Dhiviya forced a tight-lipped smile. "I rang the bell. Three times."
"Oh?" Anjana giggled, flipping her hair. "I must not have heard."
Athavan, who had remained silent until now, let out a soft exhale.
Interesting relatives, he thought.
Before Dhiviya could respond, Anjana's eyes flicked to the gleaming BMW parked in the driveway.
"Whose car is that?"
"My father-in-law gifted it for the wedding," Dhiviya answered cautiously.
Anjana's smirk widened. "Oh? Must be nice. Actually... why don't we swap cars for a few days? I'll take this one, and you can use my Bezza."
Dhiviya's stomach turned.
Of course. Exactly the kind of shameless demand she expected.
She turned to Athavan, silently pleading for him to say something. Anything.
But he didn't.
His expression didn't change. His eyes remained locked on Anjana—as if she were nothing more than background noise.
The silence stretched uncomfortably.
Then, without a word, he moved toward the BMW and opened the door—not to protest, but to help the driver transfer their luggage into Anjana's car.
A slow, hollow anger curled in Dhiviya's chest.
This was a battle already lost. Fighting would only make her look petty.
She nodded once.
Fine. Take the damn car.
The front door creaked again.
Raja Shekar stepped out, his expression unreadable.
"Dhiviya," he said briskly, "the wedding's done. Report to the office tomorrow. Noon sharp. There's an important client meeting."
No greeting. No acknowledgment of her husband. Just instructions.
Then came the final blow.
"Also, bring the wedding gift bank card. I need to settle some company payments."
Her stomach dropped.
This wasn't a request. It was a command.
She clenched her fists. Her wedding day had barely ended, and already, they were taking everything.
She turned to Athavan again.
He stood still, gaze fixed on her uncle's back. His face? Still unreadable.
For the first time, frustration twisted into something darker.
Why is he like this? Why doesn't he care?
The weight on her chest thickened.
For the first time since the ceremony, Dhiviya felt utterly, completely alone.
Later That Evening
The car ride was silent.
Dhiviya stared at her hands, her fingers twisting in her lap. Her chest was heavy with unspoken emotion.
Guilt. Shame. Resentment.
I married for money.
Even if it was for her father's life—even if she had no choice—the truth stayed the same.
She had sold herself. And now she sat next to a man who didn't speak. Didn't react.
Didn't seem to care.
She glanced at Athavan. He sat with his eyes closed, calm, composed. Breathing slow and even.
Does he even feel anything? Any disappointment? Regret?
She scoffed inwardly.
Of course not.
He was just like her.
Bound by duty.
The car slowed in front of a modest apartment complex. It wasn't grand—but it was home.
The driver stepped out to open the trunk.
Dhiviya reached for her purse. "Thank you," she murmured, handing him some cash.
The driver nodded. "Madam, I'll leave the car here as you instructed. I'll take a cab from the main road."
She barely acknowledged him. "Come," she muttered.
Athavan followed silently, carrying the heavy bags with ease—as if they weighed nothing.
They climbed four flights of stairs.
Athavan's steps didn't falter. His breath remained steady.
Inside the Apartment
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Archana rushed forward, holding a silver tray with a lit diya. The scent of camphor wrapped around them as she performed a quick aarti.
"Why didn't you call when you arrived?" she scolded. "I would've sent Guna down to help with the bags."
"It's alright, Atte," Athavan replied, his tone neutral.
Dhiviya froze.
It was the first time she'd heard him address her mother.
There was something about the way he said it—formal, distant... final.
Inside, her father, Vasanthan, sat on the couch.
He looked weaker than she remembered—skin pale, frame thinner. He offered Athavan a small nod. "Welcome, son."
The only person who didn't move was Guna Seelan, her younger brother. He sat slouched, arms crossed, eyes sharp with judgment.
He hadn't even come to the wedding.
"So this is the guy, huh?" Guna muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.
He scanned Athavan from head to toe: a typical foreign-born Tamil, dressed like a village yogi. No polish. No presence.
And somehow, completely unbothered.
Dhiviya tensed. "Guna, not now."
"Not now?" he snapped, sitting up straight. "You were forced into this marriage, Akka. And you're just going along with it?"
"I did what I had to do."
Guna let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Right. Just like you always do."
Archana glared at him. "Guna, enough."
Silence clamped down on the room.
Vasanthan cleared his throat. "Where did you park the car? Inside the compound or outside?"
Dhiviya looked down, her voice small.
"I... I swapped cars with Anjana."
The room froze.
Vasanthan's eyes narrowed.
