Meeting Mridula at the railway station felt like a moment of solace amidst the chaos. She stood there, waiting, her eyes filled with concern the moment she spotted me. My heart clenched as I saw the question in her gaze even before she spoke. "What happened, Nila? Why do you look like this?" she asked, her voice soft but urgent.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "Abhinav... he's not who he appears to be," I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. Saying the words out loud made it feel more real, and suddenly, the weight of what I had just done—of what I had just escaped—settled heavily on my shoulders.
Mridula frowned, gripping my arm as we moved towards a quieter corner of the station. "Tell me everything, Nila. What did he do?"
I took a deep breath, my pulse pounding in my ears. "I don't even know where to begin. He was perfect, Mridula. At least, that's what I thought. Kind, respectful, educated, from a good family... everyone said we were a great match. And I believed them. I let myself believe them." I let out a bitter laugh. "I thought I was the luckiest girl. But it was all a lie."
"A lie? How?" she pressed, her brows furrowing with worry.
I hesitated, my fingers clenching around the fabric of my half-saree. "I overheard him talking to his friends last night. They were laughing, joking about how I was 'well-trained,' how I would be an 'obedient wife.' How, despite my education, my independence, I was still just another woman who would eventually bow down to her husband's wishes." My voice cracked. "He said it, Mridula. That he 'allowed' me to be independent now, but once we were married, I would know my place. That he was 'tolerating' my ambitions because it made me look impressive to society. That, in the end, I would be a wife first, and my dreams would come second. If they even mattered at all."
Mridula's grip tightened on my hand, her expression darkening. "That's disgusting. And this whole time, he made you think he respected you?"
I nodded, tears burning behind my eyes. "Yes. And worse, I let myself believe it. I was so blinded by the idea of a perfect match, of making my parents proud, that I ignored all the signs. I thought I was in control. But I was just another girl being molded into what society expects."
"Nila..." she whispered, her voice laced with anger. "You did the right thing. Running away was the right thing. Imagine if you had married him. Imagine the life you would have lived, constantly justifying yourself, fighting for space that was rightfully yours."
A shiver ran down my spine. "I know. And that's what terrifies me. That I came so close to losing myself. If I hadn't overheard that conversation, I would be sitting in my wedding mandap right now, smiling, believing in a future that never truly existed."
Mridula exhaled sharply. "Men like him don't change, Nila. They just hide their true nature until it's too late. I'm so glad you saw it before it was."
"Me too," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But it still hurts, Mridula. The betrayal, the humiliation. What will I tell my parents? How will I face everyone?"
She cupped my cheek gently. "You don't owe anyone an explanation. You saved yourself, and that's all that matters. Let's get out of here."
I swallowed hard and nodded. "We need to get out of the city before my family finds out I'm gone," I continued, gripping her hand as if it were my only lifeline. I knew the moment my family discovered my absence, calls would flood in, questions would be asked, and I would be forced to explain something I was not yet ready to articulate. I didn't even know how to process it myself, let alone justify it to them.
Mridula nodded without hesitation. "I got open tickets already," she said, and for the first time that night, a flicker of relief washed over me. She had anticipated my need to escape, had prepared for it even before I could voice it.
We hurried towards the platform, pushing through the crowd. The station was bustling even at this hour, filled with travelers burdened by heavy luggage and weary expressions. I, on the other hand, looked completely out of place—my silk half-saree draped elegantly, the golden embroidery catching the dim station lights. My hair was still pinned up in the intricate bridal style, and the scent of jasmine from my braid mixed oddly with the smells of sweat and railway grime.
We boarded the train, stepping into an unreserved compartment that was crowded and far from clean. It smelled of stale sweat and metal, the air thick with exhaustion. Passengers were sprawled across seats and the floor, their tired eyes barely registering my presence. I felt like an imposter among them, a bride who had run away not just from a wedding but from an entire life that had been meticulously planned for her.
We moved towards the door of the train, standing by it as the cool night air rushed past us. The wind tugged at my dupatta, a stark contrast to the suffocating weight inside me. I turned to Mridula, my voice breaking as I whispered, "I feel betrayed. Not just by Abhinav, but by everything I believed in."
I had done everything right. I was the girl who had followed the rules, who had excelled in studies, who had made her family proud at every step. I had left home at an early age to become a residential student, something uncommon for many South Indian girls. My parents had been hesitant, but I had convinced them, eager to experience the independence that hostel life offered.
From then on, I had built a life outside the sheltered walls of my home. I had chosen a course that gave me the opportunity to study abroad, spending a year in the UK as part of an exchange program. My undergraduate degree bore the seal of a foreign university, a matter of pride for my family. Even when I returned, I traveled alone to Delhi for further studies, ignoring warnings about how unsafe it was for women. I had seen the world beyond my small town. I had made my own choices, worked through a recession, and found my place in the workforce.
And yet, despite all this, I had let myself believe in the fantasy of a perfect arranged marriage. I had allowed society's approval to dictate my choices, trusting that if everything aligned—family, status, education, and tradition—nothing could go wrong. But it had. It had gone horribly, unspeakably wrong.
"I thought I was in control of my life," I murmured, staring at the blurred city lights as the train picked up speed. "But I was just playing by rules that were never meant to protect me."
Mridula sighed, squeezing my hand. "Nila, you are in control. You made the choice to leave. That's something. That's everything."
The train rocked gently as it sped forward, taking me further away from the world I had known. I didn't know where I was going, or what would come next, but for now, I held onto one simple truth: I had chosen myself. And for the first time, that had to be enough.