Bought by Love, Trapped by Hunger

[zeus90]

I’ am make this part **emotional, slow-burn, and tense**, Arvind’s “kindness” will look warm to Simran,
---

# Chapter 7: The Soft Trap

The next evening came slower than usual.

All day, Simran kept remembering Arvind’s words.

“Tomorrow after dinner… one hour… professional work samajh ke.”

Professional.

She repeated the word in her mind like a shield.

Professional work.

Extra money.

Nothing else.

By dinner time, her hands felt slightly cold, even though the kitchen was hot. She cooked dal, roti, and mixed vegetables. She served Arvind quietly at the dining table, then cleaned the plates, washed the glasses, wiped the counter, and checked the stove twice.

Ravi had already left for the farm.

The outside room was empty.

The big house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Simran stood near the kitchen door, holding a small bottle of oil in her hand.

For a moment, she thought of going back.

Then she remembered the rent.

The five hundred rupees.

The phone recharge she still had not done.

The slippers she still could not buy.

She took a breath and walked toward Arvind’s bedroom.

---

## The First Massage

Arvind’s bedroom was larger than the outside room and the kitchen together.

A soft lamp glowed near the bed. The curtains were closed. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and expensive soap. Everything was arranged perfectly, like even the silence had been folded and kept in place.

Arvind was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a plain white kurta-pajama.


When Simran entered, he looked up.

“You came.”

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

Her voice was low.

Arvind noticed the oil bottle in her hand.

 

“Video dekhi?”
*[Did you watch the video?]*

She nodded.

“Thodi.”
*[A little.]*

He smiled gently.

“Don’t worry. Bas shoulders and back. Agar difficult lage toh stop kar dena.”
*[Don’t worry. Just shoulders and back. If it feels difficult, stop.]*

That made her feel safer.

Or maybe it only made the room feel less dangerous.

Arvind lay face down on the bed, keeping his arms folded near the pillow. Simran stood beside him, uncertain.

She poured a little oil into her palm.

Too much.

She quickly rubbed it between both hands, embarrassed.

Arvind said without turning:

“Relax, Simran. First time hai. Galti ho sakti hai.”
*[Relax, Simran. It is your first time. Mistakes can happen.]*

She placed her hands carefully on his upper back.

Her movements were stiff at first. Like she was afraid even her fingers might do something wrong.

“Pressure theek hai?” she asked.
*[Is the pressure okay?]*

“Thoda aur,” Arvind said softly. “But only if you are comfortable.”
*[A little more. But only if you are comfortable.]*

She pressed slightly harder.

The room stayed quiet.

Outside, somewhere far away, a dog barked.

Inside, Simran focused on the movement she had seen in the video. Circles near the shoulder. Straight pressure beside the spine. Do not press bone. Ask if pressure is okay.

After ten minutes, her nervousness began to settle.

After twenty, she stopped thinking about every movement.

After thirty, she started talking.

Not because she planned to.

Because silence sometimes opens doors that words keep locked.

“Sir…”

“Hm?”

“Ravi pehle aisa nahi tha.”
*[Ravi was not like this before.]*

Arvind did not move.

“Kaise?”
*[How?]*

“Pehle woh mujhe dekh ke khush ho jaata tha. Ab lagta hai main uske liye bojh hoon.”
*[Before, he used to become happy just seeing me. Now it feels like I am a burden for him.]*

Arvind let a few seconds pass.

“Stress aadmi ko badal deta hai.”
*[Stress changes a man.]*

Simran’s hands slowed.

“Par main bhi stress mein hoon.”
*[But I am also stressed.]*

“I know.”

Those two words entered her quietly.

I know.

Ravi always said, “Tumhe kya pata.”

Arvind said, “I know.”

The difference was small.

The effect was not.

Simran continued, her voice softer.

“Kabhi-kabhi lagta hai main akeli hoon. Main uske liye ghar chhod ke aayi. Par jab problem aati hai, mujhe hi strong banna padta hai.”
*[Sometimes I feel I am alone. I left home for him. But whenever a problem comes, I am the one who has to be strong.]*

Arvind turned his face slightly toward her.

