Married To A Stranger

Sreesha POV:

‘Getting married is not strange! Getting married is not strange at all!’ I chanted in my head looking at the stranger tying a knot with me.

The stranger I met once, and without a word agreed to marry me.

Sure, he’s handsome, but what is he like on the inside?

What if he is just like my father? After all people with the same nature get along well. How will I survive if he treats me just like my father treated my mother all these years?

I peeked at him through my eyelashes when he applied Sindhoor on my forehead, completing the marriage ritual. He smiled with content as if he had been waiting for this moment all his life.

After conducting a few more rituals, they sent me off with him. I did not cry before leaving my parents’ house like all those other girls. They had hurt me too much; leaving them only reminded me of the pain they’d caused. My brother Tej was looking at me with pure happiness in his eyes. He was the only one who loved me, but even he betrayed me. He left me all alone when I needed him the most.

It was a simple marriage with just our families. Tej insisted on registering my marriage then and there. As if I could leave my husband now.

God! That stranger is my husband now.

And his name is Karthik.

I know nothing about him except his name.

After reaching his home, I was rushed to a guest room. For a manager in an MNC, he sure maintained his house well. It was a two-story individual house with three bedrooms and comfortable furniture.

‘He must be earning a lot,’ I thought, nodding to myself.

I belonged to a middle-class family.

I glanced around the room, but it didn't have anyone's personal touch. It’s like this room belonged to no one in particular.

"Can I talk to my daughter for a few minutes?" I heard my mother ask his mother, "alone," she added. My mother-in-law nodded, leaving us alone.

I felt a hard grip on my wrist. I hissed in pain.

"Never say no to your husband, Sreesha. You should do as he says. For us women, the husband's word should be like a law. Respect him. Accept his every wish whether you like it or not," my mother said, grinding her teeth.

"Never disrespect him. Never raise your voice at him or you will have to face the consequences all alone. Never utter words like higher studies or job, or else see where they land you. Even your brother, who used to support you in everything, denied your wish to work. As your father always says, work is for men, women belong in the kitchen."

My fists tightened hearing her words. Yes, my brother denied my wishes for the first time in my life, but she didn't have to rub it in my face.

"Your wedding night is only a few hours away, Sreesha. If I hear one word against you from your husband, I will not stop your father from teaching you a thing or two this time." She reminded me of the days he slapped me one too many times when I refused to get married. If it wasn't for Tej, I don't know what would have happened to me. He saved me so many times and asked me to trust him and do as my father orders.

'Everything will be fine di, do as father says, and I'll deal with the rest. Just trust me, ' were his exact words.

So, I gave in. I trusted my brother, but I couldn't just forgive him for not stopping this marriage.

And my mother said wedding night! What am I going to say if he finds out that I'm not a virgin?

What will I do if he blames my family for betraying him?

What will my father do?

Would he kill me? Or torture me until I die slowly and painfully.

I wasn't physically abused. Sure, my mother or father would slap me here and there for denying them or if I messed up with work, but thanks to Tej, it never got any worse. He always had my back.

Even though he is a couple years younger than me, he was my savior. My parents loved him to death and granted his every wish, except for one thing—to call them mom and dad. So, Tej called them father and mother because they wouldn't allow me to call them mom and dad.

What are you planning this time, Tej?

"Answer me," my mother hissed, bringing me back from my memories.

Right, wedding night. I nodded my head like a polite pet.

I'm not ready for that step with him. I barely know him. Will he give me time to adjust if I tell him I’m not ready yet?

The answer would be a big NO! I know it; everyone knows it. But there is a tiny bit of hope fluttering in my heart that he is not what he looks like. There must be a heart behind those cold and calculating eyes.

But what if he wouldn't agree to give me time?

What if he forces himself on me?

What if he finds out that I am not a virgin and throws a fit?

What if he becomes abusive? Can I survive one more dominant person in my life?

What if he is indeed a male chauvinist and treats me like his slave?

His mother brought me a plate full of food and asked me to eat. I ate without complaining because I was so hungry as I had been fasting since this morning and it was now 4 pm.

