The wind whispered softly through the mist-covered window of their room. Outside... rain continued its quiet tapping against the glass, a lullaby of the mountains. Occasionally, thunder was heard. Inside, a mild yellow light from the lamp cast a golden glow across the walls, warm but not too bright.

Deepak was seated on the edge of the bed, towel around his shoulders, still slightly damp from the drizzle they had walked through during dinner. Priya had been pacing the floor slowly. Not out of restlessness, but out of necessity-to hold her nerves together.

She had just told him to wait before sleeping but when the plates were cleared, she couldn't find words.

Words that carried decades of buried pain.

She stopped by the window and looked out into the darkness.

"Have you ever seen a dog bite a rose?" she asked him.

Deepak, confused, looked up. "A dog?"

She nodded slowly still facing the window. "Have you ever thought if the flower could cry?"

He looked at her, brows furrowed. "No... I mean, I haven't thought like that."

She turned slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think it's possible? That something can be bruised but nobody cares because it doesn't scream loud enough?"

Deepak sat up straighter, his heart beating a little faster. "Priya..."

She finally turned towards him.

"My first memory of confusion was when I was eight," she began. "It was during my third standard summer vacation. He came over. My Kannan maama - my father's sister's husband... He gave me a chocolate and called me to sit on his lap. I did. I was a child. I didn't know what bad touch meant. He touched my back, my arms... and smiled as if it was normal."

Deepak didn't move. His fingers tightened around the towel unconsciously.

"I couldn't even understand what he was doing to me... My amma always said he cares about me like a father... I was just 3 when he got married to my athai (aunt)... He should've seen me as his daughter, right.... I tried to see him as a father figure but he didn't want a daughter in me...."

Tears spilled from her eyes and her voice cracked, "Will a father touch his daughter's bare skin and pinch it? Will any father touch his daughter's chest? I couldn't say what was wrong with his touch... But I felt so uncomfortable even at that tender age."

She paused for a moment, turning away from him again.

"And one day when it was some temple festival, that demon unleashed himself over me... Nobody was there at home.. I was just 14..." She told and howled with tears.

She slapped her forehead with her hands, "I pleaded to him... Begged him... He didn't listen... He was drunk like anything and ruined my life...."

Deepak's breath hitched, looking at her state. He hugged her gently and sat on the floor. The revelation was too heavy for him.

"Nobody believed me... My mom scolded me for lying. My father didn't even ask that bastard a word... No fight. No anger. Nothing."

Her voice broke.

"And my maama's wife said that he might have mistaken me as her and had intimacy with me.... That day I understood the real faces of the so-called elders of my family. They stooped lower than my slippers..."

She wiped the stray tears from her cheeks, "And from there... I learned to keep quiet. Because the truth is... I am an orphan with relatives..."

Deepak opened his mouth but didn't speak. She wasn't finished.

"My appa never wanted a daughter... He always kept me at a distance. They couldn't conceive another child, so left with me... no other way. He never hit me or hugged me and my amma did what my appa told her."

The room was quiet except for the rhythmic ticking of the old wall clock.

"All my friends in the village had toxic households. Some discontinued studies after hitting puberty, some got married young... some had 3 or 4 babies, becoming maids and machines. It left us cold inside." She resumed her words but her eyes were very distant.

Deepak's mouth was dry. "Priya... I-I didn't know..."

She shook her head, eyes glistening. "How would you, Deepak? I never told you. Nobody tell their husbands that they have been spoilt by human devils. We were always told to put our family's pride before our own. I didn't even know if I could trust you..."

"But you were so patient with me," she continued after a pause. "I was so scared."

He took in a deep breath.

She sighed, "Scared of men. Scared of love. Scared of my own body, the way I dressed... I was scared if my dress was too revealing... I was scared if any man would find me attractive and come behind me... I was scared of being seen, of being touched, of being made a wife."

He could just imagine her plight.

"You know... during our first night, I was terrified... What would you do to me! Many things happen to girls in silence..."

Deepak's heart thudded, each word of hers like soft hammers against his ribs.

She looked up at him, her voice turning raw. "They didn't trust me when I said I wanted to study. They didn't trust me when I said I wasn't ready for marriage. They didn't trust me when I cried about my maama. And I thought that you wouldn't trust me too. So, I wanted to create boundaries first..."

She wiped a tear, but another followed silently, "My parents showed many grooms in my village itself... I wanted to go far away... When your profile came to me.. I saw you as a way out, Deepak..."

Deepak took her hand gently.

"I asked you for a divorce, so that I could live happily... without my parents and without any man near me..." Her throat was dry.