“You are strong.”

Simran looked down.

“Strong hona bhi thaka deta hai.”
*[Being strong also makes you tired.]*

Arvind’s voice became warmer.

“Then don’t be strong all the time. At least yahan mat bano.”
*[Then don’t be strong all the time. At least don’t be here.]*

Her hands stopped.

She did not know why that line affected her.

Maybe because it sounded like permission.

Permission to be tired.

Permission to be weak.

Permission to stop holding the roof alone.

Arvind noticed.

“Thak gayi?”
*[Are you tired?]*

“Thoda.”
*[A little.]*

“You can go. No problem.”

Simran almost stepped back.

But then something inside her resisted.

If she left now, the money would feel like charity.

If she stayed, it was work.

“No sir. Main kar lungi.”
*[No sir. I will manage.]*

Arvind smiled into the pillow.

“Good.”

But what he meant was not good work.

It was good girl.

The hour ended quietly.

Simran wiped her hands with a towel and stepped back.

Arvind sat up slowly.

“Better,” he said. “You learned fast.”

She gave a small shy smile.

“Video help kar gaya.”
*[The video helped.]*

“Not only video. Tum dhyan se kaam karti ho.”
*[Not only the video. You work carefully.]*

She lowered her eyes.

Praise had become rare in her life.

So when it came, she did not know where to keep it.

Arvind opened the side drawer and gave her five hundred rupees.

“For today. Extra.”

Simran looked shocked.

“Sir, monthly bola tha…”
*[Sir, you said monthly…]*

“This is first day. Take it.”

She hesitated.

Then took it.

The note felt warm in her hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

As she left the room, she told herself she had only done extra work.

Nothing wrong.

Nothing bad.

Only work.

 

But that night, when she lay in the outside room alone, she did not think about the five hundred first.

She thought about the line:

“At least yahan strong mat bano.”

And for the first time in many days, she slept without crying.

---

## Ravi Tries

The next morning, Ravi returned from work early.

Simran was folding clothes in the outside room. Her hair was tied loosely, and her eyes still carried sleep.

Ravi stood near the door for a moment.

“Simran.”

She looked up.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

He entered slowly.

“I want to talk.”

She kept folding.

“Bolo.”
*[Say it.]*

Ravi sat on the edge of the bed.

“Main daaru chhod dunga.”
*[I will quit drinking.]*

Her hands stopped.

He looked at her properly this time.

“Sach mein. Main kaam pe focus karunga. Advance nahi lunga. Jo galti hui… main theek karunga.”
*[Really. I will focus on work. I won’t take advance. The mistake I made… I will fix it.]*

Simran looked at him carefully.

His face was tired, but his voice sounded different.

Less defensive.

More broken.

“Ravi, sirf bolne se kuch nahi hoga.”
*[Ravi, saying it will not do anything.]*

“I know.”

“You always say you will manage.”

“I know.”

She looked away.

He moved a little closer.

“I’m sorry, Simran.”

The room became quiet.

There was something soft in his voice.

Something from before Delhi.

For a moment, Simran remembered the bus ride. The packet of chips in Shanti Stay Rooms. The dream of white curtains.

Ravi reached for her hand.

This time, she did not move away.

His fingers closed around hers.

“I miss you,” he said.

Simran’s throat tightened.

She wanted to stay angry.

But she also wanted to be wanted.

That was the cruelest confusion.

Ravi moved closer.

Their shoulders almost touched.

Then, from outside, Billa’s voice came sharply.

“Simran ji!”

Both froze.

Simran closed her eyes for half a second.

Ravi’s hand tightened around hers.

 

Billa knocked on the half-open doorframe.

“Arvind ji bula rahe hain. Book nahi mil rahi. Study mein help chahiye.”
*[Arvind ji is calling. He cannot find a book. He needs help in the study.]*

Ravi stared at him.