His mother didn't look like those evil mothers-in-law in daily soaps. She looked nice and took care of her appearance. She doesn’t try to be beautiful because she’s naturally beautiful. She would look gorgeous even in rugged clothes. And she smiles all the time; it's one of her traits that attracts everyone. Beauty must run in their family. Karthik's father is just like him—calm, straight, cold and did I mention handsome? He did not look like an old dude at all.

Hours later, Karthik's mother came back with a few boxes in her hands. She gave me a beautiful red sari to change into. They made me sit before a vanity mirror and started working on my skin. His mother experimented on my skin like I was a Barbie, and she was a kid doing makeup and hair. I stayed in the same position for hours, stiff like a statue, not complaining about anything because I knew they would do what they thought was good. I didn't have to strain my vocal cords to complain about a losing battle.

I was on the verge of closing my eyes as sleep was demanding its daily dosage, when a snap on my head brought me back to the real world. The entrance to my dream world faded away.

"Look at you, so beautiful." Karthik’s mother beamed at me. I gave her a small, strained smile.

I actually did look beautiful with all the jewelry and stuff, but I wanted Karthik to know the real me, not the artificial version of me.

'Shut up, Sreesha, you of all people know men admire beauty. Outer beauty, not inner beauty. He will be just like everyone else. Don't you dare keep your hopes high,' my conscience chided me.

As they said in some advertisement, 'men will be men.' My ex belonged to the same category.

"It's time to meet your husband, dear." My mother-in-law shook me gently. I nodded standing up.

When I was in front of what I assumed was his room, my mother’s grip hardened on my wrist again. This time I didn't flinch because there was a special hell waiting for me in the room; what could a little pain do?

"Remember what I said earlier, Sreesha. I mean every word I said."

I nodded again feeling numb.

My mother-in-law opened the doors gently, leading me to a room decorated completely with red roses—my favorite flower. I generally love flowers, but red roses make me smile every time I look at them.

His mother made me sit on his bed, arranging the sari properly. My mother covered my face with a heavy veil that weighed a ton.

My mother left first giving me a warning look, but my mother-in-law stayed beside me, her eyes trained on me.

"You don't have to worry about anything, Sreesha. I raised my son better than you think," she said, patting on my shivering hand which was gripping the bed sheet like my life depended on it.

I didn't know what her words meant. She must be like those moms who turns a blind eye to their children's mistakes. Who knows what he had been doing all these years behind her back?

"You will be fine," she added, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

After a few minutes, the door opened again, revealing a six-foot silhouette in the dimly lit room.

I started hyperventilating. Every fear that had been haunting me surrounded me now. I felt like I was in a small hole with a limited oxygen supply.

"Sreesha." His voice made me jump in fear. I wanted nothing but to crawl into the shadows where he would never find me.

Sreesha POV:

"Sreesha," he called me again.

A chill ran through my spine at the sound of his voice. I could sense that he was coming my way and my palms were damp with sweat. He stopped just a foot away from me. His voice didn't do any good. I was a trembling mess.

I gulped down a gasp when he reached for my hand. Just when he was about to touch it, I flinched a little, and he stopped.

Rejected!

I rejected his touch…and he was aware of it. I closed my eyes waiting for some harsh words or a slap. My mother said men can get angry when they face rejection.

I sensed the bed sinking a few inches away from me. I closed my eyes tightly not wanting to see his enraged face. My grip on the sheets tightened as well.

But to my surprise, his voice greeted me instead of his hand. "Sreesha, please look at me." His voice was as soft as a velvet cake, but with a hint of huskiness, like the cake was topped with whipped cream. Dreamy, I thought.

"Please," he added. This time I accepted his wish, I couldn't deny him anymore. He must be having a hard time controlling his anger. I sent a prayer to God to lessen his rage before he started dealing with me.

I opened my eyes slowly as if I had just gotten out of eye surgery and was making sure my eyesight was clear. I sighed.

I get these weird ideas all the time. First velvet cake with whipped cream, and now eye surgery?

My conscience has played a weird role in my life from the very beginning. It was the sarcastic side of me that always appeared at inconvenient times.

I was met with a pair of the most beautiful chocolate brown eyes I had ever seen, which were looking at me curiously. I lowered my gaze immediately, remembering my mother's words.

