All she saw when she looked at the vast round staircase was when as a child, she’d be curled up on the steps, praying her parents would stop fighting. The tall French windows reminded her how she’d spend hours looking out, hoping her father would come home to them. She ran her eyes over the massive space and remembered how she’d come home after graduation and found only silence in every corner of the house.
Even now, walking beside Abhay, his palm firmly in place at the small of her back, she felt that old tension in her spine.
She hated how he looked impossibly calm. He was casually dressed in a fitted maroon shirt and navy jeans. His hair was unruly in a way that made her want to reach up and fix it.
She smoothed the front of her lavender chikankari kurti and took a deep breath, telling herself she’ll get through it in one piece.
They stepped past the archway into the drawing room and then she sawher.
Sharda Kashyap sat in a wingback chair, hands resting on the curved armrests like she was presiding over court. Her silver hair was pulled back in a bun so tight, it often made her wonder if she struggled with headaches. Her cheekbones remained sharp even in her late seventies, but the frown lines on her forehead had deepened.
Her white cotton saree was starched to a crease, and she always wore it draped in the old Banarasi style of her hometown. Her eyes were angry, looking at her with a disapproving stare.
Siya didn’t realise she’d stopped walking until Abhay flexed his hand on her back. She stepped forward when he did and greeted her. ‘Namaste, Dadi.’
‘You sure took your sweet time in coming here. Don’t you know I take my medication at nine?’ she scolded her sternly.
How could she? Her father had conveniently failed to mention her grandmother would be here too.
Siya felt her pulse skip, and fisted her palm to fight the instinct to recoil. ‘I’m sorry. There was a lot of work to be finalised by today. We lost track of time.’
Sharda hummed. ‘I don’t understand what has happened to the women of this age. None of you seem to understand the value of family time.’
She hadn’t heard her voice in months, but her words still rang in her memory, clear as ever.No decent girl from a good family should work past marriage.
‘It’s good to see you too,’ she said, biting her cheek to tap down her anger.
Abhay guided her to the plush sofa and she took a seat far from Sharda.
Sharda folded her hands in her lap and said, ‘I hear the soft launch went well. Though now that you’re married, shouldn’t you be thinking about quitting your job? A woman can’t chase ambition and keep a marriage happy, not for long anyway.’
The remark landed like a pin dropping in a quiet room, impossible to ignore. But Siya made sure to stay quiet. She’d learned painstakingly over the years that reacting only gave her grandmother more space to twist the knife deeper.
Abhay didn’t hold back though. ‘She’s handling the launch of a whole new jewellery collection, Dadi. That’s not exactly a nine-to-five.’
Sharda barely glanced at him as she rumbled. ‘You’re still young so you don’t understand. A woman’s first responsibility is always her marriage. Everything else she wants comes last.’
‘Luckily for us, our marriage isn’t built on sacrifices and control that women often have to struggle with,’ Abhay said, looking directly at Sharda.
Sharda was stunned into silence, not used to being spoken to like that. Clearing her throat, she said, ‘Still, it’s important to remember what real priorities are. Instead of slowing down, women like Siya get so swept up in their careers and their public image that they forget how to be wives.’
Abhay didn’t miss a beat. ‘Some of us believe women can do both, and Siya has always managed that balance effortlessly, especially considering where she comes from.’
Sharda made a cool, offhand remark. ‘You are an interesting man. Husbands don’t usually encourage their wives’ work.’
Abhay found her hand, lacing their fingers together. ‘For their bravery and strength, women deserve more people cheering for them. And I’m always going to be the loudest voice in the room for my wife.’
Emotion choked her, and Siya tightened her hold on his hand.
Sharda scoffed. ‘Well, I suppose times are changing then.’
‘They are and I think we’re all better for it,’ Abhay answered, sincerely.
Siya realised that this place may never feel like home, but with her hand nestled in his, she was finally home.
Siya sighed in relief when Neena and Mihit entered the room. She stood immediately to greet her, the memory of the auction only a day old was fresh enough to sting. ‘Aunty, Uncle, I hope the drive wasn’t too long.’
Neena smiled at her, and it softened the sharp edges of her nerves. ‘Oh, we’re used to the chaotic traffic by now.’
