Chapter 4: The Tutor Arrives

I didn’t expect Aarav to resist me, his stepmother, so much. On my very first day at the Sharma house, he threw a cup at my feet. “Get out. All of you, leave. I want Maa.”

The shards of the cup skittered across the white marble, one piece slicing open my toe. Even the servants averted their eyes, mumbling about Nazar and unlucky beginnings.

Dadaji Sharma sighed behind me. “His mother passed away early, and later we found out this child was different from the others. He was diagnosed with autism three years ago, and since then he’s driven away seven nannies.”

Dadaji’s voice was gentle but tired, his hands shaking slightly as he offered me a glass of water. I nodded, my own fears mingling with pity for the boy I barely knew.

Looking at the child curled up in the bay window, a six-year-old body curled in a fetal position, fingers nervously picking at the window frame.

The evening sun caught the dust motes swirling around him. I watched, helpless, as he rocked back and forth, mumbling to himself in a language only he understood.

I began to learn about autism education methods, using ABA intervention, making daily visual routine cards, making sure Aarav ate and took his medicine on time. But he always hid the pills in his cheeks, and spat them into the potted money plant as soon as I turned away.

It became a silent war of wits. I’d find half-dissolved tablets nestled between the leaves of the money plant, and Aarav would watch me with sly satisfaction. Still, I persevered, creating charts and flashcards, sticking them to every surface until the house looked like a school classroom.

Fortunately, he gradually stopped resisting, he could take his medicine and let me approach.

Small victories—one less tantrum, one more smile. I’d celebrate alone in the kitchen with a spoonful of Nutella, the only treat I allowed myself.

Now, four years have passed. My thoughts kept replaying in my mind. The pain nearly drowned me.

The house felt colder these days, despite the Mumbai humidity. Every time I heard Meera’s voice, I wondered if it was time to let go.

Meera left. Priya’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She pushed open the door and entered my room. In four years of marriage, she had never stepped foot in here before.

Her entrance startled me. She surveyed the room—the plain bedsheet, the stack of storybooks, the faint scent of sandalwood from my agarbattis.

“You were very rude today. The Sharma family has given you everything—you should be grateful.”

Her words stung, her tone colder than the marble tiles under my feet. I bit back a retort, knowing it would only make things worse.

Her voice was cold, as if I were just a maid in the Sharma family. I let out a bitter laugh. Indeed, isn’t that what I am?

I almost asked if she even remembered my favourite colour, but bit my lip, glancing at the closed window, and silently turned away. I was here for Aarav, not for myself.

“Why did it have to be me?” My voice caught in my throat. Priya frowned, as if she didn’t understand. “Why was I chosen in the first place?” I repeated.

The old wound reopened, as raw as it had been on my wedding night, when I’d wondered why my father had agreed so quickly.

[Why? Isn’t it because your family doesn’t care about you? Haha, the supporting character is still asking.]

[What normal heiress would want to be a stepmother to an autistic child?]

The words jabbed at me, crueler than any actual insult. My chest heaved, but I refused to let her see me cry.

The comments answered for Priya before she could. I laughed silently.

“It’s nothing, no need to answer.” I waved my hand. Priya was clearly angered by me. She took a deep breath.

She smoothed her saree, gathering composure before speaking again. Her voice was clipped, every syllable chosen with care.

“Aarav really likes Meera. I’ve decided to let Meera be Aarav’s tutor.”

I nodded. Of course, the comments were right about everything.

A strange, hollow laughter bubbled up inside me, but I kept my face expressionless, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white, as I forced a neutral expression.