“Abhi?”
*[Now?]*

Billa gave an innocent face.

“Haan bhai. Sir wait kar rahe.”
*[Yes brother. Sir is waiting.]*

Simran slowly pulled her hand away.

“I’ll come.”

Ravi looked at her.

“Simran…”

She looked back, torn.

“Kaam hai.”

Then she left.

Ravi sat on the bed, staring at the doorway.

After many days, he had tried to come close.

And the house had called her away.

Outside, Billa smiled without showing teeth.

---

## The Book

In the study, Arvind stood near the shelves, holding two files.

Simran entered.

“Sir, book?”
*[Sir, the book?]*

Arvind turned.

“Yes, that blue accounts book. I can’t find it.”

She looked toward the shelf.

It was right there.

Second row.

Plain sight.

Simran took it out and gave it to him.

“Yeh?”
*[This?]*

Arvind smiled.

“Yes. Maybe I missed it.”

She did not know what to say.

For a moment, she remembered Ravi’s hand around hers.

Then Arvind said:

“Everything okay?”

She looked up.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

“You look disturbed.”

“Nahi sir.”

He watched her.

“You can tell me, Simran. But only if you want.”

That sentence again.

Only if you want.

No pressure.

Choice.

The same soft rope.

Simran looked away.

“Ravi bol raha tha woh drinking chhod dega.”
*[Ravi was saying he will quit drinking.]*

“That is good.”

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“But you don’t sound happy.”

She swallowed.

“Darr lagta hai. Woh bolta bahut hai. Nibhata kam hai.”
*[I feel scared. He says a lot. He follows through less.]*

Arvind nodded slowly.

“Trust takes time.”

She looked at him.

“And once broken?”

Arvind stepped closer, but not too close.

“Then someone has to keep proving themselves.”

Simran lowered her eyes.

Ravi had apologized.

Arvind had understood.

Both stood in her mind like two doors.

One old.

One dangerous.

But only one seemed open when she knocked.

---

## The Market

Later that afternoon, Arvind called her again.

“Simran, vegetables khatam ho gaye. Market se le aao. Driver nahi hai, auto le lena.”
*[Simran, vegetables are finished. Bring them from the market. The driver is not here, take an auto.]*

He handed her money and a small list.

Tomatoes.

Onions.

Coriander.

Paneer.

Curd.

Green chilies.

She nodded.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

The afternoon sun was sharp.

Summer had begun to settle over Delhi like a hot sheet.

Simran wore a light white suit because all the darker suits were still wet from washing. The fabric was thinner than she liked. She pinned her dupatta carefully before leaving, but the heat and the auto ride kept loosening it.

At the market, she stepped out and immediately felt eyes.

Not one pair.

Many.

A vegetable seller looked too long.

Two boys near a juice stall whispered and laughed.

An older man paused mid-bargain and stared.

Simran’s hand went to her dupatta.

She adjusted it once.

Then again.

She almost turned back.

The auto had already gone.

The house felt far.

The market felt loud.

For a second, her heart began to beat fast.

Then she remembered the list in her hand.

Work.

Finish work.

Go back.

She pulled her dupatta tighter, lifted her chin slightly, and walked toward the vegetable stall.

 

“Tamatar kitne ke?” she asked.
*[How much are tomatoes?]*

The seller smiled.

“For you, madam, good price.”

She did not smile.

“Rate bolo.”
*[Say the rate.]*

He told her.

She bargained properly.

Then onions.

Then coriander.

Then curd.

The whole time, she kept adjusting her dupatta, annoyed with the fabric, annoyed with the heat, annoyed with herself for feeling watched.

By the time she returned home, her face was tired and her mood was sharp.

She carried the bags into the kitchen and placed them on the counter.

Arvind came in from the dining room.

“You went alone?” he asked.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

“Market crowded tha?”
*[Was the market crowded?]*

“Bahut.”
*[Very.]*

“Managed?”

She exhaled.

“Kar liya.”
*[I managed.]*

Arvind smiled faintly.

