Aishweriya's POV
The candles flickered in the dimly lit restaurant, casting dancing shadows across the white tablecloth. I watched the flame of the candle closest to me, mesmerized by how it bent and swayed with the slightest breath of air. I wish I could be that free.
"Do you like it?" Aaron's voice cut through my thoughts. "I reserved the best table in the place. Took me three weeks to get this reservation."
I lifted my gaze from the candle and forced my lips into a smile. "It's beautiful, Aaron. Thank you for remembering my birthday."
"Of course I remembered." His hand reached across the table to grasp mine, fingers tightening just a touch more than necessary. "What kind of fiancé would I be if I forgot my future wife's birthday?"
The waiter approached with two glasses of champagne, setting them down with practiced precision.
"To us," Aaron said, raising his glass. "And to many more birthdays together as husband and wife."
I clinked my glass against his, the sound ringing hollow in my ears. The engagement ring on my finger felt suddenly heavy, like a beautiful shackle rather than a promise of love.
"I have something for you." Aaron reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
When he opened it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings, I found myself genuinely surprised by the thoughtfulness of the gift.
"They're beautiful," I whispered, the sparkle of the diamonds momentarily distracting me from the growing unease that had settled in my chest over the past months.
"Only the best for you." His smile was warm, but his eyes searched my face, analyzing my reaction. "Put them on."
I obliged, removing my simple gold studs and replacing them with the diamonds. They felt heavy against my earlobes, weighing me down.
"Perfect." Aaron nodded with satisfaction. "Much better than those old ones."
Those "old ones" had been a gift from my grandmother before she passed away. I slipped them into my purse without comment.
"I ordered for us already," Aaron continued, signaling to the waiter. "Your favorite—butter chicken and garlic naan."
My stomach clenched. I had been a vegetarian my entire life until I met Aaron. He had slowly convinced me to start eating meat, claiming I was missing out on the "finer things in life." Now, after two years together, I regularly eat dishes I once would have refused. I'd told him three times in the past month that dairy upset my stomach, but he never seemed to hear me.
"That sounds great," I lied, wondering how many small lies like this I told in a day. A week. An engagement.
"So," Aaron leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, "how was your day? Any interesting weddings to plan?"
The casual question carried a weight I'd grown familiar with. There was something in his tone that made me wary.
"Just consultations today," I answered carefully. "The Sharma wedding is coming up, and the mother of the bride keeps changing her mind about the centerpieces."
"No interesting clients? No one... familiar?"
I took a sip of my champagne to steady myself. "No, just the usual anxious brides and demanding mothers."
"Speaking of events, we need to talk about the gala last night," Aaron said, his expression darkening slightly.
I got tense. "What about it?"
"I didn't like the way that publishing guy was looking at you. Carter, was it?" Aaron's voice took on an edge. "The one who kept hovering around our table."
"He was just saying hello," I said truthfully. "I met him some time ago at a marriage, but I barely know him."
"Well, I want you to stay away from him," Aaron said firmly. "I saw how he was looking at you. I don't trust him."
I was taken aback by the directness of the command. "Aaron, I told you, I don't even know him properly, and he doesn't even know me properly, also, he knows that you are my fiancé
"I don't care. There was something about the way he looked at you... like he knew something I didn't." Aaron's gaze was intense, probing. "Is there something I should know, Aish?"
The question sent a chill down my spine. Did he somehow suspect my secret? The small studio across town where I painted—my true passion that I had kept hidden from him throughout my relationship?
"Of course not," I said, forcing a laugh. "There's nothing to know."
"Just promise me you'll keep your distance," Aaron insisted. "For my peace of mind, if nothing else."
"I promise," I told him
Aaron studied my face for a long moment before his expression softened into something that might have looked like concern to an outsider, but to me felt calculated.
"I'm just looking out for you, sweetheart." He reached for my hand again. "Men like Carter see a beautiful, successful woman like you and think they can charm their way into your life. I don't want you to be taken advantage of."
"I know," I murmured, playing the role I knew would defuse the situation.
Aaron's smile returned, triumphant. "It's why we work so well together. I keep you grounded while you plan everyone else's fairy tales."
The main course arrived, and I forced myself to eat despite the knot in my stomach. The butter chicken was rich and flavorful, but every bite felt like ash in my mouth. I remembered a time when I would politely decline any dish with meat, standing firm in my beliefs. Now I swallowed food that made me physically ill just to keep the peace.
As Aaron talked about his latest success at the investment firm—a promotion that would mean longer hours but considerably more money—my mind drifted to Carter's about how in just two brief meetings, he'd seen a truth about me that Aaron had never bothered to discover in our two years together. I thought about how, in our short conversations, Carter had shown me a glimpse of what life could be—one filled with passion, creativity, and authenticity. A life where I could be vegetarian if I wanted to be, where I could paint until dawn if the mood struck me, where I wouldn't have to constantly watch my words and actions for fear of triggering suspicion or anger.
