Chapter 4 : Varun
2000 Words
The sun slipped weakly through the lace curtains of the drawing room. Everything felt too neat, too quiet, like bad things couldn’t exist here.
But Siyara’s palms were sweating.
She sat stiff on the edge of the cream sofa, clutching her dupatta tightly in her fists. A soft knock sounded on the half-open door, and a tall figure stepped inside.
“Hi… Siyara?”
The voice was gentle, careful. She looked up.
Varun stood there. Not dressed fancy, not careless either. Just a plain kurta and jeans. But his eyes carried something—sincerity. The kind that made her chest ache unexpectedly.
She gave a small nod.
“Can I sit?” he asked, pointing to the chair near her.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
For a while, silence filled the room—like a story between them neither of them had lived.
Varun cleared his throat. “Your mother told me you like sketching?”
“Sometimes.”
He nodded, “I used to play the violin. I stopped after college.”
“Why?” she asked quietly, almost by accident.
He smiled faintly. “Life got in the way.”
A pause. Then he asked softly, “Did life get in the way for you too, Siyara?”
Her throat tightened. She didn’t answer.
Finally, she whispered, “Varun… can I ask you something? Honestly.”
He leaned forward slightly, listening. “Go ahead.”
Her breath shook. “I don’t know if I can be touched… not after everything. Maa wants me to try. But after marriage… if someone touches me, even by accident, I flinch. My body burns. My mind goes dark. How will I bear it?”
Varun was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees—not too close, just enough to be present.
“Then I won’t touch you,” he said gently. “Not until you’re ready. Not even by accident.”
Her eyes widened. Tears welled up. “Why are you being so kind?”
His smile was small, almost sad. “Because someone should have been, long ago.”
Her tears slipped free. “Thank you.”
When he left, the room didn’t feel the same. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It felt… changed.
She stared at the chair where he’d sat. His teacup still full, untouched. Like her—untouched, unreachable. But for once,seen
Why didn’t he look at me like the others?
Not with pity. Not with curiosity.
But as if he was speaking to the part of me no one else even sees—the part still bleeding quietly, hoping no one knocks too hard.
His words echoed in her mind.
“Then I won’t touch you. Not until you’re ready.”
Ready.
As if the choice was hers. As if her body still belonged to her.
Her scars weren’t just on her skin. They lived deeper—inside her memories, inside her heart. But something about his voice felt different. Not magical. Not healing. Just… not dangerous.
It had been months since she felt safe in a room with a man.
And today?
Her hands weren’t shaking so much.
Her breath had stayed steady.
And when he left—he didn’t look back, didn’t take a piece of her with him.
He just smiled… and left her whole.
What kind of man leaves a girl whole, in a world that only knows how to take?
She wrapped her dupatta tighter around her shoulders and leaned back against the sofa without flinching.
Maybe this was nothing. Maybe tomorrow she’d forget the calm in his eyes.
But tonight, as the evening light stretched across the floor, she whispered to herself,
“If he keeps his promise… maybe I’ll learn to breathe again.”
The lamp beside Siyara's bed gave off a soft golden glow, throwing gentle shadows over the floral bedsheet. The room was quiet, except for the low tune her mother hummed while folding freshly washed clothes in the corner. The faint smell of detergent hung in the air-familiar, grounding.
Siyara sat cross-legged on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Her fingers traced patterns on the blanket while her eyes stayed lost in thought. She hadn't spoken since the guests left. Since he left.
At last, her voice broke the silence. "Maa...?"
Her mother turned, smiling faintly. "Hmm, beta? Do you want water? I'll warm some milk-"
"No," Siyara shook her head softly. "I want to talk. About him. About Varun."
Her mother set the clothes aside and sat beside her.
"You didn't hate him?" she asked carefully. "That's... a start, isn't it?"
Siyara didn't answer right away. Her brows pulled together as she thought.
"He didn't touch the tea," she said finally. "Or the tray. Or even the bedsheet."
Her hands lay still in her lap.
"Most boys... they pretend to be polite, but their eyes..." She paused, her voice dropping. "Their eyes still look like they want to own you."
Her mother stayed quiet, letting her speak.
"But he didn't look at me like that," Siyara whispered. "He didn't look at me like I was broken."
Her mother nodded. "His mother said he's patient. Understanding. I believe he's a good boy."
Siyara glanced up, her voice barely a breath.
"His voice didn't scare me."
Her mother slowly took her hand. Siyara tensed for a second, then let herself relax.
"I don't know if I liked him," she said quietly. "I don't even know what that means anymore. But... I didn't feel like I was in danger."
"That's important," her mother said softly. "Very important."
The silence stretched-heavy, but not empty.
Then Siyara's voice shook as she whispered, "Maa... if I marry him... what if he wants to touch me? Hold me like a husband does? I won't be able to..."
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"Maa, please. I can't bear anyone's touch. Not even if they're kind. Not even if they wait."
Her mother's expression didn't change. She reached for her daughter's arm, gently but firmly, the kind of touch that said you're not alone.
