off, rude—”

“Careful,” Zivah cut in, her voice calm,

but sharp enough to stop her.

Shivani laughed bitterly.

“No, you be careful! Do you even hear yourself?

You married someone you don’t even know!”

“I know enough,” Zivah replied,

her tone steady.

“Oh really?” Shivani shot back.

“What do you know?

That she doesn’t talk to anyone?

That she walks around like she’s better than everyone else?

That she rejects every single person who tries to help her—”

“She doesn’t reject people because she thinks she’s better,” Zivah said,

her voice tightening slightly.

“She does it because she has never been safe enough not to.”

Shivani paused.

But only for a second.

“That’s not your responsibility!” she snapped.

“You don’t fix people by marrying them, Zivah!”

“I didn’t marry her to fix her.”

“Then why?!” Shivani demanded, her voice almost breaking now.

“Why would you do something this extreme?! There were other ways—”

“There weren’t,” Zivah said firmly.

“There are always other ways!” Shivani argued.

“You could have taken her away, helped her somehow, but marriage?

Do you even understand what that means?!”

Zivah stepped closer now.

Her calm beginning to crack—not into anger, but into something deeper.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I do.”

Shivani shook her head.

“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you wouldn’t tie your entire life to someone like—”

“Someone like what?” Zivah said.

Her voice dropped.

Dangerously calm.

Shivani hesitated.

Then said it anyway.

“…someone like her.”

The words hung.

Ugly.

Heavy.

And something in Zivah snapped.

“Mind your language,” she said, her voice no longer soft.

“You’re not just talking about her.”

A pause.

“You’re talking about my wife.”

The word landed harder this time.

Final.

Real.

Shivani stared at her.

Hurt flickering beneath the anger.

“Since when do you even talk like this?”

she asked, her voice quieter now—but sharper.

“Since when do you put someone else above us?”

Zivah’s expression shifted.

Not defensive.

But firm.

“I’m not putting anyone above anyone,” she said.

“But I’m not letting you disrespect her either.”

Anamika stepped in quickly, sensing the tension rising too fast.

“Both of you—stop.”

Her voice cut through cleanly.

“This is not the way to have this conversation.”

But before either of them could respond—
the bedroom door creaked open.

Eraya stood there.

Frozen.

Her eyes wide.

Her breathing uneven.

She hadn’t meant to listen.

But the voices,
they had pulled her out.

And the words,
they had held her there.

someone like her…

Her fingers curled slightly into her sleeves.

Her body stiffened instinctively.

Ready.

For what came next.

Zivah saw her immediately.

And everything else—
fell away.

She moved toward her slowly.

Carefully.

“Hey,”
she said softly.

Her voice gentler than before.

Grounding.

Eraya didn’t move.

Didn’t respond.

Zivah turned slightly toward her friends.

“This is Anamika,” she said, her tone steady.
“And that’s Shivani.”
“They are my bestfreinds”

Then,

“This is Eraya.”

Shivani stepped forward.

Her expression unreadable.

But her voice—
sharp.

“Oh, I know her,” she said, her lips curving into a thin, sarcastic smile.

“Hard to miss someone who acts like the entire college doesn’t exist.”

Eraya flinched.

It was small.

Barely noticeable.

But it was there.

Zivah’s jaw tightened.

Anamika grabbed Shivani’s arm instantly.

“Enough,” she said under her breath.

But Shivani wasn’t done.

“No really,” she continued, her tone dripping with restrained frustration.

“You’ve never spoken to anyone, never tried to be part of anything, and suddenly you’re—what? Married into our lives?”

Each word hit.

Not loud.

But precise.

Eraya’s gaze dropped.

Her breathing shallow now.

Zivah stepped slightly in front of her.

Not blocking.

But standing.

Present.

“That’s enough, Shivani,” she said.

This time—
there was no softness.

Only clarity.

Anamika pulled Shivani back.

“Come,” she said firmly.
“We’re leaving. Right now.”

Shivani resisted for a second.

Her eyes flickering between Zivah and Eraya.

Between anger and something else she didn’t know how to name.

Then finally,
she let Anamika pull her away.

The door closed behind them.

And the silence that followed,
was heavier than anything that had been said.

Zivah turned back to Eraya slowly.

Carefully.

Because she knew,
this moment mattered.

And this time,
she wouldn’t let it break.
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