Grandmother, Who, Me?

Grandmother, Who, Me?

Chapter 14: The Locked Door

Lakshmi’s POV (Satish)

What the fuck was happening?

Everything was moving too fast. One moment I was still clinging to the idea that this would end in a few more days. The next, I was standing outside a temple with a heavy, weathered thali resting deep in the soft cleavage between my breasts, an old beggar transformed into my husband, and my own wife looking at me with shining, hopeful eyes.

I still couldn’t fully process the temple conversation. Shreya had begged so hard. Tears in her eyes. Hand on her belly. “Please, Attai… just until the baby comes. I want a complete family for once in my life.” I loved her. I still loved her so much that the word “no” refused to leave my throat. And so I had nodded. Like a fool.

Now look at me.

A silk saree, deep red with heavy gold borders, wrapped tightly around my body. The fabric was stiff and expensive, difficult to walk in. Every step required careful attention so the pleats wouldn’t come undone. The old toe rings dug into my flesh with every movement, a constant sharp reminder that they could never come off. The anklets chimed loudly, announcing me. And the thali… that damned thali sat heavy and warm against my skin, the pendant nestled between my breasts as if it had always belonged there.

I had posed for a photograph with Rajan. His hand on my waist. My head slightly tilted toward him the way Jessica had instructed. A perfect married couple.

Shreya drove us home in silence. I sat in the back seat beside Rajan, the silk saree rustling every time the car turned, my heavy breasts shifting uncomfortably under the blouse.

As we pulled into our street, Meena, the young neighbor wife, was standing near her gate. She spotted us and waved brightly.

“Hi Aunty! Oh… Uncle is also here!” She looked at Rajan and then back at me with open delight. “Both of you look like such a young couple still! So sweet!”

I managed a weak smile while my stomach turned.

Shit.

Inside the house, the evening passed in a blur of forced normalcy. Shreya made me serve dinner, first to Rajan, then to herself, the way a proper wife should. I moved around the dining table in the heavy silk, the thali swinging slightly with every bend, the toe rings biting into my skin. Rajan ate quietly, playing his role with the stiff dignity Jessica had drilled into him. He looked at me the way a husband looks at his wife of twenty years, possessive, familiar, entitled.

When the plates were cleared, I started walking toward our bedroom out of pure habit. I needed to change into the cotton nighty. I needed to lie down beside Shreya the way I still sometimes did, even if nothing physical could happen anymore.

Shreya stopped me in the hallway.

She took my hand gently but firmly and led me instead to the guest room. Rajan was already inside, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Shreya guided me in, then stepped back into the doorway.

“Wife has to sleep with husband only,” she said softly. There was love in her voice. There was also finality.

Then she closed the door and locked it from the outside.

I stood in the middle of the guest room in the heavy silk saree, the thali warm against my skin, the toe rings pressing into my feet, and my new husband watching me in silence.

The lock clicked shut behind me.