Morning arrived with sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains, soft and warm, almost too gentle to match the heaviness lodged inside my chest. But today, unlike yesterday, Bhavya didn’t come barging in to wake me up.

The house around me was already awake—voices drifting in the hallway, footsteps moving hurriedly, plates clinking somewhere downstairs. The sound of a fresh day starting in a big Indian household.

I sat up slowly, running a hand through my hair.

Everything felt normal.

Almost too normal.

Last night’s argument with Kritik still echoed in the quiet corners of my mind. His words had cut deeper than he would ever know—“We are nothing but roommates.”

Roommates.
In a marriage.

A part of me wanted to cry. Another part wanted to scream. But most of me… simply felt numb.

I got up, freshened myself, and stepped out of the room. Bhavya was in the hallway, arranging a tray.

“Good morning, bhabi!” she beamed. “Aaj neighbors aa rahe hain. Lunch busy hoga.”

Neighbors.
Right.
New bride.
New house.
Introductions.
Smiles.
Presents.
Shy nods.

I forced a polite smile and nodded. “Theek hai.”

Everything had been moving at lightning speed since the wedding—rituals, relatives, new faces, new relationships. Every minute someone wanted a picture, a blessing, a conversation.

And yet, inside this house filled with laughter…there was a silence around my marriage that no one seemed to see.

As Bhavya predicted, the day was chaos—women arriving in sets of threes and fives, carrying gifts, commenting on jewelry, exchanging gossip, and smiling too widely.

I sat at the center of the living room sofa like a decorative piece, while Bhavya proudly introduced me:

“Our new bride—MBA, gold medalist, working in analytics.”

Every head turned with impressed sounds:

“Ohhh!”
“Wah wah!”
“Smart girl, haan?”

Some aunty pinched my cheek like I was five.

I smiled, answering the same questions repeatedly:

Where is my maika?
How did we meet?
Love or arranged?

One aunty even whispered behind her hand, loud enough for me to hear: “Bahut acchi ladki mili hai. Perfect match.”

Perfect match.

I didn’t react. I sipped tea and tucked the words away.

Because while everyone in the room seemed convinced that everything here was perfect, I was the only one who knew—

I didn’t know my husband at all.

And worse…

I didn’t think he wanted me to.

The more I observed, the more something struck me:

Everyone in this family moved like a perfectly choreographed dance.

Bhavya never spoke over her mother-in-law.
Kritik’s mother never raised her voice.
Kritik’s father always smiled exactly when required.
Every conversation ended with soft, controlled laughter.

No arguments.
No disagreements.
No spontaneous reactions.

Even when something unexpected happened—like a tea glass slipping from the servant’s hand—everyone just exchanged calm, peaceful looks.

No frustration.
No irritation.

It was like watching a TV commercial of the ideal household.

Almost too ideal.

Kritik stayed out of sight most of the day. People asked for him:

“Beta, kaha gaya?”
“Office toh chhutti hogi aaj?”
“New bride ko akele chhod diya?”

Everyone laughed and brushed the questions away, and each time the elders simply answered:

“He must be upstairs.”

Or, “He’s probably tired.”

There was never concern.
Never annoyance.

Just controlled, neutral smiles.

I noticed it—everyone repeatedly defended him without question… even when they didn’t actually know what he was doing.

The perfect family wasn’t just perfect.

They were synchronized.

As if they had practiced the script.

By afternoon, when the neighbors had left and the house was quieter, I finally had time to breathe.

Everyone was in their rooms resting. I stepped into the hallway, wanting fresh air on the terrace.

That’s when I saw something odd.

A door—right at the end of the corridor—padlocked from the outside.

Not just closed.

Locked.
And the lock wasn’t new. The metal had rust marks.

I walked toward it slowly.

Every other room in the house was open—Bhavya and her husband’s room, the parents’ room, the study, even old storage.

Only this door…

…was shut away from the house as if it didn’t belong here.

Just as I reached it, Bhavya’s voice called from behind:

“Bhabi!”

I turned, slightly startled.

She hurried over, her face smiling—but her eyes weren’t.

“This side pe kuch nahi hota,” she said casually. “Chalo, chai bana rahe hain.”

Her tone was airy, but something about it felt…

Too rehearsed.

I glanced once more at the locked door.

Bhavya followed my gaze for half a second before looking away quickly, smile stretching thin.

“Chaliye.”

She stepped forward, as though blocking my path.

And suddenly I felt it—

She wasn’t just inviting me for tea.

She was pulling me away from there.

My heart beat faster as I followed her.

That door wasn’t a store room.
It wasn’t ignored.
It wasn’t forgotten.

Someone had made sure no one opened it.

Why?

Whose room was it?
Why was it locked from the outside?
Why did Bhavya panic the moment she saw me there?

The thought slipped into my mind quietly: “What if this family is not as perfect as they appear?”

My stomach tightened.

I remembered something suddenly—last night’s argument with Kritik: “We are nothing but roommates.”

If he believed that…

Did the family know?
Or were they pretending everything was normal?

Later in the evening, after helping with snacks, I went to the living room and sat down. A large family photograph hung above the TV—taken maybe four or five years ago.

Everyone was there:

Kritik
Bhavya
Her husband
Mother-in-law
Father-in-law

But something stood out immediately:

Next to Kritik… was another girl.

Long hair. Beautiful smile. A hand placed on his arm.

My breath stilled.

Who was she?

She looked too close, too familiar, too comfortable to be a passing acquaintance.

A friend?

A cousin?

Or…

No. I was thinking too much.

Maybe it was just old memories. People had pasts.

But then another thing hit me:

Kritik’s father and mother, in the picture, had the exact same soft smiles they wore today.

Almost identical.

No year had changed the expression.

No life in the eyes—just pleasant politeness.

Like the smiles were molded in place.

That night after dinner, when I was walking toward the stairs, I overheard Kritik’s father on the phone in the adjacent room.

His voice was calm as always, but his words…

“We cannot allow this to happen again…”

Silence.

“Yes, make sure she doesn’t leave the room.”

A chill crawled into my spine.

She?

Room?

Before I could step away, someone appeared behind me.

“Beta?”

I turned sharply—my mother-in-law was standing there, smiling gently.

But her eyes?

They flicked to the door like she knew exactly what I had heard.

“Late ho raha hai. Go rest,” she said sweetly.

Her hand brushed my shoulder, guiding me toward the stairs.

Not a request.

A dismissal.

My heartbeat thudded loudly as I obeyed.

When I entered our room, Kritik wasn’t there. His phone and wallet were missing too.

Again.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The house was beautiful.
The people were polite.
The smiles were perfect.

But somewhere, below the surface…

Something was wrong.

Deeply wrong.

The locked room.
The guarded conversations.
The strange behavior when I approached things they didn’t want me to see.

My mind whispered a question I wasn’t ready to face: “Do I really know this family at all?”

Just then—

The light flickered.

The window rattled slightly though the air was still.

A familiar tingling ran up the back of my neck.

The kind that came when something from the dream world was calling me again.

And suddenly…

I wasn’t sure whether the nightmares were only in my dreams.

Or living inside this house too.