"If he's the right boy, he'll wait," she said softly. "And if he doesn't... then he's not the one."
She rubbed slow circles over Siyara's sleeve.
"But if this match gives you even a little peace... don't run from it. Not today. Not quickly. Just... take small steps toward it."
Siyara breathed out shakily and leaned her head on her mother's shoulder. Her voice was faint, almost a whisper.
"I don't want to be alone forever, Maa."
Her mother wrapped an arm around her-not heavy, not pushing. Just warm.
"Then take one day at a time," she murmured. "Don't think about marriage yet. Just think about tomorrow. And if he comes again... listen to how you feel when he speaks. That's all you need right now."
The lamp flickered softly, shadows dancing on the wall. The moment didn't promise full healing-but it felt like the start of something.
------
The rain had been falling since morning. Not heavy, just a steady drizzle that wrapped the world in a soft gray. The smell of wet earth drifted through the veranda, mixing with the scent of ginger tea brewing inside.
Siyara sat at the edge of the wooden bench, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her shoulders stiff beneath her cotton shawl.
The gate creaked.
She lifted her eyes.
Varun walked in, holding a plain black umbrella. It looked too serious for his kind eyes. He gave a polite nod to her mother, who greeted him softly before leaving them alone.
Siyara kept her gaze low as he came closer. He sat down-not too close, keeping a careful space between them.
He didn't ask anything. Didn't push her to speak. He just sat quietly, listening to the rain.
After a while, he said in a low voice, "I had a younger sister. She died four years ago. Road accident."
The rain filled the silence that followed.
"I stopped talking much after that," he continued. "People said I changed. Maybe I did. Silence... became familiar."
Siyara didn't answer. Her fingers twitched slightly in her lap, as if they wanted to say something her lips couldn't.
Varun gave a small smile. Not cheerful-just one of understanding.
After some time, Siyara stood and went inside the house.
When she returned, she was holding two cups.
She placed one gently in front of him.
Her first gesture of comfort.
----
Midnight. The storm outside had turned harsh. Wind howled through the small crack in her window, and thunder shook the glass. But the real storm was inside her.
Siyara tossed and turned in bed.
In her dream, she was back in that dark corridor. Hands everywhere-grabbing, pulling. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She kicked, fought, but the hands never ended. The shadows grew louder.
She woke with a sharp gasp.
Sweat covered her skin. Her breaths came fast and uneven. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it wanted to break out of her chest.
But tonight... something was different.
Varun's face appeared in her mind.
His eyes weren't like the others. Not hungry. Not dangerous.
They were steady. Gentle. Quiet.
She hugged her knees and stared into the dark. The fear was still there, but another thought slipped in-a question she had never dared ask before:
Could healing be possible?
Slowly, she climbed out of bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she walked to the mirror.
Her reflection stared back-pale face, hair sticking to her damp cheeks.
"I'm still here," she whispered.
The reflection gave no reply. But it didn't look away either.
---
It was a noisy entrance-the kind Siyara never liked.
Her elder sister, Rhea, came rushing into the house with shopping bags, lip gloss, and her usual chaos. She flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, already complaining about traffic and bragging about saree discounts.
Siyara gave a faint smile, sitting at the edge of the bed, watching her sister's whirlwind energy.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Rhea teased. "Why so dull, Siyu?"
Siyara stayed quiet.
Later, when Rhea reached to touch her shoulder, Siyara flinched-just a little, but enough.
Rhea froze. The smile slipped from her face.
"Hey," she said softly. "Are you... okay?"
Still, Siyara said nothing.
Rhea didn't push. Instead, she sat quietly beside her for a moment. Then, in an unexpected tone, she whispered, "You know... after my wedding, I cried every night for two weeks."
Siyara turned to her in surprise.
"I had to smile, host dinners, post photos... but inside, I was terrified. Scared of failing. Scared I wasn't good enough. Everyone expects you to be perfect."
Her voice shook as she went on. "Sometimes I feel like I'm pretending. Like I'm just wearing happiness so no one asks questions."
That confession softened the space between them. A wall crumbled-not in pain, but in understanding.
Siyara still didn't speak. But when her sister hugged her again, she didn't flinch.
---
By evening, the house was calm. Golden light filled the walls, wrapping the silence in warmth.
When Siyara stepped out to close the gate, she noticed something tucked between the iron bars.
A cream envelope. No name. Just carefully placed there.
Her heartbeat quickened as she pulled it out. Inside was a short letter, the handwriting neat but a little hesitant.
"Dear Siyara,
You don't need to reply. I just wanted to say thank you-for listening. For the cup of tea. For existing as you are, so quietly and strongly.
You remind me of silence in a world full of noise. The good kind of silence. The safe kind.
Even if nothing ever happens between us, I'd be honored to simply be your friend.
Take care.
-Varun"
She read it once. Twice. A third time.
Her face didn't smile. But her hands didn't shake.
And for the first time in a long while, the silence around her felt warm.
- Writer
