Aria

I walk out of my room with a spring in my steps, the hem of my shawl brushing against my ankles.

The sun is high, casting a golden glow across our courtyard, and I can hear faint echoes of the fair’s music drifting in from afar.

I’ve been waiting to go to the fair ever since it started a week ago. And after seven days of requesting and pleading with Papa, he has finally agreed to let me go.

He also said that instead of going with my friends, I would be going with him, Maa, and Karan.

That’s more than fine with me. Not only will I get to go to the fair but I’ll go with my family. As it is, we rarely go out together.

After Papa gave his yes last night, I started planning everything I’d do in the fair.

I’ll eat at least three sticks of cotton candy, maybe more if Maa didn’t stop me. I just love the way those soft, pink cloud-like candy melts on my tongue.

And Karan has also promised to buy me the new sandals. The one with small mirrors on the straps that glint in the sun.

Apart from eating candies and buying sandals, I’ll also play the games there. Meena, my friend who went there two days back, told me the fair have the ferris wheel, the balloon darts, and the ring toss too.

I hope Maa will also join me on those games. She is always so busy with the chores in the house that I’ve never seen her go out and enjoy. I do help her in the kitchen, but there are times when I wish I could take her out and enjoy a day with her.

Perhaps today is that day.

If Papa allowed, we’ll also eat dinner out tonight. So that, after returning, Maa will also be able to rest.

Still smiling giddily, I’m about to cross the courtyard and go to the kitchen to ask Maa if she’ll wear her red saree today because it makes her look young, when Papa’s voice stops me.

“Stop right there. I need to talk to you.”

I freeze, slowly turning to him. “Yes, Papa?”

He walks up to me and says, “We’re going to the fair, but remember one thing. Don’t chatter too much or behave childishly there. You turned twenty-one two weeks ago. It’s time to start talking about your marriage, and I don’t want people there to see you jumping around and start gossiping. Do you understand?”

I nod quickly, eyes falling to the ground. My throat tightens as the word marriage crawls into my chest, forming a tight knot around.

It also makes me wonder why I’ve no say in such a monumental decision of my life.

Papa told me he would be the one to choose the groom for me and finalize everything. All I have to do is get married to the complete stranger chosen for me.

“Why are you standing here like a statue? Leave now,” he says, and I hurry away to the kitchen.

With every step that I take, I feel a throbbing ache right under my ribs.

Just a moment ago, I was filled with joy. But it has dimmed now.

Sometimes, I wonder if Papa even realizes how much it hurts me when he talks so dismissively. Like I don’t matter to him at all.

It’s always been this way. Ever since I can remember, all his love, his attention, and his approval have belonged only to his son.

He praises Karan openly, smiles with him, calls him my son with pride swelling in his voice.

But with me, there’s nothing. No warmth. No softness. No love.

When I was a child, I used to try to get his love and attention. I would draw little flowers for him, run to him with his slippers in hand when he returned from work. I’d smile and stretch my arms, hoping he’d hug me and twirl me around like he did with Karan. But he never even looked at me properly. He only grunted when he took the slippers and never glanced at the flowers I drew for him. He always said he was too busy to waste his time on such things.

Maa used to try to make him see me. I had heard her say once, “She’s your daughter too.”

But Papa had snapped back, saying, “There’s a difference between a daughter and a son. I’ll never love a daughter like I love my son.”

Something broke inside me when I heard him say it.

That was the day I stopped trying to earn his love. Yet, even after all these years, a small part of me keeps hoping for that one look from him that’s filled with fatherly affection.

When I enter the kitchen, I see Maa sitting near the stove, stirring the pot on it.

I walk to her and sit by her side, putting my head over her shoulder.

She strokes my hair and asks, “What happened? Just a while ago, you were so happy. Why do you look so down now?”

“Papa told me I shouldn’t be too playful or cheerful.”

Her hand pauses on my hair for a second before she resumes stroking. “Don’t take his words to heart. He says all this because he cares for you.”

I raise my head from her shoulder and look at her. “Why are you lying, Maa? I know Papa doesn’t care for me at all. I’ve even heard him say it. He only loves Karan.”

Maa doesn’t deny it. She looks away, busying herself with stirring the pot with the ladle although the curry doesn’t need the stirring right now.

After a moment, she tells me, “Lunch is ready. Go call your father and brother. We’ll eat first, then quickly get ready and go to the fair. Since morning, you were telling me you wanted to go soon. That’s why I even made lunch sooner than usual today.”

A pinch twists in my chest at the way she abruptly changes the topic. I know she did it because she also knew I was telling the truth.

Blinking back the tears burning at the corners of my eyes, I push myself up and walk out of the kitchen to call Papa and Karan.