Bought by Love, Trapped by Hunger

[zeus90]

Chapter 5: The Mark on Her Face

Ravi came back from the farm after sunrise.

His shirt smelled of milk, sweat, and dust. His hair was messy, his eyes red from staying awake all night. He walked into the outside room and threw his bag near the bed.

Simran was already awake.

She had kept tea ready for him. One steel plate sat on the small stool with two rotis and leftover sabzi. She had not eaten yet. She was waiting for him, even though the main kitchen work would start soon.

“Chai rakh di hai,” she said softly.
[I kept the tea here.]

Ravi did not answer.

He sat on the bed and rubbed his face with both hands. His silence felt heavier than his anger.

Simran looked at him carefully.

“Kaam bohot mushkil tha?”
[Was the work very difficult?]

Ravi gave a dry laugh.

“Mushkil?” he said. “Tumhe kya pata mushkil kya hoti hai?”
[Difficult? What do you know about difficulty?]

Simran became still.

“I was just asking.”

Ravi looked at the plate.

“Main raat bhar doodh ke cans uthata hoon, truck bharwata hoon, thand mein khada rehta hoon. Aur tum?”
[I lift milk cans all night, load trucks, stand in the cold. And you?]

Simran’s fingers tightened around the edge of her dupatta.

“Main bhi kaam karti hoon, Ravi.”
[I work too, Ravi.]

He looked at her clothes, the white suit Arvind had given, now slightly tired from washing and daily work.

“Haan, kaam,” he said bitterly. “Bade ghar mein. AC ke andar. Chai serve karo, khana do, aur sab tumhe madam bolte hain.”
[Yes, work. In a big house. Inside comfort. Serve tea, give food, and everyone calls you madam.]

Simran blinked.

His words did not feel like Ravi.

They felt like someone else had put them in his mouth.

“Tum aise kyun bol rahe ho?”
[Why are you talking like this?]

Ravi stood up.

“Kyuki sach bol raha hoon. Tumhe wahan bura nahi lagta. Tum toh adjust ho gayi ho.”
[Because I’m telling the truth. You don’t feel bad there. You’ve adjusted.]

Simran’s face changed.

“I adjusted because we had no choice.”

“Choice?” Ravi stepped closer. “Mere paas choice hai? Raat ko jaan tod ke kaam karun, din mein so bhi nahi sakta, aur jab aankh kholun toh tum phir ghar ke kaam mein busy.”

She tried to stay calm.

“Main tumhare liye hi toh kar rahi hoon. Rent, khana, sab kuch…”

Ravi cut her off.

“Tum mere liye kar rahi ho ya Arvind sir ke liye?”
[Are you doing it for me or for Arvind sir?]

The room froze.

Simran stared at him.

“What?”

Ravi’s breathing became heavier.

“Sab problem sir ko batani hai. Kaam sir se. Kapde sir se. Room sir ka. Tumhari har baat sir se.”
[Every problem has to be told to sir. Job from sir. Clothes from sir. Room from sir. Everything of yours from sir.]

Simran’s eyes filled, but this time not with helplessness.

With hurt.

“I asked him for your job because you were drinking every day,” she said, her voice shaking. “I begged him for help because you were breaking in front of me.”

Ravi’s face hardened.

“Main toot raha tha?”
[I was breaking?]

“Haan,” Simran said, louder now. “Aur main? Main kya kar rahi hoon? Subah se raat tak kaam, kapde bhi apne nahi, paise bhi apne nahi, room bhi apna nahi. Tum so rahe hote ho, Ravi. Tumhe kuch dikhta hi nahi.”

Ravi stared at her.

She had never spoken like this before.

Usually she lowered her eyes.

Usually she became quiet.

But that morning, something inside her was too tired to kneel.

Ravi’s pride could not bear it.

“Ab tum mujhe sikhaogi?”
[Now you will teach me?]

Simran wiped her cheek angrily.

“Main sikha nahi rahi. Main bas keh rahi hoon ki mujhe bhi dard hota hai.”

Ravi stepped closer.

“Dard?” he said. “Tumhe dard tab hota jab tum raat ko meri tarah kaam karti. Tum toh bas…”

He stopped, then spat the words.

“Tum toh enjoy kar rahi ho.”
[You are enjoying it.]

Simran’s eyes widened.

For a second, she could not breathe.

Then she burst.

“Enjoy?” she shouted. “Tumhe lagta hai main enjoy kar rahi hoon? Jab woh log haske baat karte hain, jab mujhe raat tak kaam karna padta hai, jab main tumse baat karna chahti hoon aur tum muh pher ke so jaate ho, tumhe lagta hai main enjoy kar rahi hoon?”

