Chapter 7: Betrayal and the Family’s Price

It was late, and the two were so caught up they didn’t notice I was standing not far away.

The street was quiet, most shops closed. A stray dog nosed through a pile of vada pav wrappers, and a distant loudspeaker played an old Kishore Kumar song as I watched them.

I heard the man angrily demand, “Didn’t you say you’d break up with him today and run away with me? Are you having second thoughts?”

His voice was low, rough. He looked older, dressed in expensive clothes. He glared at her, hands shoved in his pockets.

“What are you talking about? Of course I love you most. I just found out today that his family’s little shop makes a ton of money. As long as I marry him and find a way to get rid of him, we’ll be rich.”

Neha’s words stung. She sounded practical, almost cold. I felt my chest tighten, breath coming in short gasps.

“Really? Are you just saying that to calm me down because you want to be with him?”

The man scowled, turning away. Neha grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“Of course it’s true. How could I like a guy like him—no guts, always fawning over me? You don’t know, their pomfret sells for nearly a lakh each.”

She laughed, a harsh sound. The man grinned, and they walked away together, arms entwined. I stood rooted to the spot, the city lights blurring around me.

The two of them walked off arm in arm, leaving me standing in the dusty road, dazed, for a long time before I returned to the shop.

My feet felt heavy. Every step back to the shop was like walking through mud. The voices from the street faded into white noise. When I reached the shutter, I paused, wiping my face before going in.

My parents were surprised to see me so out of it.

Ma looked up from her chai, concern etched on her face. Dad frowned, sensing something was wrong. The shop was nearly empty now, the air thick with leftover spices and tension.

“Back so soon?”

Ma’s voice was gentle. I nodded, unable to meet her eyes. Dad put down his cup, waiting for an explanation I couldn’t give.

I nodded absentmindedly.

I stared at my hands, still smelling faintly of fish. My mind replayed Neha’s words, over and over.

“You never told us you were dating. Your mom and I were just saying we should hurry you up. After all, your Didi can’t hold on much longer—we can’t let our money-making path be blocked.”

Dad spoke softly, but the words felt heavy. Ma looked at Rupa’s closed bedroom door, worry clouding her features. I realised then that this was bigger than any love story—this was family, legacy, and something older than all of us.

“If I get married, will you finally tell me the secret behind our family’s pomfret?”

I looked from Dad to Ma, then at the locked bedroom door. The truth felt close, yet impossibly far. The weight of generations pressed on my shoulders, and I wondered if I was ready for the answer.

As Neha walked away, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.