Forgetting Billions | ✓

33 | Forgetting Love

AISHWARYA DRAPED the elegant pink fabric around Jasmine's body, pinning it to the back in one clean move. She sighed as she took in her daughter's beauty, her fingers running over the intricate gold designs lacing the saree.

"You look fantastic, Jas." She offered her daughter a cautious smile.

Jasmine looked at anything but her mother. She knew that if she caught even a mere glance of Aishwarya, she might kill her.

"Can we leave? I want to get this over with." She turned her nose up with a sniffle. "No man will change how I feel. I think you know that, so I don't understand why you're trying this hard."

Anger flashed through her mother's eyes and she diligently avoided the question, choosing to chastise the young woman instead. "You cannot ruin this meeting with that attitude of yours. Ashwin's father had been asking for you to see his son for years now, but I told him no because I had faith that you could choose on your own. Obviously, that is not the case, and he has graciously re-extended the offer."

She sat down on the bed next to Jasmine, who continued to face the wall with a stony expression. "I'm not asking you to marry him or even date him. I just want you to see how nice Indian boys are. How they share our culture and our religion and how they can keep you comfortable for the rest of your days in a way no Khan can."

Jasmine shook her head. "I don't want comfortable. I want Shayan."

"I'm sorry, but as long as you're my daughter, you can't have him. It's time you stopped acting like a child and listened to your parents." Her mother placed a hand on her cheek and turned her daughter to face her. "We only have your best interests at heart."

Jasmine raised a brow and pulled herself out of the hold Aishwarya had on her. "You wanted me here so bad that you drugged me. A person who has their daughter's best interests at heart would never resort to that. So, forgive me if I don't believe that you care about anyone but yourself," she spat and pulled the dupatta over her hair as she stalked out of the room, her blood boiling.

Her father looked up from the first floor of their bungalow, a mixture of love and sadness and regret rumbling across his sullen face. Jasmine descended the stairs and made eye contact with him.

"You seem sorry," She whispered, twirling her scarf through her fingers absentmindedly.

"I am. I would never hurt you like this, Jasmine. You have to believe me." Varun said, his vision aimed towards the wood floor.

She held on to his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder, "I don't believe you at all. But I know that Mom will be furious with me if I don't make a good impression. Let's just pretend that I do believe you and that I love you, for today."

He nodded and placed a kiss against her temple, trying not to show the hurt he felt, "Of course." He looked up at the stairs and when he did not see his wife, a relieved sigh left his lips. "Why don't we start walking to their house? Your mother can meet us there."

Jasmine smiled despite the bitter taste of disgust in her mouth, the sensation only amplified by each pleasantry to tumble from her lips, "Lead the way."

She never understood why she would still listen to her mother or why she would continue to put on a show for the sake of her parents. They had betrayed her time after time and yet, she could never hurt them back. Perhaps it was because she did not want to anger the people who housed her, provided for her, and even loved her in their own twisted way. Perhaps she was just too scared to lose what had been the only constant in her life.

After a few minutes spent walking down the dirt pathway, Jasmine and Varun arrived at a similar bungalow. There was a white kolam drawn on the front steps and marigolds framing the gate, the colors distinguishing it from every other house on the street. When the door flew open, Jasmine half expected Maya Khan to greet them, her hair flying in her face, but was saddened to see two unfamiliar faces and their son instead.