Ravi’s face twisted.

 

“Chup ho jao.”

“Nahi, aaj nahi,” she said, crying now. “Tumne mujhe yahan laaya. Tumne sabko hamari kahani batayi. Tumne bina pooche mere liye faisle kiye. Aur ab tum keh rahe ho main enjoy kar rahi hoon?”

Ravi’s hand moved before his mind did.

The slap cracked through the small room.

Simran staggered back, one hand flying to her cheek.

For one second, even Ravi looked shocked.

Then anger covered his shock.

“Zyada zubaan chalne lagi hai,” he said.
[Your tongue has started running too much.]

Simran looked at him, stunned, tears silent now.

He slapped her again.

Not hard enough to throw her down, but hard enough to leave fire on her skin.

Her dupatta slipped from one shoulder. She grabbed it quickly, shaking.

“Ravi…” she whispered.

His breathing was fast.

Outside, somewhere, a bird cried from the garden wall.

Ravi picked up his bag.

“I’m going to work,” he said.

“Itni subah?” she asked weakly.
[This early?]

“Farm pe extra shift hai.”

There was no extra shift.

He just needed to leave before guilt caught him.

At the door, he turned once.

“Arvind sir ko mat batana drama,” he said. “Warna main wapas nahi aaunga.”
[Don’t tell Arvind sir this drama. Otherwise I won’t come back.]

Then he left.

The door closed.

 

Simran stood in the small room, one hand on her cheek, the other holding her dupatta.

The tea on the stool went cold.

The Kitchen

Simran washed her face three times before going to the main house.

The mark did not disappear.

It had turned red along her cheek, with faint swelling near the jaw.

She tried to cover it with her hair, but loose strands kept falling the wrong way. She tried to keep her face turned while walking through the corridor.

In the kitchen, she started work like always.

Tea.

Toast.

Fruit.

Arvind’s breakfast plate.

Her hands moved automatically, but her eyes looked empty.

She dropped a spoon once.

Then a cup touched the counter too loudly.

She flinched at the sound.

Arvind entered quietly.

“Good morning, Simran.”

She turned halfway, keeping the marked side of her face away.

“Good morning, sir.”

Arvind stopped.

He saw it.

The red mark on her cheek.

The swollen edge near her jaw.

The way her eyes avoided him.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he walked closer, slowly.

“Face pe kya hua?”
[What happened to your face?]

Simran lowered her head.

“Kuch nahi, sir.”
[Nothing, sir.]

“Gir gayi?”
[Did you fall?]

She nodded too quickly.

“Ji. Bathroom mein slip ho gayi.”
[Yes. I slipped in the bathroom.]

Arvind looked at her.

The lie was thin enough to see through.

“Bathroom mein?”
[In the bathroom?]

“Ji.”

He waited.

She kept her eyes on the floor.

Arvind’s voice became softer.

“Okay. Don’t tell me.”

The words broke something.

Simran’s fingers tightened around the tea strainer.

Arvind turned as if to leave.

“Main samajh gaya,” he said calmly.
[I understand.]

That was all.

No scolding.

No questions.

No pressure.

Only understanding.

And somehow that hurt more.

Simran’s shoulders began to shake.

She tried to stop it. She pressed her lips together. She turned toward the stove and picked up the kettle, but her vision blurred.

The kettle touched the counter with a small metallic sound.

Then the tears came.

Not loudly at first.

Just one breath.

Then another.

Then her face folded, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

Arvind stopped near the door.

He turned back.

“Simran.”

She shook her head.

“Sorry sir. Main… main bas…”
[Sorry sir. I… I just…]

Her voice disappeared.

She cried like someone who had been holding water behind a cracked wall for too long.

 

Arvind moved closer.

“Sit down,” he said softly.
[Sit down.]

She shook her head again.

“Kaam reh gaya hai.”
[Work is left.]

“Kaam baad mein ho jayega.”
[Work can happen later.]

She stood there, trembling, wiping her cheeks with her dupatta.

Arvind pulled a chair slightly away from the table.

“Baitho, Simran.”
[Sit, Simran.]

This time, she sat.

Her hands were in her lap. Her fingers twisted together like frightened threads.

“Ravi ne maara?” Arvind asked quietly.
[Did Ravi hit you?]

Simran closed her eyes.

Fresh tears slipped down.

She did not answer.

That was answer enough.

The Shoulder

Arvind stood near her, not too close at first.

“Tumhari galti nahi hai,” he said.
[It is not your fault.]

Simran shook her head.

“Maine bhi gusse mein bol diya.”
[I also spoke in anger.]