“You are learning Delhi.”

Simran looked at him.

“Delhi mujhe seekha rahi hai.”
*[Delhi is teaching me.]*

For a moment, Arvind looked almost impressed.

Then he said:

“Tea?”

She almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because of course.

After the market.

After the heat.

After the staring.

After carrying bags.

Tea.

“Ji sir,” she said.

And began to boil water.

---

## Summer Inside The House

Ravi slept through the afternoon.

He had returned from the farm exhausted, eaten quietly, and fallen asleep before Simran came back from the market.

She checked on him once.

He was lying on his side, one arm over his face.

He looked younger while sleeping.

Less angry.

Less failed.

Less dangerous.

For a second, Simran’s heart softened.

Then Billa’s voice came from outside.

“Madam ji, Arvind sir ne study ka table clean karne ko bola.”
*[Madam, Arvind sir said to clean the study table.]*

She looked once more at Ravi.

Then left.

That became the pattern.

Ravi slept.

Simran worked.

Arvind called.

Billa watched.

The days grew hotter.

Summer made the house slower, heavier. The kitchen became a furnace by noon. The thin suits Arvind had bought were easier to work in, but Simran still felt uncomfortable at first.

She adjusted her dupatta in the beginning.

Again and again.

Near the stove.

Near the sink.

Near the hallway.

But heat is a patient thief.

It steals shame one drop of sweat at a time.

After some days, in front of Arvind, she stopped adjusting it as much.

Not because she wanted attention.

Because she was tired.

Because her hands were full.

Because the fan barely worked near the kitchen.

Because Arvind never reacted openly.

That was his talent.

He made her feel unseen exactly when he was watching the most.

“Water?” he would ask.

“Ji sir.”

“Too hot in kitchen?”

“Thoda.”

“Use the table fan.”

“Ji.”

Small care.

Small comfort.

Small hooks.

At night, after dinner, the massage continued.

At first, Simran counted minutes.

Then she stopped counting.

She learned where Arvind’s back pain was. She learned how much pressure he liked. She learned where the oil was kept, which towel to use, where to place the bottle, when to ask if the pressure was okay.

And slowly, the room became less frightening.

That was the frightening part.

One night, while pressing his shoulder, she said:

“Ravi ne aaj phir promise kiya.”
*[Ravi promised again today.]*

Arvind’s eyes remained closed.

“About drinking?”

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“Do you believe him?”

Simran was quiet.

Then she said:

“Pata nahi.”
*[I don’t know.]*

Arvind did not answer quickly.

Then:

“Sometimes people love us, but they are not strong enough to protect us.”

Her hands stopped for a second.

The sentence felt too close.

Too true.

“Ravi bura nahi hai,” she said softly.
*[Ravi is not bad.]*

“I did not say he is bad.”

“Phir?”

Arvind opened his eyes slightly.

“I said he is weak.”

Simran looked down.

She wanted to defend Ravi.

But the problem was, Arvind had used the word she had been hiding from herself.

Weak.

The room went quiet.

Arvind’s voice softened.

“You deserve someone who gives you peace, Simran. Not only promises.”

She swallowed.

The oil shone faintly on her palms.

Her heart beat faster, not from desire exactly, but from the strange feeling of being seen.

“Sir, aap aise mat bolo,” she whispered.
*[Sir, don’t speak like this.]*

“Why?”

“Galat lagta hai.”
*[It feels wrong.]*

Arvind turned his face slightly.

“Truth sometimes feels wrong when we hear it for the first time.”

Simran did not reply.

She continued the massage.

But something had shifted.

Not openly.

Not fully.

Just enough for Arvind to know the wall had another crack.

---

## The New Distance

The next morning, Ravi tried again.

He returned from work and found Simran in the kitchen courtyard, cutting vegetables.

“Simran.”

She looked up.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

“Today I didn’t drink.”

She nodded.

“Good.”

“I mean it.”

“I hope so.”

He stood there awkwardly.

