Dassani Brides

Chapter 13

The bus stalled three signals before the stop.

Geetanjali watched the red lights blink with mechanical indifference, the rhythm maddening in its predictability. Her fingers were locked around the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles had gone pale, the skin stretched thin over bone. She did not loosen her grip. Letting go felt dangerous, as if the whole plan might spill out of her if she did.

The clock above the driver's seat flicked forward by a minute.

Then another.

She swallowed.

*Fifteen minutes late.*

Her foot tapped against the floor in a rhythm she could not control, her heel striking the metal softly but insistently. She had calculated everything: the early silence of the kitchen, the window before anyone noticed her absence, the bus interval, even a margin for delay. She had not accounted for the traffic of dawn, for a city that woke slowly and selfishly, indifferent to a woman trying to outrun her life.

Her mind rehearsed the lie again.

*Family emergency. Immediate. Please.*

The words had been polished smooth with repetition. She rolled them over her tongue until they lost their meaning and became only sounds. She hated how flimsy they felt. She hated that this was all she had.

When the bus finally lurched forward, she nearly lost her balance. She steadied herself against the seat, breathing shallowly, counting the seconds between stops. Her body felt strangely detached now, as though she were moving through water, each step delayed and muffled and unreal.

By the time she reached the hostel gates, her legs ached as if she had been walking for hours.

The iron bars rose ahead of her, taller than she imagined, painted a dull institutional green. The paint had chipped in places, and rust bled through like old wounds.

She moved too quickly, stumbled on the uneven pavement, and caught herself. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the guards could hear it.

At the security desk she showed her identification with hands that trembled despite every effort to steady them.

"I need to see the warden," she said. "Immediately."

The guard glanced at the clock. "Visiting hours start later."

"It is a family emergency," she said again, and the phrase came out thin but insistent. "I am their elder sister."

He studied her face for a moment, and he really looked. At her drawn expression. At the shadows under her eyes. At the way she stood, as if braced for a blow.

Without another word, he gestured to a colleague, who disappeared inside.

The wait stretched. Every second felt loud.

When she was finally shown into the warden's office, the door closing behind her sounded heavier than it should have. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper. Files were stacked on metal shelves, their labels precise and uniform. Order lived here. Rules lived here. Consequences lived here, too.

Geetanjali stood in the center of the room with her bag clutched to her chest like proof of intention, proof that all this was real.

The warden adjusted her glasses. "You did not inform us beforehand."

"I did not know," Geetanjali said. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "I found out this morning."

"What kind of emergency?"

The question was procedural, not unkind. That almost broke her.

The words caught in her throat, and for a moment she thought she might choke on them. She forced them out anyway. "At home."

The warden's lips pressed together. She nodded slowly, not convinced but not obstructive either. Bureaucracy thrived on neutrality. It did not need belief. It needed only process.

"I will call the girls," she said. "Sit."

Geetanjali sat.

Her knee bounced uncontrollably now, the motion sharp and relentless. She checked the wall clock, then closed her eyes, afraid of what she might see if she looked too closely. Her breath came shallow and uneven. She pressed her palm flat against her thigh and held on to the sensation, the pressure, the warmth, the plain fact that she still existed.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor.

Her heart jumped.

Sudha came in first.

She had cut her hair short since Geetanjali had last seen her. It framed her face differently now, showing her jaw, making her eyes look sharper and more alert. There was something in her posture that had not been there before, an awareness, a readiness.

When her eyes landed on Geetanjali, they widened. It was not surprise.

It was recognition.

"You came," Sudha said, her voice low and urgent, as if she were afraid someone might overhear.

Komal followed a moment later.

Her face lit up at once. "Didi!"

She crossed the room in two steps and threw her arms around Geetanjali, hugging her tightly, fiercely. The contact startled Geetanjali, and her body stiffened, unused to sudden closeness. Then she returned the embrace and breathed in the familiar scent of soap and youth, something achingly ordinary.

"I missed you," Komal said into her shoulder. "We thought... you never..."

Geetanjali closed her eyes.

Sudha did not hug her. She stood back with her arms crossed loosely and studied her sister's face with an intensity that was hard to bear.

"You ran," Sudha said quietly.

The word cut deeper than Geetanjali expected.

She swallowed. Her throat felt raw. "I came to take you with me," she said instead, choosing the sentence with care.

