A LOVE STORY BASED IN 1982 "What kind of a woman is she? Such a characterless woman." "Does she have no regard for our society or any respect left in her?" "She isn't even ashamed to leave with a man unmarried. No wonder her parents kicked her out." "Shameless. Look at her being so proud and high while being nothing but a mistress." I had grown accustomed to such words. They weren't new. For 7 years, these were the words I heard for myself. They haven't said it to me directly, but the whispers have been loud enough. And sometimes, I find myself wondering-what if they're right? But then a voice inside me asks: How can I accept as truth the judgment of those who never cared to hear my side? Humara paksh janane ki toh kisine koshish hi nhi ki, ilzaam laga ne pehle. •♥︎• "Gauri meri patni hai. Agar ab uske Khilaf kisine ek shabh bhi kaha, toh mujhe bura koi nhi hoga." He held my hand, declaring it in front of the whole world that I was his. His wife. Not some mistress, not a gold digger, not the other woman, not a jezebal. The vermilion on my forehead was a constant reminder-no longer would I be called his mistress. No one would label me characterless. No more accusations. I am no longer Rudvik's mistress. I will be known as his wife. But why is it that only when he filled my hairline with sindoor, people finally saw me in a better light? Does a woman have no worth without that red mark? Without a man, does she have no identity of her own? Why was I called characterless when my hairline was bare? Why? Why am I not enough just as myself? Why must a woman's existence be validated only by the man standing beside her? Why did no one let me be me? I am Gauri, aren't I? Just Gauri. Then why was Gauri called characterless, while Gauri Rudvik Thakur was honored? •♥︎• He didn't just save me-he brought me back to life. With him, I'm not just breathing.. I'm alive. He said I was his everything, and he proved it. Now it was my turn.