“I thought maybe… after I sleep, evening mein baat karenge.”
*[I thought maybe… after I sleep, we will talk in the evening.]*

Simran looked at him.

There was hope in his face.

Small.

Late.

But real.

“Dekhenge,” she said.
*[We’ll see.]*

Ravi accepted that like it was more than he deserved.

He went to sleep.

By evening, Arvind had guests coming.

Not big guests.

Only one business visitor.

But enough to keep Simran in the main house until late.

Ravi waited in the outside room.

Seven became eight.

Eight became nine.

By the time Simran came back, her feet hurt and her mood was empty.

Ravi sat up.

“You came.”

“Kaam tha.”
*[There was work.]*

“I waited.”

She closed the door softly.

“I am tired, Ravi.”

He looked down.

“Okay.”

She lay down facing the wall.

Ravi sat awake for a long time.

He had stopped drinking for one day.

But the house had already learned how to keep them apart.

---

## Arvind’s Patience

Arvind did not rush.

That was why he was dangerous.

A foolish man would have pushed.

Arvind only waited.

He made himself useful.

He made himself calm.

He made himself the place where Simran could speak without being shouted at.

One evening, during massage, Simran told him about her mother.

“She must be angry,” Simran said quietly.

“Your mother?”

Simran nodded.

“Par woh roti bhi hogi.”
*[But she must also be crying.]*

“Do you miss her?”

Simran’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears back.

“Every day.”

“Then call her.”

Simran gave a sad smile.

“Recharge bhi soch ke karna padta hai.”
*[Even recharge has to be thought about carefully.]*

The next morning, Arvind left a recharge voucher near the kitchen counter.

He did not give it to her directly.

That made it worse.

Because it looked like kindness without demand.

Simran found it beside the sugar jar.

There was a small note:

**For your mother. Don’t overthink.**

She held the voucher for a long time.

Then hid it in her notebook.

That day, when she made tea for Arvind, her voice was softer.

“Thank you, sir.”

Arvind did not look up from his newspaper.

“For what?”

She understood.

He wanted the kindness to feel private.

Secret.

Between them.

She said nothing more.

But something inside her moved closer.

---

## The Comfortable Cage

Days passed.

Ravi tried to improve.

Some days he succeeded.

Some days he came home irritated, exhausted, and bitter. He did not drink openly, but Simran could smell weakness around him like smoke after a fire.

Billa made sure Ravi never fully recovered his place.

If Ravi sat with Simran too long, Billa called.

If they closed the door, some work appeared.

If Ravi tried to talk at night before leaving, Arvind needed tea.

If Simran looked free, the study needed cleaning.

Slowly, Simran stopped expecting uninterrupted time with Ravi.

Expectation is a living thing.

If neglected long enough, it dies quietly.

With Arvind, expectation grew instead.

He asked if she had eaten.

He noticed when she looked tired.

He gave small extra money for massage.

He said her tea was perfect.

He said she learned fast.

He said she deserved peace.

Each line was small.

Together, they became a room inside her mind.

A room Ravi no longer entered.

One night, after the massage, Arvind sat up and looked at her.

“You are different now.”

Simran wiped her hands with the towel.

“Different kaise?”
*[Different how?]*

“Less scared.”

She gave a faint smile.

“Maybe aadat ho gayi.”
*[Maybe I got used to it.]*

“To me?” he asked softly.

She froze.

The question hung in the room.

Too direct.

Too warm.

Too dangerous.

She looked down.

“Kaam ki aadat ho gayi, sir.”
*[I got used to the work, sir.]*

Arvind smiled.

“Of course.”

But both of them knew she had not answered the real question.

Simran left the room quickly that night.

In the corridor, she placed one hand on the wall and took a breath.

Her heart was beating too fast.

She whispered to herself:

“Bas kaam hai.”
*[It is only work.]*

But the words did not sound as strong as before.

Inside the bedroom, Arvind looked at the closed door.

Then at the oil bottle on the table.

His smile returned.

The trap was no longer outside Simran.

It had begun to speak in her own voice.