"Hello, Aunty," I said politely, touching her feet in respect.
She gave a curt nod but said nothing.
The tension in the room was palpable, but Uncle seemed determined to ignore it. He gestured for me to sit and immediately launched into questions about how I was doing, how Dadi was recovering, how work was going.
I answered his questions, keeping my responses light and pleasant. We chatted about inconsequential things. The weather. The traffic. A new restaurant that had opened nearby.
Aunty sat in stony silence the entire time, her eyes fixed on me with an expression I could not quite read. Resentment, maybe. Or anger. Or something else entirely.
I was about to ask Uncle about his health when I heard footsteps.
Avija burst into the living room like a storm. Her face was flushed, her eyes wild, her hair disheveled as though she had been running her hands through it repeatedly.
Before I could even register what was happening, she grabbed my forearm in a painful grip and yanked me to my feet.
"Are you happy now?" she hissed, her face inches from mine. "Are you satisfied after ruining my entire life?"
I stared at her in complete confusion, my heart suddenly racing.
"What? Avija, what are you talking about?"
"Avija, stop this!" Uncle stood up quickly, moving toward us. "Let go of her right now."
But Avija ignored him. Her fingers dug into my arm hard enough to bruise.
"Playing innocent? Really? You think I do not know what you did? You stole him from me! You took everything that was supposed to be mine!"
"I do not understand," I said, my voice shaking. "Avija, I do not know what you are talking about. Please let go of me."
"Let go of her, Avija," Uncle said again, his voice firm. He tried to pull her away from me, but she shook him off.
"No! She needs to hear this. She needs to know what she has done."
Tears were streaming down Avija's face now, her breath coming in harsh gasps.
"Armaan was mine. He was supposed to be mine. We were in love. We were planning to get married. Do you understand that? We were going to spend our lives together."
The words hit me like physical blows. I felt my knees go weak.
"What?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
"We were together for two years. Two years! He loved me. He told me he loved me. We picked out a venue for our wedding.We talked about our future. About the children we would have. About growing old together."
"Avija, that is enough," Aunty Sangeetha said sharply, finally standing up. But there was no real force behind her words. It was as though she was saying them out of obligation rather than any real desire to stop what was happening.
"No, it is not enough!" Avija's voice was rising to a scream now. "She needs to know the truth! She needs to know that none of this was real!"
I could not move. Could not speak. Could not breathe. My entire world was tilting sideways.
"The prophecy," Avija continued, her words tumbling out in a rush. "His kundali said his first wife would die within a year of marriage. So my mother, she came up with a plan. A plan to protect me. Armaan would marry someone else first. Some disposable girl who did not matter. They would stay married for a year, satisfy the prophecy, then divorce. And then Armaan and I could get married safely."
No. No, this could not be real. This could not be true.
"That disposable girl was you, Viya. You were the sacrifice. The shield. The nobody who was supposed to take the bullet meant for me."
I shook my head, trying to reject what she was saying. Trying to make sense of words that did not make sense.
"Uncle," I turned to him, my voice breaking. "Uncle, tell her she is wrong. Tell her this is not true. You said you were sick. Yousaid you did not have much time left. You said you wanted to see me settled before you died."