The rain had quieted outside but her heart was still heavy.

"I fought hard to leave my town, Deepak," she began softly, staring at her hands. "Girls from small towns dream of cities. For me, it was survival."

He turned to her, listening.

"My father didn't want me to go to another city for studies. He didn't even want me to complete school properly. He pressed me to get married before I became an adult. I blackmailed them that I will tell the whole village that my maama raped me.. they could have killed me for honour but they let me go... surprisingly."

She looked at Deepak now, her voice firmer, "I grabbed the train without a goodbye. I never came home for vacation either."

Deepak's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"It was a girls' college which I felt was safer," she paused, smiling faintly, "I could breathe freely, those 3 years of UG. I need not prove my worth or beg for freedom."

She looked ahead, as if watching the memories replay on an invisible screen.

"I did things I never thought I could. I learned kathak online and practiced steps late into the night. I learned how to get lost in rhythm instead of fear. How to laugh without waiting for someone to tell me I was being too loud. I learnt to speak in English, to level up confidently, presentations etcetera. But I couldn't dress freely, Deepak... the way you wanted me to dress up... in jeans, shirts, the modern dresses... My body isn't the same even after these many years...."

Deepak tried to change the topic. "You must've gone through a major glow up."

She didn't blush. Instead, she tilted her head and continued.

"And then, one afternoon, I got a call from Amma that he passed away."

She paused.

Deepak's expression didn't shift much, but his fingers curled slightly on her cheeks.

"Multiple organ failure," Priya said, as if reading from a report card. "Apparently he drank himself to a wreck. Chain smoker. Bad liver. Kidneys collapsed. His heart was weak. Every karma hit him up..."

She paused.

"I lied to amma that I had an exam and won't come for the funeral." She turned to look at Deepak.

He blinked, his gaze fixed on her face.

"I went straight to my dorm room, closed the door, plugged in my earphones and danced. I danced for two hours. Full volume. Peppy kuthu songs with ridiculous lyrics and impossible beats."

She laughed now-a breathy, almost guilty sound. The one moment where her eyes were evil but happy.

"I jumped on my mattress. I twirled around in my nighty. I laughed until tears came. I must've looked like a mad girl to anyone peeking through the window. But Deepak, I was celebrating."

She looked at him then, straight into his eyes.

"Not because someone died. But because he died."

There was no bitterness in her tone. No vengeance. Just relief.

"I know it sounds wrong. Uncaring. But that day... I felt something lift off my chest. Like I didn't have to hide anymore. I didn't have to worry about anyone."

Deepak's face had softened into something unreadable. He wasn't blinking much. His fingers now rested gently near hers, not touching, just close.

Priya's voice dropped.

"That's the thing, Deepak. No one knew how I felt these many years. The relationship with my parents is on the rocks. It's never the same at my house. I can never forget or forgive them. I chose to be silent, that's it."

Deepak swallowed hard. "I don't know what to say. It's too much for me to digest..."

She shook her head gently. "You don't have to say anything tonight. I just wanted you to know. All of me. Not just the girl who smiled at cotton candy or danced in rain or kissed you with trembling hands. This Priya has a void in her heart..."

She turned to him, her voice suddenly tender. "You deserve to know. Not because you are my husband... but because you treated me like a human. You've been gentle. And patient. And kind. I needed you to know the full picture. Before we go any further."

A hush settled over them again. For her it wasn't heavy. It was comforting and calm.

She leaned to kiss his chin, gently and calmly. Her heart didn't race this time... She felt safe, heard and respected.

Her kiss lingered much longer than his previous kiss. He combed her hair with his fingers and parted away, "Can we sleep now?"

"Thank you," she whispered. "For listening to me."

And just like that, Priya exhaled. For the first time in years, she felt her past didn't own her. She had spoken it into the world. And he hadn't flinched.

He replied, "I may not understand the full weight of what you carry. But I can promise you that I trust you fully."

That made her to breathe.

"But you have to know," he said, swallowing, "that this wasn't your fault."

She blinked back another tear.

He recalled, "When you scorched yourself in hot water, I knew something was amiss. I saw something deep in you... And now... I know why those walls existed."

There was silence.

Then she whispered, "You really believe me?"

He took her hands and placed them gently on his chest, "I do."

She rest her forehead on his chest.

"Thank you," she whispered.

And that was enough for her.

In the quiet that followed, the clock ticked past midnight. The mist outside thickened. But in Room 204, there was warmth: Not passion or lust.

Warmth of truth.

And acceptance.