Lower your gaze when you're talking to your husband; it is a sign of disrespect to make eye contact.

"Can I hold your hand, Sreesha?" he asked, making my grip hard on the sheets. "Please," he added. I nodded, still not sure why he was asking me when he could do whatever he wanted.

I gasped audibly when his hand met mine. I didn't feel sparks and electricity like they mention in romance books. It was slightly different. I felt secure and comfortable with his touch so, just like that, I released my grip on the bedsheets and allowed him to take my hand into his.

His touch was soft and caring, which was not something I imagined. I thought it would be rough, harsh, or powerful.

He started caressing the back of my palm with his thumb, igniting a small hope in my dead heart.

Hope for what?

"Now that you're breathing normally, I hope you're fine. Can we talk now?" He asked, still caressing my hand. I nodded.

"I'm sorry," he said, I almost heard the crack when I lifted my head swiftly. I would have a sore neck tomorrow.

Did he just say sorry?

"I'm sorry I didn't ask your consent for our marriage," he said, looking straight into my eyes. This time my gaze did not falter. The look in his eyes was sincere. After making sure he wasn't joking, I nodded. I thought he would laugh at me, saying it was a fake apology, but I did not find any lies in his voice or his eyes.

"Talk to me, Sreesha." I kept mum.

"At least say my name," he pleaded, “Do you even know my name?"

There was a hint of anger in his voice which made me nervous. By reflex, I took my hand away from him. I tried to move away, but he stopped me by grabbing my hand.

"Hey…hey relax. I'm not going to hurt you, Sreesha. Relax, okay? I just wanted to know if by any chance you knew my name. Do you think I will hurt you?" He asked, slowing like he was talking to a child. I nodded.

"You do?" I nodded again and hoped I would not have a sprain in my neck with all this nodding. I want to talk to him too but the fear in me crushed my voice.

"Sreesha, I know you're from a different background and environment. Your family must have set a wrong example of marriage for you. But you're not with them anymore; you can throw those ideal wife qualities in a dustbin and be yourself. In the Shekhar family, we men treat our wives as equals. You are not Sreesha Verma anymore; you're Mrs. Sreesha Karthik Shekhar. You're my wife, Sreesha. I would not dream of hurting you. Feel free to voice your thoughts openly and point out my mistakes because a wife has every right to correct her husband's mistakes. And feel free to tell me if you're not ready for the next step in our marriage." His little speech made me speechless. Never had I ever thought he would say all those things.

I kind of like the sound of Sreesha Karthik rather than Sreesha Verma.

Did he just say husband and wife are equals?

Seriously?

If my father heard this, he would have an early death. His stone heart might crack listening to Karthik’s words.

How the hell did my father accept this match again?

'Everything will be fine di, do as father says, and I'll deal with the rest. Just trust me.' I recalled Tej's words. This is what he meant; he knew Karthik was a good person. That is why he did not want to stop the marriage.

Sorry for the misunderstanding, Tej. I love you I mentally told my brother.

"Sreesha," Karthik’s voice pulled me harshly from la la land. "Will you answer me now?"

"Ji," I mumbled.

"I want you to say my name, Sree."

Sree?

"Can I call you Sree from now?" he asked, rubbing his neck. I nodded.

"K-Karthik," I stuttered.

"What? I didn't hear you. Sure, you said something, but I didn't get to hear it," he said frowning.

"Er…Karthik," I said, this time a little louder.

"I missed it again, I think I'm having a hearing problem," he mumbled, touching his ears. I felt bad for him, but I used my regular voice to say his name one last time.

"Karthik," I said. If my mother was outside the door, she would have heard it.

"I think I missed it again." His frown slowly turned into a smirk. He had been playing with me from the start.

"Karthik! Stop playing with me," I yelled. Somehow, he succeeded in waking up the Sreesha I buried a while ago. The evil side of Sreesha.

Did I just yell at him?

Fear surged through me. I raised my voice at him! What would he do now? I still remember the day when my father slapped my mother for raising her voice at him.

"Woah! I got a little tiger for a wife." He grinned. I thought his smile would melt an ice cube—no, scratch that, make it a glacier. He could melt a freaking glacier with his grin. I was literally swooning over him right now.