"You're quiet tonight," Aaron observed, interrupting my thoughts. "Is everything alright with the food?"
"Everything's perfect," I lied again. "Just tired. It's been a long day."
"Well, the night's still young," Aaron said, his tone suggestive. "And I've got more surprises planned for the birthday girl."
My smile felt plastic on my face. "Can't wait."
After dinner, Aaron drove us back to our shared apartment. The place was immaculate, decorated in neutral tones with sleek, modern furniture—all chosen by Aaron. There wasn't a single item that truly reflected my taste, except perhaps for the small jade elephant figurine my mother had given me, which Aaron had reluctantly allowed me to place on a bookshelf.
"Wait here," Aaron instructed as we entered. He disappeared into the bedroom, returning moments later with a large, flat package wrapped in expensive-looking paper. "One more gift."
I unwrapped it to find a large framed photograph of the two of us from our engagement party. I was smiling at the camera while Aaron gazed at me, his arm possessively around my waist.
"I thought we could hang it in the living room," Aaron said. "Right above the couch where everyone can see it when they visit."
"It's lovely," I said, studying my own face in the photo. Was that happiness in my eyes, or just a well-practiced facade?
"I've already got the hook in the wall," Aaron said, taking the frame from me and moving to hang it. "Perfect spot, right?"
I watched as he positioned the photo exactly where he wanted it, using a level to ensure it was perfectly straight. So methodical. So controlling. Even our memories had to be displayed precisely according to his specifications.
"Now," Aaron said, turning back to me with that look in his eyes that once made my heart race but now just made my stomach clench, "how about we celebrate properly?"
Later, as Aaron slept beside me, I stared at the ceiling, counting the hours until I could reasonably excuse myself to go to work. I thought about the hidden studio across town, the canvases that held my true self, the emotions I couldn't express anywhere else.
The next morning, I left early, citing a breakfast meeting with a client. Instead, I went to my studio, a small, sunlit space above an old bookstore in a part of town Aaron never visited. Here, amid the smell of oils and turpentine, surrounded by canvases splashed with color and emotion, I could breathe.
I picked up a brush and began to work on my latest piece—an abstract representation of confinement that featured a bird cage with the door slightly ajar, but the bird still inside, afraid to fly.
Hours passed as I was lost in the work. It was only when my phone buzzed with a text from Aaron that reality intruded.
"Where are you? Called the office. They said you don't have any meetings this morning."
My blood ran cold. He was checking up on me. Calling my office. Verifying my whereabouts.
"Sorry, the meeting got moved to a coffee shop. Client's request. Call you later." I sent the text with trembling fingers, then immediately began cleaning up. I needed to get to the office before Aaron decided to look for me.
That evening, Aaron was waiting for me when I got home. His posture was relaxed, but I could see the tension in his jaw.
"Busy day?" he asked casually.
"Very," I replied, setting down my bag. "The Sharma wedding is turning into a nightmare. The venue doubled their prices at the last minute."
"Hmm," Aaron murmured, watching me closely. "That must be stressful. Your assistant mentioned you were out most of the day when I called to see if you wanted to have lunch."
I froze. "You called Haley?"
"I was concerned," Aaron said, his tone reasonable. "When you didn't answer your phone after our text exchange this morning, I thought something might be wrong."
"My phone was on silent during meetings," I said, the excuse sounding weak even to my own ears. "You didn't need to check up on me."
"It's not checking up, Aish. It's caring." Aaron moved towards me, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "I worry about you, that's all."
"I was fine," I insisted. "Just busy."
Aaron's eyes narrowed slightly. "Busy enough that you forgot your bag at home."
My heart skipped a beat. The tote bag I sometimes carried materials in—had I left at home
"Oh, I didn't realize—"
"I found something interesting in it," Aaron continued, his voice deceptively calm. "When I was looking for some documents and it fell."
He walked to the kitchen counter and picked up a sketch pad I immediately recognized as my own. With deliberate slowness, he opened it to reveal her most recent paintings—photographs I had taken of my work at the studio.
"Care to explain these?" he asked quietly.
My mouth went dry. "They're just... sketches. A hobby."
"A hobby." Aaron's laugh held no humor. "These aren't 'just sketches,' Aish. These are full paintings. And judging by the backgrounds in these photos, they weren't done here." His eyes locked with hers, cold and calculating. "Where were they done?"
"I—sometimes I paint at a community center,"I lied, panic rising in her throat. "It's nothing serious, just stress relief."
"Stop lying!" Aaron's shout is making me flinch. He rarely raised his voice, preferring icy control to hot anger. This was new. Frightening. "I know there's a studio. And you are lying to so where it is hmm."