Komal pulled back, her eyes shining with something like relief. "With Jiju?"

Sudha's expression hardened instantly. "You escaped."

"No," Geetanjali said quickly, her voice tightening. "Listen to me..."

"We can leave," Sudha pressed. "Now. I knew you would come. I knew you would not stay there."

Komal looked between them, confusion clouding her face. "Why would we leave? Things are better now, aren't they? You are... happy?"

The question hung in the air, innocent and devastating.

Geetanjali opened her mouth.

The phone on the warden's desk rang.

The sound cut through the room like a blade. Everyone froze.

The warden answered it without looking at them. "Yes... Yes, they are here... Of course."

She listened a moment longer, then set the receiver down.

"Your brother-in-law is on his way," she said calmly. "They say he is here to pick you up. A family emergency."

Geetanjali's vision blurred at the edges.

*One minute.*

That was all it had taken.

The door opened.

Shiv Dassani walked into the room as if it had always been his.

He was impeccably dressed, and his presence was so composed that it changed the space at once. The warden straightened without realizing she had done it. The air itself seemed to make room for him.

Komal's face broke into a smile of relief.

Shiv's eyes went first to the girls.

Then to Geetanjali.

For a fraction of a second, so brief that it might not have happened at all, his expression shifted. Recognition. Surprise.

Then it was gone.

"I am here to take them," Shiv said calmly. "Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice."

The warden nodded. "Of course. You will only need to wait for a few formalities."

Shiv inclined his head.

Geetanjali did not move.

---

They waited in the hall.

The girls had been sent back to their rooms to gather their things. The corridor echoed faintly with distant movement, footsteps and the scrape of papers and the murmur of hostel life going on as if nothing extraordinary were happening.

Geetanjali sat rigidly on a bench, her hands folded so tightly in her lap that they had begun to ache. She did not look at Shiv. She did not trust herself to.

He stood near the window with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the courtyard with detached interest. The morning light outlined him in clean lines and made him look composed and unhurried, as though this were merely another errand.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then Shiv exhaled slowly.

"I was planning to bring them home to you," he said.

The words landed without force. Without accusation.

Geetanjali's breath caught painfully in her chest.

"I thought it would be helpful," he continued, still looking outside. "It seems you made your own arrangements."

Her throat tightened. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

"I misjudged you," Shiv said, turning slightly now. "Not your intent."

She stared at the floor. The tiles swam in her vision. Her chest felt hollow, as if something essential had been taken out of it without any warning.

"You were close," he went on mildly. "Another ten minutes, and you might have succeeded."

The statement was simply factual.

It destroyed her.

Her shoulders began to shake. It was not violent and it was not visible, only enough that she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound. The taste of blood steadied her for a moment.

"What were you thinking?" Shiv asked.

She did not answer.

"Running off with two younger girls," he said, his voice steady, almost conversational. "No secure income. No permanent shelter. No protection."

Her eyes burned. Tears welled and blurred the corridor into shapeless colors.

"You would have lasted a week at best," he said. "Before someone noticed. Before questions were asked. Before fingers were pointed."

Her breath hitched. She pressed her nails into her palms, hard enough to hurt. Tears slipped down her cheeks without a sound, and she did not wipe them away.

"I know you think this is bravery," Shiv said. "But your bravery is careless."

Something inside her cracked. It was not loud and it was not clean. It was a quiet collapse, like a support beam giving way in the dark.

"Did you consider where they would sleep?" he asked. "How you would pay for their education? What happens when your money runs out?"

Her vision tunneled. The room narrowed around her.

"You did not," he said. "Because hope makes people stupid."

The word hit harder than a slap.

She sobbed then, though not aloud. Her body folded inward, her chin dropping to her chest as the tears came faster and would not stop. She felt emptied out, scraped raw.

"I will not let someone like you," Shiv said calmly, "drag my family name into chaos."

Footsteps approached.

Sudha appeared first, her bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes darting between Shiv and Geetanjali, sharp with suspicion. Komal followed, dragging a suitcase, her face bright with expectation.

"We are ready," Komal said.

Shiv nodded. "Good."

He did not look at Geetanjali.

She stayed where she was, empty and silent, her hope bleeding out quietly onto the tiled floor.

The escape was over.

It had never been hers to begin with.