Broken

It took three years. Three long years of patience, persistence, and pain.
The turmoil started three years back when her father discovered the relationship. Her mother cried in silence; her father barely spoke. The air at home was tense, like a tightrope. The message was clear: end it or lose your family.
On the other hand, he was facing his own war. His parents weren't angry, they were disappointed. They reminded him of sacrifices, tradition, and the reputation of their family. His father warned him: “If you win this, you choose a harder and separated life.”
Time flew by. She lost her father during covid, who was the sole earner of the family. She was badly in need of mental and emotional support during that time. Aryan visited their house for the first time for the mourning rituals. Subsequently, he , on his end, quietly started showing up during her family’s important family events, festivals, and community gatherings. He could break the ice; he sparked the emotion in her mother. Things became smooth and reliable. And then, unexpectedly, her younger brother became his silent ally. Over time, the walls softened. Her brother began to speak for them, to her, and even to their relatives. Brother’s quiet approval became a louder acceptance for the family.
Aryan’s own battle was far from over. His father envisioned a daughter-in-law from their own culture, their community, someone he could explain without questions or shame in their circles. For months, his father said little, but his silence carried weight. Aryan never shouted. He never pleaded. One evening, after dinner, his father called him to sit beside him. No drama. No tension. Just quiet words: “People will come and go, Aryan. They will talk and forget. If she’s the one who’ll stand beside you when they do...then she’s the right one.”
It wasn’t a grand speech. It wasn’t even a blessing.
And the grand celebration started one week back. Yesterday was the time to shout, “happily ever after”.
They are moving to a new house near his office today, a small but warm and lovely flat.
Aisha and Aryan waited on the balcony of their new flat as the movers’ truck arrived below.
“Isn’t our staircase too narrow for the cabinets and cots?” Aisha asked, concerned.
Aryan squinted. “Maybe. But I told them it's the second floor—they’ll figure it out. Worst case, we lift things up like in the movies,” he grinned.
The shifter eyed the narrow stairs, clearly displeased. “Rope is possible, sir… but risky. Cabinet too bulky. Also, the grill—needs removing.”
Just then, an elderly neighbor called out from their opposite balcony, “Beta, even Sharma ji did rope se. Just wrap it in foam!”
“Aunty, he didn’t have a full grill like us. Ours is tricky,” Aryan replied.
“Sir, shall we start unloading the smaller things first?” the shifter asked impatiently.
“Carefully. The red boxes have glass,” Aryan warned.
Aisha busied herself directing them inside. The dust had her sneezing constantly.
“Here, wear this,” Aryan said, handing her a mask.
“Which box has the water bottles?” he asked.
“We better buy Bisleri for now—no purifier here,” Aisha replied.
“Do we need to buy one, or will the owner provide it?”
“We'll have to check. He’s out of town.”
One shifter called out, “Sir, no fridge?”
“Delivery’s tomorrow,” Aisha answered.
“Make sure it’s small. Won’t pass the stairs.”
“It is,” she nodded embarassed.
Aryan went downstairs in search of drinking water as everybody felt thirsty. The first-floor flat was locked. With no shops nearby, he looked up.
“Aunty, can I get a glass of water?” he called to the opposite balcony.
“Come up, beta. Do you have an empty bottle?” she replied warmly.
It was 4 pm and it was time to unload the big items—the cabinet, bed, and sofa. The shifter asked for a go-ahead to lift them with ropes.
“Sir, we’ll need to remove the balcony grill,” he said, smiling at Aryan.
“Wait, I need to check with the owner,” Aryan replied, dialing. The phone was off.
Aisha joined in, visibly frustrated. She could not imagine that the 1st day of their marriage would have such an adventure.
“We’ll try to manage without removing it,” the shifter assured confidently.
Encouraged by the wisdom of the neighborhood, the movers tied thick ropes around the cabinet, wrapped it like a burrito in old quilts, and began the slow, creaking hoist up the side of the building. Aryan stood below, arms outstretched like he could catch it if it fell. Aisha held her breath. “If this thing slips”. “It won’t,” Aryan said. “And if it does, we’ll buy a new one, this time with my money.”
After forty tense minutes, the cabinet made it to the balcony, dusty but intact. The movers cheered; Aisha and Aryan high-fived in relief. Her mother called with advice, but the shifters disagreed.
“Ma’am, please step away from the rope,” he warned.
As dusk fell, they began hoisting the box bed.
“You’ll need to assemble it upstairs too,” Aryan reminded.
Halfway up, the rope creaked ominously. Everyone froze.
“Don’t look down,” Aryan muttered.
“My eyes are already closed,” Aisha whispered, gripping the railing.
Suddenly, there was a thud.
A sickening, heavy crash that silenced everything, the street below, the buzz of the city, even the beating of their own hearts. Aisha’s eyes flew open. The rope had snapped. Aryan rushed to the edge of the balcony. Below, the bed frame lay in pieces—splintered wood, twisted metal, and shards scattered across the pavement. One of the movers stood near it, stunned, his hands still holding a limp, frayed end of rope. Aisha covered her mouth. “Oh my God…”
The lead shifter ran down, shouting at his team. One of the younger boys limped away, clutching his wrist, clearly hurt but too shocked to cry out. Neighbors had gathered. Someone started filming. Someone else was already on the phone with a doctor. Aryan’s face tightened. “Is he okay?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “He’s bleeding”, someone replied from below, “But he’s conscious. I’m taking him to the clinic.” Aryan seemed to get some good new neighbors.
Aisha turned away, tears stinging her eyes—not just for the damage, or the danger, but the helplessness of it all. The bed was selected by her mother as a special gift for Aisha. The moment that had felt like a celebration sixteen hours ago was now cold, heavy and sad. She sat down on the floor of the balcony, legs trembling. “I told you the staircase was too narrow…” Aryan knelt beside her. “This isn’t your fault.”
“But was this supposed to be our beginning ???” she whispered, her voice breaking. “And now—this... this mess. Someone got hurt. The bed’s gone. What are we even doing?” Aryan didn’t answer right away. He just held her tightly.
Many things are still missing from “happily ever after” handed over to them yesterday.
But as they sat on the dusty floor, surrounded by boxes and heart-broken moment, Aisha felt his heartbeat steady.
Maybe it wasn’t perfect. Maybe it never would be.
But they had each other—and that was the only part of the fairytale that ever truly mattered.