**Chapter 8: Letters Left Unsent**
Aanya's old diary was tucked between a tax textbook and a folder labeled "CAT Prep 2023." She hadn't opened it in months—maybe over a year. But that Sunday morning, while searching for a study planner, her fingers found the faded maroon cover.
And like an itch that refused to be ignored, she opened it.
The pages were messy, the handwriting shifting with her moods—neat when she was calm, erratic when frustrated. But one thing stayed consistent: her voice.
She flipped through entries, stopping at one dated **just three days before her wedding**.
> *"I'm going to ruin my life. They don't get it. I don't want this. Not this life. Not with him. What's the point of being free if I'm always being traded between expectations?"*
> *"He's polite, yes. Educated, sure. But I can't trust someone who agreed to marry me without knowing who I am. I won't let him break me."*
She exhaled sharply. Her own words stung now.
Had she really been *that* angry?
No… she still was. But it wasn't the same anymore.
Then her eyes caught the envelope tucked inside.
Unsealed.
Unsent.
**To Arjun.**
Her heart stilled.
She pulled it out carefully, fingers trembling.
"If you're reading this, it means I never had the courage to say it to your face. I don't hate you. I hate what you represent—control, duty, compromise. But deep down, I know you didn't choose this either. I don't know if you're kind or just careful, if you're possessive or just afraid. But I need to be free, Arjun. I need to breathe. I'm sorry if I hurt you. But I can't be your idea of a wife."*
Aanya stared at the letter for a long time.
Then, slowly, without thinking, she slid it back into the envelope, sealed it… and placed it on *his* desk.
***
Arjun didn't see the envelope until late that night.
He'd been in the middle of a conference call, headphones on, brows furrowed over a coding error.
But when he leaned back and saw it—his name in her handwriting—his world stilled.
His first instinct was to worry.
Was this a goodbye?
Was she leaving?
He tore the envelope open with shaking hands and read.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Then folded the letter neatly and placed it in the drawer.
He didn't confront her.
Not yet.
But everything changed that night.
***
Three days later, Aanya came home from her parents' house to find the apartment spotless. Candles lined the balcony railing. Her favorite pasta was on the table. A soft playlist hummed from the speakers.
And Arjun?
He was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, trying to look casual.
"You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to."
She paused at the table, unsure.
He didn't push. Didn't ask why she looked tired. Didn't ask why she had stayed with her parents for two nights longer than planned.
Just sat with her. Ate quietly. And when she rose to take her plate, he gently took it from her hand and said, "Go sit. I'll clean."
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing, Arjun?"
"Feeding my wife," he said simply. "Before she vanishes again."
Her breath caught.
There was something different in his voice. Like steel behind velvet.
He wasn't angry.
He was… *deciding*.
And that made her nervous.
***
Later that night, she found a sticky note on her side of the mirror.
> *"I don't need a perfect wife. I need a real partner. If you want to leave, I won't stop you. But don't keep quiet and call it compromise. Talk to me. Fight with me. But don't disappear."*
> — A
She stared at it for minutes.
Then peeled it off… and placed it under her pillow.
***
Meanwhile, outside their carefully curated silence, the gossip got juicier.
**Arjun's mother was livid.**
He'd stopped answering her calls regularly. He didn't visit. And worst of all, when she hinted that Aanya wasn't "adjusting well," Arjun had *defended* her again.
"He never spoke back to me like that before marriage," she complained to her neighbor. "She's turned him against his own blood."
**Aanya's bua thought otherwise.**
"She's too lucky," she told her sister. "Married to an IITian, no pressure for a child yet, allowed to study… and still she looks miserable. Girls today don't know what they want."
**Cousin Ritu had a new theory.**
"I think he's obsessed with her. Like, stalker-level obsessed. He doesn't let her travel alone. He once showed up at her class to pick her up without being asked. That's not love, that's control."
**Shruti had her own bitterness brewing.**
"I texted him about Papa's appointment. He took six hours to reply. SIX. You know what he said? 'Sorry, was helping Aanya with mock tests.' Like she's his whole damn world now."
But it was **Rohit**, Arjun's best friend from college, who saw it clearly.
He visited for a weekend, just once. Quiet, observant.
Later, over beers on the balcony, he said to Arjun:
"You look like a man waiting to be chosen."
Arjun blinked. "What does that mean?"
Rohit sipped. "It means you're not chasing her. You're waiting. Silently. That's loyalty, bro. But it's also painful to watch."
"She's worth the wait."
Rohit looked at him. "Just don't wait forever without knowing if she's even coming."
***
The next evening, Aanya found something in the drawer under Arjun's study desk.
A photo.
Not of her.
But of a small note, framed, with smudged writing.
She recognized it instantly. Her letter.
He had *framed* it.
Aanya's heartbeat stuttered.
Not because he had kept it.
But because he had *honored* it.
Her truth.
Her pain.
Even when it hurt him.
She sat on the couch, dazed.
He walked in ten minutes later.
Stopped in the doorway when he saw her holding the photo.
"I told you I wouldn't stop you," he said quietly.
"But you never said you'd let me go."
His eyes met hers. Dark. Tired. But steady.
"I won't."
"I thought you said—"
"I said I won't stop you. Doesn't mean I'll give up."
Aanya closed her eyes.
Because somewhere, deep down, that was exactly what she'd been waiting for.
Not permission to leave.
But a reason to *stay*.
---
**[End of Chapter 8]**