Chapter 1: Snakes in the Bedroom

If you’d told me my fiancé’s idea of romance included a house full of snakes, I’d have run straight to my maasi’s house in Lucknow, no questions asked.

Since the day our families fixed my engagement to Arjun—like my opinion was just some extra masala sprinkled over the shaadi arrangements—I’ve tried to make peace with his weird passion for snakes. But honestly, my nerves are thinner than old papad sometimes. My mother keeps telling me, “Beta, after marriage, learn to adjust.” But tell me, how does one adjust to snakes slithering under your future husband’s bed?

As his fiancée, there are times I get so scared that tears spill down my cheeks. He never misses a chance to tease me, smirking that half-charming, half-maddening smile: “Bas, Meera, kitna drama karegi?” Whenever I’d sniff and wipe my eyes, he’d sigh, “Enough with the nautanki, Meera.”

I’ve tried everything to rid myself of this fear. Gone to temples, pleaded with the pandit for a powerful mantra, even dangled a nimbu-mirchi outside my door for good luck. But no matter what, the fear clings on like an over-friendly relative during wedding season.

Then one day, a girl breezed in—completely unbothered by snakes. She walked with a confidence that made my stomach twist, like when you find out the samosas are finished at the wedding buffet. Priya, with her flowy white cotton kurti and hair in a perfect plait, entered Arjun’s room like she owned the place.

Her payal tinkled as she entered, and the smell of mogra oil from her hair filled the room. She started coming and going from his room, playing with his little snake without even flinching. She’d let her fingers glide along its scales and laugh, “See, Meera, he’s so soft! Why are you so scared?” Arjun, who was usually rough, seemed softer with her, always smiling at her jokes in that quiet way.

Finally, I gave up. I packed my things, ready to end the engagement—when suddenly, a flurry of comments floated across my phone screen:

[Yes, girl, run! Don’t let that bad snake get you all tangled up.]

[Hahaha, is the hero out of his mind? After all these years, she’s still scared of snakes—forget about her shedding her skin.]

[Am I the only one who wants to see the obedient girl’s eyes go blank when the out-of-control hero pounces on her?]

I shivered. My dupatta slipped off my shoulder as I pressed myself into the corner, silently reciting Hanuman Chalisa in my head. It felt like the whole colony was watching, whispering, “Log kya kahenge?”—except now, it was WhatsApp aunties’ voices floating above me instead of real ones on the terrace.

I blinked at the floating comments, half-convinced my phone had been hijacked by the neighborhood WhatsApp group aunties. When I turned, Arjun had already closed the door and suddenly asked, “Packing up? Planning to run away?” He leaned in, lowering his voice. The faint sound of the pressure cooker’s whistle from the kitchen made the silence between us sharper. The sound of the latch clicking made my heart stop. The street below was noisy with hawkers selling bhutta, but inside, the silence pressed down heavier than Delhi humidity in June.

As the door clicked shut, I realized—this wasn’t just about snakes anymore. It was about whether I belonged here at all.