Marrying my Classmate

Chapter 8: Cutting ties

In afternoon, Rahat got up from his chair to the sound of Roshni rummaging through the small kitchen corner, opening and closing the few containers they had.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

"Food," she said without turning around. "Real food. Not cup noodles."

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "There's some rice. And I think there's a onion somewhere. And some veggies but don’t know if it’s got rotten or not."

She held up a withered onion and what looked like the last of a bag of rice. "This?"

"Yeah."

She stared at the ingredients like they were a puzzle she couldn't solve. "How do you make a meal out of this?"

Rahat watched her for a moment. Roshni, who used to complain when the school canteen ran out of her favorite samosas, was now trying to figure out how to feed them both with scraps.

"I usually just eat whatever," he said quietly.

"Well, we're not doing that anymore." She tied her hair back with determination. "We're going to have a proper dinner tonight."

He was calculating in his head how much money he had and ingredients prices.

Late in the afternoon, Rahat was hunched over his laptop, trying to finish a website design for a small business in Dhanmondi. The client wanted three revisions and was only paying 2,000 taka, but it was better than nothing.

The smell of something burning drifted from the kitchen corner.

"s**t!" Roshni's voice cracked with frustration.

He looked over to see her frantically stirring something in their one good pan. Smoke was rising, and she was waving it away with a dishrag.

"You okay?"

"Fine," she said quickly, but her voice was tight. "It's fine."

It wasn't fine. The rice was somehow both burned on the bottom and undercooked on top. The onion had turned into black bits that looked like tiny pieces of charcoal.

She stood there staring at the mess, and for a moment, Rahat thought she might cry.

Instead, she laughed. A short, bitter sound.

"I don't know how to cook," she said. "I never had to learn."

Rahat saved his work and walked over. The pan was definitely a disaster, but maybe salvageable.

"Here," he said, taking the wooden spoon from her hands. "Add some water. Lots of water. We'll make it like... porridge."

"Porridge?"

"Rice porridge. It's a thing."

It wasn't really a thing, but he said it with enough confidence that she stepped aside and let him work.

They stood close together in the tiny kitchen space, her shoulder brushing his arm as he stirred. The burned smell was still strong, but somehow it didn’t feel that bad.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For not making me feel stupid."

He glanced at her. "You're not stupid. You just never had to do this before."

"Neither did you, but you manage."

"I had to learn. You'll learn too."

The rice-porridge-thing was edible….. at least somehow, better than throwing as a waste. They sat on the bed eating from mismatched bowls, and Roshni made faces at every bite.

"This tastes like s**t," she said.

Rahat almost chocked while laughing on his spoonful. "You talk as if you’ve tasted s**t?"

Despite everything, she laughed.

They were just finishing when the knock came.

Not the light tap of the landlady or the casual bang of friends. This was sharp, insistent.

Rahat and Roshni looked at each other.

"I'll get it," she said, but her voice was barely a whisper.

She opened the door to find her father, stepmother, and a man in a uniform who look like influential geezer who didn’t have anything interesting to do so came along to enjoy the drama. Father looked at her with stern gaze, along with all those underline beneath his eyes he looked terrifying . Her stepmother looked furious.

"Roshni." Her father's voice was heavy. "We need to talk."

"I don't think we do," she replied, but she stepped aside to let them in.

The small room suddenly felt impossibly cramped with five people. They looked around, taking in the cracked walls, the single bed, the smell of burned rice still hanging in the air.

Rahat stood by his desk, hands clenched at his sides.

"This is where you've been living?" her stepmother asked, her voice dripping with disgust. "This... slum?"

"It's a slum, so what?" Roshni said quietly.

"Look at this place! Look at yourself!" Her stepmother gestured at Roshni's simple clothes, her hair that was still messy from cooking. "Is this what you wanted? This poverty?"

"I wanted freedom."

"Freedom?" Her father finally spoke again. "You call this freedom? Living in squalor with some boy who might be younger than you and can barely feed himself?"

The old man cleared his throat. " We received a report that you might be here against your will. Are you being held here? Threatened in any way?"

"No," Roshni said as if mocking. "How can a boy younger than me can threaten me!"