"I told you, there isn't—"
Aaron's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist hard enough to hurt. "Where. Is. It."
Tears sprang to my eyes, less from the physical pain than from the realization of how quickly things were spiraling out of control. "Aaron, you're hurting me."
For a moment, something like shock flickered across his face, and he released my wrist. But the anger didn't fade from his eyes.
"I don't know who you are anymore," he said quietly. "The Aishwariya I proposed to wouldn't keep secrets from me. Wouldn't lie to my face."
"And the Aaron I agreed to marry wouldn't check up on me or hurt me," I countered, finding a well of courage I didn't know I possessed. "Wouldn't grab me hard enough to leave bruises."
Aaron stepped back, his expression shifting to one of wounded innocence. "I'm just trying to protect what we have. This relationship. Our future. Can't you see that?"
I rubbed my wrist, already seeing the marks forming where his fingers had been. "Protect it from what, exactly?
"From anyone who might try to take you away from me," Aaron said, his voice softening to that persuasive tone I'd come to dread. "I love you so much, Aish. The thought of losing you... It makes me crazy sometimes, and you're lying, not telling me where you were, it hurts, okay."
And there it was—the pivot from anger to manipulation that was Aaron's specialty. Make me feel responsible for his actions. Make me feel guilty for standing my ground.
"I'm going to stay at Priya's tonight," I said, moving to pack an overnight bag.
"Don't be ridiculous," Aaron followed me into the bedroom. "We need to talk this through."
"I think we both need some space right now."
"Space?" Aaron's incredulous laugh held no humor. "And why is that?"
"We both need some time, you need to work on the fact that you don't trust me." I insisted, throwing clothes into a bag.
"I trust you," Aaron said, blocking my path to the door. "It's everyone else I don't trust."
"I'm not a thing to be taken, Aaron." I faced him squarely. "I'm a person. With my own thoughts, feelings, and choices."
"Of course you are, sweetheart." Aaron's tone was patronizing now. "But you're also naive sometimes. You don't see how people can manipulate you. Use you."
The irony of his statement was almost enough to make me laugh. Almost.
"Please move," I said firmly. "I'm leaving."
For a tense moment, I thought he might refuse. But then, with exaggerated courtesy, he stepped aside.
"Fine. Go cool off. We'll talk when you're thinking more clearly."
I hurried past him, grabbing my purse on the way out. Once in her car, i took several deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. I had no intention of going to Priya's. Instead, I drove to my studio, the one place i felt truly was mine.
Inside the small space, I collapsed onto the old couch, my body shaking with delayed reaction. What was happening to my life? How had I ended up engaged to a man who monitored my movements, grabbed me hard enough to leave marks?
My gaze fell on the painting I had been working on earlier—the bird in the cage, too afraid to fly through the open door. With sudden clarity, I realized it was a self-portrait of sorts. I was that bird, and the cage was my relationship with Aaron.
My phone buzzed with a text from Aaron: "I'm sorry about earlier. I overreacted. Please come home so we can talk."
Before I could respond, another text came through: "Where are you? Priya said you're not at her place."
My blood ran cold. He'd called Priya again, checking up on my alibi. This was followed by three more texts in quick succession:
"Answer me, Aish."
"I'm worried about you."
"If you don't answer in the next 5 minutes, I'm calling the police to file a missing person report."
Panic surged through me. I couldn't have the police involved. What if they somehow led Aaron to my studio? To my secret life?
"I'm fine,"I texted back. "Needed time alone. Will be at Priya's later."
"Where are you?" came the immediate reply.
"Just driving. Clearing my head."
"Come home," Aaron texted. "I'm really worried. It's not safe for you to be out alone at night."
It was barely 9 PM, and I was in one of the safest neighborhoods in the city. But I knew Aaron wouldn't stop until I gave in.
"I'll come home," I finally texted. "Give me an hour."
"20 minutes," came his reply. "Or I'm coming to look for you."
I looked around my studio, at the paintings that expressed everything I couldn't say out loud. At the life had built in secret because I knew, deep down, that Aaron would never approve.
I open my phone again and read a message from Carter had sent me on the night of the gala, but I had not replied to him
Aishwariya, If you ever want to talk about art, publishing, or the difference between surviving and living, my door is always open. No expectations, no pressure. - Carter
I stared at the message, wondering how he seemed to see right through the carefully constructed facade. In just a few simple lines, he'd captured exactly what I was feeling—the difference between surviving and truly living.
I had choices to make. Difficult ones. But at least now I could see the cage for what it was—and the open door for the opportunity it represented.
Twenty minutes. That's all the time I had to decide whether to fly or to remain safely caged.
A small smile formed on my lips as I began typing a reply to Carter. The choice, for the first time in too long, was entirely mine.