Archana's face paled.
And Guna?
Guna exploded.
"YOU WHAT?!"
His voice rattled the windows. "You gave that snake your car?!"
"I didn't have a choice—"
"Bullshit!"
His fists clenched. "Let me guess—the wedding money too? Did you hand that over?"
Dhiviya said nothing.
Guna let out a laugh—cold and hollow. "Of course. And you just let them take everything?!"
"Guna, that's enough," Archana snapped, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He shook her off.
His disappointment stung more than his rage.
Then Vasanthan spoke—quiet, steady. "Son-in-law, after a few days here, you and Dhiviya should move into the house your family gifted you."
Dhiviya hesitated. "Uncle already decided to rent it out."
A muscle in Vasanthan's jaw twitched.
Guna erupted again. "Give them everything, Akka! The car, the house, the money—why stop there? Hand them your soul too!"
SLAP.
Archana's palm cracked across his cheek.
Guna's glare smoldered. Then, without a word, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
"I'm sorry, Maapilai," Vasanthan said, shame in his voice. "This isn't the welcome we wanted to give you."
Athavan turned calmly to Archana.
"Can I get a cup of coffee?"
The room went still.
After all that shouting, that's what he said?
Archana blinked, then rushed to the kitchen. Dhiviya stared at him like he was a riddle with no answer.
Athavan turned to her.
"Where's our room?"
The phrase our room sent a chill through her spine.
She pointed. He picked up his bag, walked in, and closed the door behind him.
Moments Later
Athavan reemerged, now dressed in a simple black dhoti and white shirt—he looked like a village priest who wandered into a war zone.
He took the coffee from Archana, sipping slowly.
Then, he spoke.
"I need to tell you something."
Everyone turned.
He pulled a bank card from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of Dhiviya.
"This is my personal savings. Use it for the house. Or for yourself."
Dhiviya shook her head quickly. "No. Your family's already given too much—"
"This isn't from them. It's mine.
The password is your birthday: 210395.
As your husband, it's my duty to provide."
Then, with composure:
"I'm fasting for my mother's mourning period. Three months remain.
Until then, I will not fulfill any... marital obligations."
Dhiviya's face flushed crimson. Her parents looked away, mortified.
"I'll share a room with your son temporarily."
Just then, Guna stormed back in.
His face twisted in horror.
"WHAT?! You're sleeping in my room? Are you married to my sister or to me?!"
SLAP.
This time, it was Vasanthan.
Guna staggered back, stunned.
Athavan took another sip. He choose to ignore the Joker "Guna".
"Atte, next time I'll make my own coffee."
And without waiting for a reaction, he turned, walked back into the bedroom, and closed the door.
The house was silent.
Except for the sound of hearts still racing.
The End.
Hindu Mythological / Cultural / Belief Reference – Chapter 3
Aarti – A Hindu ritual of worship involving the circular waving of a small flame (usually a diya or camphor) before a deity or respected person. It represents devotion, purification, and the offering of light and reverence. In family settings, it's also used to welcome newlyweds or guests as a blessing.
Camphor – A substance burned in many Hindu rituals, producing a bright flame and distinct scent. It symbolizes the destruction of ego (as it burns without residue) and the illumination of spiritual awareness. Its presence in rituals invokes purity and surrender to the divine.
Fasting During Mourning – In Hindu belief, fasting is a sign of grief and spiritual discipline. During mourning periods (often 13 days, but longer in special observances), food restrictions are practiced to honor the departed, detach from worldly indulgences, and purify the self. Athavan's one year fast shows intense emotional discipline and reverence for his mother.
Akka / Atte / Maapilai –
Akka: Means "elder sister" in Tamil. A respectful, affectionate term used within family and close community circles.
Atte: A Tamil term for "mother-in-law," typically referring to mother in law and elderly woman relative (father's female siblings).
Maapilai: Refers to the "groom" or "son-in-law." In Tamil households, the maapilai is often treated with ceremonial respect—but also expected to conform to family expectations.
The Concept of Duty (Dharma) – Dharma refers to moral, familial, and social responsibilities in Hindu philosophy. In this chapter, Dhiviya's reluctant compliance and Athavan's stoic restraint both mirror how individuals often sacrifice personal freedom to uphold collective harmony—however unjust it may feel.
Yogi – A yogi is a practitioner of yoga, in its complete spiritual form—not just physical postures, but the disciplined pursuit of self-mastery and liberation (moksha). Yogis are often revered for their control over emotions, detachment from material desires, and deep inner strength.