your spending’s been high, so Rajan is helping with a budget.”
“My what?” I turned to Aarav. “Did you give them access to our account?”
I packed a bag and texted Soraya. No shouting. No slammed doors. I left—because the person I needed to protect was me. I told Aarav I needed time. He didn’t fight me. That said more than anything else.
A week later, I asked him to meet me at the café where we’d once argued about which side of town had better coffee. He arrived with tired eyes and an apology ready. “I’m sorry,” he said.
I nodded. “Sorry’s not enough. I want to buy them out.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I want to repay every cent of the down payment. With interest, if they ask. We’ll sell the car. I’ll take a second job. We’ll cut everything we can. But I’m done living like a guest under chaperones.”
He stared at me, then said, “Let me talk to them.”
It went exactly as you’d expect. Priya called me ungrateful. Rajan gave a speech about duty and sacrifice. They were offended by the idea that generosity could be returned—as if repayment erased the gesture. Then something unexpected happened: Aarav didn’t fold.
Continue reading…
