JHEEL

"I love you," I had spoken the words, and I awaited a response from the man I had bared myself to – my feelings. The man, Somvarth Rathore, for whom I had decided to sacrifice my name, my status, and my dignity. And how he only looked at my surprised expression and brows furrowed together in confusion, like he never knew my true feelings for him.

The car fell silent while I waited for him to say it back. His gaze rested upon me with nothing but emptiness. Then slowly, a chuckle passed by his lips.

"Oh! Jheel..." He said, before breaking into laughter—louder and louder—until a scream tore out of me. I started to shout.

"No! Please don't! Please don't do this to me! Please!" I begged, my hands intertwined, my legs sliding across the floor as I tried to push myself out of the hold of a cruel man.

Everything is changing suddenly from a car, to a metal box to darkness.

I cried aloud, begged louder. But all my pleas went unheard. My body was visible to these brutal people, but my voice wasn't.
I remember when one of the goons – one of the men who had raided the royal wedding, Manyata and the love of my life's wedding – ordered his men to drag me and push me inside this truck.

I wish it had stopped there. Maybe he would have stopped, but then one of them climbed in. He was grinning, and one of his teeth shone like gold.
His steps came closer while the people outside shut the truck's door.

I knew what he wanted from me. There is only so much I could give him in this condition. Nothing monetary, neither pearls nor gemstones.
What he wanted was to snatch me. He wanted to snatch away one thing I had preserved my whole life.

My dignity.

My purity.

The values that hold meaning for my father and for me.

He wanted to tear me apart. He wanted to pest on my body. He intended to defile me. To violate me.
Fear. Pain. Everything crumbled every sense inside of me. My body shivering, sweat creeping down my forehead.

Another painful plea escaped me, "Please don't do this to me! Please don't, please-"

"Why not? We are running such a big errand. It's only fair we get more than money!" He spoke in a thick accent, like speaking straight Hindi for him was something new.

He approached in slower steps, and my legs scooted backwards. I shook my head, crossed my hands, protecting myself from his sickening eyes.

But he didn't stop. He dropped the shawl he had wrapped around his entire body, not to be witnessed by anyone. His hands moved to undo the string of his pyjama, holding it loosely around his waist.

His entire body fell on mine; he hovered over me. The pressure, the weight heavy that I couldn't move. I fought, but he pinned my hands over my head. He started lifting my lehenga, his hand found my underwear, pushing my knees above, my body out of control.

Lost in the dread of what today had turned into. I knew what was going to happen next. My fighting body froze, and he was ready to take the path he had carved.

A loud cry rang out of me and –

The door of the truck opened, letting inside more light than the holes in the truck and hindrance.

A man stood powering the light with his shadow.

My eyes opened.
The blank ceiling before my eyes. And a paralysed body.
I woke up from my dream. Or, to say, from the reality of my past.

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Awaiting responses! And so many comments because this is my relaunch after literally being gone since foreever.

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