“Isliye koi haath uthata hai?”
[Does that mean someone raises a hand?]

She looked down.

“He was tired. Raat bhar kaam karta hai.”
[He was tired. He works all night.]

“Thakan se aadmi thappad nahi maarta, Simran.”
[Tiredness does not make a man slap someone, Simran.]

The sentence landed softly, but deep.

She cried harder.

“Main kya karun, sir?” she whispered. “Main kahan jaun?”
[What should I do, sir? Where should I go?]

Arvind let the silence grow just enough.

Then he placed a hand lightly near the back of the chair, not touching her yet.

“Tum akeli nahi ho.”
[You are not alone.]

Simran looked up at him through tears.

He opened his arms slightly, not fully.

Just enough to look like comfort was available if she needed it.

For a second, she hesitated.

Then the pain won.

She stood and leaned into him, crying against his shoulder.

It was not romance for Simran.

It was collapse.

A moment where she had no mother, no sister, no home, no husband who felt safe, and no strength left to stand straight.

Arvind placed one hand carefully on her upper back.

His face stayed calm.

But inside, he knew this moment mattered.

Not because she loved him.

She did not.

Because pain had brought her into his arms without him pulling.

That was how control became stronger.

Not by force.

By becoming the only place where someone could break down.

 

“Bas,” he said softly. “Rone do. Sab andar mat rakho.”
[It’s okay. Cry. Don’t keep everything inside.]

Simran cried harder.

Her body shook with every breath.

Arvind held still, patient, letting her trust the silence.

Billa’s Picture

At the back corridor, Billa had come looking for Arvind.

He stopped before entering the kitchen.

Through the half-open door, he saw them.

Simran crying against Arvind’s shoulder.

Arvind’s hand on her back.

Billa’s eyes narrowed.

Then slowly, a smile spread across his face.

He pulled out his phone.

Quietly.

Carefully.

He moved slightly to the side, where the angle hid Simran’s tears but captured the closeness.

Click.

One photo.

Then another.

 

From the picture, nobody would know she was broken.

Nobody would know about the mark on her face.

Nobody would hear Ravi’s slap or her shaking voice.

The photo would only show Simran in Arvind’s arms.

And in the wrong hands, half-truths were sharper than lies.

Billa looked at the photo and whispered, “Ab maza aayega.”
[Now this will be interesting.]
 

Then he slipped away before anyone noticed.

After The Tears

Simran slowly calmed down.

When she realized how close she was standing, she pulled back quickly.

Her face turned red with embarrassment.

“Sorry sir,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Mujhe aise nahi…”
[Sorry sir. I shouldn’t have…]

Arvind stepped back politely, giving her space.

“No sorry. Kabhi-kabhi insaan toot jata hai.”
[No sorry. Sometimes a person breaks.]

She nodded, still looking down.

Her cheek hurt.

Her eyes burned.

Her throat felt heavy.

But the crying had emptied something for a while.

Arvind picked up a glass of water and gave it to her.

“Paani piyo.”
[Drink water.]

She took it with both hands.

“Thank you, sir.”
[Thank you, sir.]

He watched her drink.

Then he said, “If you want, I can talk to Ravi.”
[If you want, I can talk to Ravi.]

Simran immediately shook her head.

“No sir. Please nahi.”
[No sir. Please don’t.]

“Why?”

“Woh gusse mein tha. Heat of moment mein ho gaya.”
[He was angry. It happened in the heat of the moment.]

Arvind’s face became serious.

“Simran, heat of moment mein bhi haath uthana galat hota hai.”
[Simran, even in the heat of the moment, raising a hand is wrong.]

She looked down again.

“I know. Par main fix kar lungi. Main usse baat karungi.”
[I know. But I will fix it. I will talk to him.]

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Ji sir. Please Ravi ko mat bolna.”
[Yes sir. Please don’t tell Ravi.]

Arvind paused, then gave a slow nod.

“As you wish.”
[As you wish.]

His voice was gentle.

Too gentle.

Simran stood up and wiped her face with the edge of her dupatta.

“I will make fresh tea,” she said.
[I will make fresh tea.]

“Rest for five minutes,” Arvind said.

She gave a tired little smile.

“Kaam reh gaya hai, sir.”
[Work is left, sir.]

Then she turned back to the stove.

The mark on her face was still visible.

Her hands were still shaking.

But the tea began to boil again, because in that house, even pain had to wait behind duty.

Outside, Billa stood near the garden wall, looking at the photo on his phone.

Inside the kitchen, Arvind watched Simran quietly.

And far away at the farm, Ravi lifted milk cans in the dark, not knowing that one slap had given Billa a weapon…

and Arvind a doorway.