Silence Is Power

The aroma of fried parathas lingered in the air, but Vijay scowled as he took his first bite. He chewed slowly, his face twisting with irritation.

"Too much oil," he muttered, pushing the plate aside. "And where's the spice? How is it so hard for you to learn something so simple?" His eyes flicked toward me, dark with disdain. "Six months, Ivy. Six months of marriage, and you still can't learn how to fry parathas?"

Normally, I would have lowered my gaze, mumbled an apology, and promised to do better. But today?

I said nothing.

I simply sat there, hands resting in my lap, my face blank.

Vijay's fork clattered onto the plate. He stared at me hard, waiting for me to shrink, to scramble for forgiveness.

I didn't.

His mother shifted in her seat, glancing between us. Her thin lips pressed together in thought. "She's growing stubborn," she observed, her voice laced with something close to suspicion.

Vijay scoffed. "Let her pretend." He leaned back in his chair, watching me with new eyes, as if trying to read something different in my silence.

I rose to my feet and picked up his plate, my movements slow, deliberate. Not rushed. Not anxious. Just… calm.

I heard his breath hitch slightly.

"Clean up my study before I leave," he ordered as he stood, adjusting his sleeves. A final attempt to reassert control.

I didn't nod. I didn't acknowledge him at all.

I simply carried the plates to the sink, my heart pounding.

This was new. This was power.

***

Vijay's study was neat, but not in the way of a careful man, it more like someone who believed no one dared touch his things. Papers stacked high, an untouched bookshelf lined the wall, and a faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air.

I picked up a cloth and started wiping the desk, moving slowly, deliberately. Not scrubbing. Not hurrying. Just… watching.

Vijay leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed as he observed me.

I knew better than to seem too interested in anything, but my eyes caught the small, locked drawer on the right side of his desk. It was the only drawer with a keyhole.

My fingers stilled. Could my passport be in there?

I dusted around it carefully, feigning indifference, but my mind was already working.

Ivy Peters was always thorough. Always prepared.

I reached for the pile of books beside the drawer, dusting the edges. Vijay's gaze was heavy on my back, but I didn't react.

"That's enough," he said abruptly.

I turned, blinking at him as if I hadn't noticed him watching me the whole time.

"I haven't finished," I murmured.

"I said it's enough."

He stepped inside, walked straight to the desk, and pulled the drawer handle. Locked. His fingers brushed over the keyhole for a second before he straightened and turned to me.

"Out."

I wiped my hands on my dress and left without a word.

As he locked the drawer, my mind locked on a single thought; I need that key.

The midday heat pressed down, making the air thick and heavy. I was in the kitchen when I heard the sharp clatter of something hitting the floor.

I turned. Vijay's sister stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her usual smirk in place. At her feet lay a heap of brightly colored clothes.

"Wash them," she said, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve.

I looked at the pile, then slowly raised my eyes to her.

"What happened to your hands?" I asked calmly.

Her brows pulled together. "What?"

"Your hands," I repeated, tilting my head slightly. "Are they broken?"

Her mouth opened, then shut.

A slow wave of understanding dawned on her face, quickly replaced by outrage. "Are you seriously talking back to me?" she shrieked. "You must be going mad…"

I turned and walked away.

She spluttered behind me, calling my name, but I didn't stop. Didn't acknowledge her.

For the first time since I entered this house, I had nothing to say. Nothing to explain. Nothing to prove.

I just kept walking.

I paused just outside the sitting room, my hands gripping the edge of my scarf. I heard her talking to her mother. Their voices drifted toward me, sharp and irritated.

"Ma, something is wrong with Ivy," Vijay's sister said, her tone laced with frustration. "She refused to wash my clothes today! She just looked at me and asked what happened to my hands."

I smirked to myself.

There was silence for a moment before Vijay's mother responded, slow and thoughtful. "She didn't even argue?"

"No! She just walked away like she didn't hear me."

A long pause followed. I could almost feel their confusion settling into something heavier; suspicion.

"That's not the Ivy we brought into this house," Vijay's mother murmured.

I imagined the way she must be sitting; stiff-backed, fingers tapping against the armrest of her chair.

"She was always meek, always obedient," she continued. "Now, suddenly, she doesn't react to insults. She doesn't beg when scolded. She doesn't look afraid."

"Exactly!" Vijay's sister exclaimed. Then, after a beat of hesitation, she added, "What if… what if someone is influencing her? Maybe that American pharmacist… What's his name again?"

My stomach clenched.

"Raymond," her mother said darkly.

I forced my breathing to stay even.

"You think he's the one?" Vijay's sister pressed.

"I don't know," her mother admitted. "But something or someone is making her bold."

A deep silence followed.

"Watch her," she finally said. "If she has found courage, we need to know where it's coming from before it becomes a problem."

I stepped back, my heart hammering.

They were noticing.

They were watching.

But they had no idea - I had already started watching them too.

I walked to my room, shutting the door behind me. My hands weren't trembling. My heart wasn't racing. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, feeling nothing.

For the first time, the insults didn't sting. The humiliation didn't cut.

I was finally empty.

I must have slept off but a slow knock woke me up. It was soft. Cautious.

I didn't answer.

The door creaked open.

I turned my head slightly, and froze.

Vijay stood there, watching me. But so

mething was different.

There was no anger. No irritation.

Just suspicion.