He snapped his fingers in front of my face, brining me back to reality. I frowned; I want to stay in my imagination with the melting glacier.

"You’ve got a little drool over there," he said, pointing at my mouth. Like the idiot I am, I wiped myself. He burst into fits of laughter while I watched him silently. The freaking Himalayas were melting now.

"Sree, oh god, I have not laughed that hard in years," he said holding his sides, still laughing at my expense.

When his laugh seized, he said, "You look beautiful when you smile."

I did not realize that I had been smiling at him. His smile was contagious. Normally I would get angry when someone made me a laughingstock, but with him, I didn't mind. I wanted to make him laugh.

‘You sound like a lovesick puppy,’ I told myself, ‘Get a grip, Sreesha, it's only been a day since you got married and you’re already falling for his charm? What would you do if this was all an act?’

That did it. I rebuilt the walls around my heart that he had successfully broken with just a handful of words.

‘Stop being so naive, Sreesha.’ My conscience kept talking to me, ‘Just because he was polite doesn't mean he doesn’t have the power to break you. Remember, we should not trust men; they always leave you when you need them the most.’

"Are you sleepy?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes," I mumbled.

"Okay. You sleep here on the bed. I'll take the couch," he said while standing. Why is he acting so polite? I want to hate him for marrying me; I want to hate him for not asking for my consent for our marriage.

I just want to hate him, curse him for everything going on in my life. Is that too much to ask?

But he is making it hard to hate him with all the sweet talk and politeness.

And he wants to take a couch? Why?

Maybe he doesn't want to sleep next to you?

Maybe he was forced into this marriage as well?

Or maybe he was just being polite!

"I-I'll t-take the couch, y-you please sleep here." Why the hell am I stuttering?

"I called dibs on the couch. Now sleep well. Mom said you have some rituals to follow early in the morning," he said, making his way to the couch.

"Don't you think that the veil is too heavy? Please tell me you're not planning to sleep wearing those heavy clothes. Sure, you look beautiful, but I'm sure they will not be comfortable to sleep,” he said, making his way towards a closed door. "Come here," he said, waving his hand.

I reached him without stumbling on my heavy Saree. The door he was holding was a walk-in closet.

"This is our closet. Mom bought a few things for you days ago and that,” he pointed to another closed door, “is a washroom. Please feel free to use whatever you want," he said, leaving me alone to choose.

The closet was very spacious, and his clothes were arranged neatly according to type. The other side of the closet was filled with dresses, sarees, shoes, heels, accessories, handbags, clutches, and what not. This was every freaking girl's dream. Cosmetics were neatly arranged on a table with a big mirror above the table.

I am not a big fan of shopping or flashy things, but I really appreciated the effort his mother made. I should thank her for this tomorrow. I found some pajamas and went to the washroom, which was just as impressive as the closet. For a second, I thought it was mine; it had everything I preferred, from my favorite soap to the same toothbrush brand I used. I suppressed a laugh.

His mother must have liked me so much to waste her time and money on these little things.

After a nice warm bath, I slipped into the nightdress I got from the closet. Opening the door, I made my way towards the bed and slipped into the warm covers. My eyes landed on the couch, where Karthik was sleeping uncomfortably. I noticed he had changed into some comfortable clothes.

I felt so bad for him; his 6-foot figure was hard to adjust on that couch. I wanted to ask him to take the bed, but stopped myself. What if he got angry that I woke him up?

I tiptoed to the closet and came back with an extra blanket I noticed while I was checking out his closet.

My steps faltered as I crept towards him. I was so nervous that I almost gave up on my task.

I wrapped the blanket around him carefully, not wanting to wake him. I stopped in my place when he grasped one of my hands and held it against his heart.

My heartbeat rose, making it impossible to breathe normally. I could feel his heart beating, matching my own heart’s pace. For a second, I thought he was awake, but he was not. I sighed in relief when I saw his relaxed face.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly loosened his grip using my other hand. I almost jumped in excitement when I completed my task without waking him.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I sighed in content.

Just when I was about to fall into a deep slumber, I felt a feathery touch on my forehead and heard someone say, “I missed you.”