"And this boy?" The officer nodded toward Rahat. "Did he convince you to leave your family? Promise you things?"

"He didn't promise me anything."

"Then why?" Her father's voice cracked slightly. "Why would you throw away everything we gave you for... this?"

Roshni looked around the tiny apartment. At the bed they shared, at Rahat standing silent and tense by his computer, at the burned rice still in the pan.

"Because it's mine," she said. "My choice. And don’t act like a loving father, you’re planning to sell me to some old dude. "

Her stepmother laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Sell you! You ungrateful brat, do you know how much wealth he has! Girls of your age would kill for marrying him!"

"I know but I’m not like other girls and what I don't want to be…."

"And what's that?"

"Sold to the highest bidder."

The slap came fast. Roshni's head snapped to the side, and she stumbled back a step.

Rahat moved before he could think. "Sir, It’d be quite rude to slap someone in her own home. Even if it’s your daughter"

"You," her stepmother turned on him, "shut your mouth. This is your fault. You seduced the child—"

"Sorry ma’am but I didn't seduce anyone," Rahat said, his voice stronger than he felt. "She came to me on her own."

"Because you filled her head with romantic nonsense!"

"No," Roshni said, touching her cheek where the red mark was forming. "Because he was the only person who understand me. I gave my body and soul to him." She wanted to sound romantic but it misinterpreted.

Her father looked between them, his face gray with exhaustion. "Have you... have you been intimate with this boy?"

The question hung in the air like smoke.

Roshni looked at Rahat. At his wide, panicked eyes. At the way he was trying to shrink into the background again.

"Yes," she lied clearly. "We're married. Of course we have."

It was technically true. They had shared a bed. They had been close. They had been intimate in ways that had nothing to do with s*x.

But her parents didn't need to know the details.

Her father sat down heavily on the single chair. "Then it's decided."

"What's done?" the police officer asked.

"She's not our daughter anymore." His voice was cold. "A daughter who would dishonor herself, dishonor her family like this... we have no daughter."

"You are serious," the old man seemed amused watching the drama unfolding like this.

"We are." Her father looked up at Roshni. "You want your freedom? You have it. But you'll have it with nothing from us. No money. No property. No family name. Nothing."

Roshni hadn't expected this calm, final rejection. Despite her internal struggle she didn’t show any emotion.

"Fine," she said, and was surprised by how steady her voice sounded. So it comes to this. I lost mother long since anyway. I have nothing to do with that family.

"Fine?"

"I said fine. I don't want your money anyway."

Her stepmother stood up. "You'll come crawling back within a month. When the novelty wears off and you realize what poverty actually means."

"No," Roshni said. "I won't."

Her father stood too, looking older than ever. "If you change your mind... if you come to your senses... it will be too late."

"I know."

He looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to memorize her face. Then he turned and walked out without another word.

Her stepmother followed, but paused at the door. "When you're hungry and alone and realize what a mistake this was, remember that you chose it."

The silence after they left was deafening.

Roshni stood by the closed door, her hand still on her cheek where the slap had landed. Rahat stayed by his desk, afraid to move or speak.

Finally, she turned around.

"Well," she said, and her voice only shook a little. "I guess that's that."

"Roshni..."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. They just—"

"They just did what I expected them to do." She walked over to the bed and sat down hard. "I knew this would happen eventually."

"Did you? Really?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I hoped it wouldn't. But yes. I knew."

Rahat sat down beside her, careful not to get too close. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For... all of this. For being the reason you lost your family."

She looked at him then, really looked at him. "You weren't the reason. You were just the excuse they needed to cut me loose."

"But if you hadn't come here—"

"I would have been married to that old man by now. And I would have lost myself instead of losing them."

They sat in silence for a while. Outside, the city continued its usual chaos. Cars honked, people shouted, life went on.

"Are you hungry?" Rahat asked eventually.

"A little."

"I could try to make something. Maybe some noodles"

"The noodles?"

"At least, It won’t be burned I promise."

She smiled then, just a little. "Okay. But this time, let me help. “

He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it, and together they walked to their tiny kitchen corner to try again.