Reluctant Marriage Undeniable Love

Mira's POV

When my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed immediately. I was aware that my mother would be furious with me if I was even a single minute late. Since it was six in the morning, I had to get everything done as soon as possible so that I could prepare breakfast for the family. To complete my morning routine as quickly as possible, I snatched up my towel and hurried to the restroom.

Mira Raghav is who I am. I'm 23 years old, have completed my education, and attended college for two years. I attended Mumbai's local college. Not to explore my dreams, but simply to avoid interfering with my parents' lives. I only learned a handful of things that I didn't want to know. "A bad omen like you doesn't need to study just to work as a maid," my parents would always say when I aspired to become a doctor to save lives.

My parents pulled me out of college in my sophomore year when I arrived home late twice in a row due to a project. They continued hitting me and accusing me of whoring when I tried to tell them. I put an end to all of my dreams, including becoming a doctor, after that day.

Everyone is probably asking themselves, "Why do my parents abuse me?" The answer to that is, well, I'm not even sure. They simply treat me badly and mistreat me for every small error I make. However, my younger brother receives all of the attention that a child longs for. I'm not even permitted to address them as "dad" or "mom." I get up every day with the hope that things will change, but that optimism is invariably dashed at the end of the day. However, I am content with my existence as long as I have a place to live and food. I don't always understand that. Sometimes, due to trivial errors, I have to starve myself. I simply long for a little affection from my parents, but I never receive any in the end. Nevertheless, I harbor a small hope that I will eventually receive some affection and respect.

After taking a shower, I changed into a simple red churidar and a yellow dupatta. I applied chapstick and moisturizer to my face. I formally got ready for the day by leaving my hair down. I'm not a fan of cosmetics or overdoing it.

As usual, I prayed for a good day for everyone. Then, realizing that time was running out, I hurried to the kitchen below.

• • • •

I walked to the kitchen and began preparing the chai and kneading the paratha dough. My mom came into the kitchen and yelled, "Why aren't you done cooking yet?" Well, this is Swetha Raghav, my mother. She despises me and would stop at nothing to get rid of me.

I was terrified when I glanced up at her. Her loud voice usually made me feel shy. "I'm asking you something!" she said. I was a stuttering mess. "I..I..." How am I going to let her know that she's early today? "You...you got up earlier than...normal, so..." She struck me across the face before I could finish. Although it hurt a lot, I'm used to it. She screamed, "How dare you talk back to me!?"

I was unable to respond. I'd get spanked again if I did. "I'm so sorry; I'll finish up quickly." "You be" My younger brother Rohan Raghav interrupted her. For those that know him, he's called Ro. "Mom is breakfast ready? I have to go to college." Rohan said. "Good morning sweetie. This peasant is almost done. Now get lost and finish. My baby needs to leave." My mom remarked.

I hurried to the kitchen and got to work preparing food. Everyone may be asking why the wealthy Raghav family doesn't have maids in their home. We do, of course, but their purpose is to tidy everyone's room-aside from mine, of course. My parents don't like me handling their belongings, which is why. When I go grocery shopping, I am not permitted to speak to the maids or anybody else.

The servants do express sympathy, but there is nothing I can do about it. However, I have to cook everything and clean the rest of the house. I don't hate cooking for them because I truly enjoy it, but it stings when they don't value my efforts and only consider me to be one of the maids.

I put everything on the dining table after I was done cooking. I watched my dad descend and take a seat at the table. Akhil Raghav is my father! Although he is not as horrible as my mother, he shares her hatred of me.