The car rolled to a stop in front of the house, headlights cutting the dark before flicking off. Rhea sat rigid in the back seat, nails biting into her palms. Her mother's voice cracked the silence: "Get down, Rhea. There's nothing else left now." Her father didn't look at her at all, his grip stiff on the wheel. The trunk popped, and soon her suitcases landed on the pavement with dull thuds, each one heavier than the last. Rhea stepped out slowly, the night air crawling across her skin with chilling intensity. The car door slammed, the engine roared, and just like that the taillights disappeared around the corner, leaving her abandoned on the doorstep she'd fled only weeks before.

Shit... what am I even doing here? she thought, jaw tight with tension. I swore I'd never come back. I should scream, run, do anything—but my legs won't move. The weight of her failure pressed down on her shoulders. If I knock, it means I've given up. If I don't, it means I'm just a coward standing here like luggage nobody wants.

She turned toward the door, saree draped awkwardly around her frame—the fabric foreign and restrictive against her skin. Her bangles rattled faintly with her trembling hands, the sound too loud in the silent night. Her breath came shallow as she stared at the wood, at the bell, frozen in place. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clutched her pallu tighter across her chest until the fabric dug into her skin. Her eyes darted once at the bell, then away instantly, as if touching it would burn her. She raised her hand halfway, froze, and dropped it again. Her lips pressed together, jaw aching with tension. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste iron, fighting the urge to scream just to break the suffocating silence.

What if he's furious? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. What if he slams the door in my face? She straightened her shoulders defiantly, but her hands wouldn't stop shaking. God, I'd deserve it after running away like that. Everyone knows how humiliating it is for a wife to leave on her wedding night. She sucked in a shaky breath, nostrils flaring with the familiar scent of the neighborhood. But... no, I don't care if he's angry. I don't. Her thoughts contradicted her trembling body. Except... I do. Please... don't hate me.