All the Words Unspoken

Serena Kaur

Description

Things are not going well for Maansi Cavale. Her depression is worsening, she barely passes her university exams and she winds up stuck at home, full of regret and unable to find a job. She'd do anything for a way out. Though Maansi previously considered arranged marriage an outdated tradition (only to be agreed to if you're in your mid-forties and unable to bag anybody yourself), a chance meeting at an Indian wedding party changes everything. Desperate to escape the shackles of monotony and unemployment, she agrees to marry the handsome and wealthy Aryan Alekar. She convinces herself a new lifestyle and wealth will lift her out of the pit. She secures the marriage, but not before serving up a few lies about herself... As they settle into married life, Aryan remains a mystery to Maansi: some days warm and loving, others cold and distant. Maansi can't help but wonder...who is Aryan Alekar really? And why did he choose to marry so young? While living with Aryan, Maansi realises she could never be satisfied playing housewife. After all, she once had goals and dreams. While searching for the ambitious Maansi she has buried, Maansi starts to realise that the man she has married is even further from what he seems... Can she salvage their union or will they set each other free? All the Words Unspoken is a fresh, new voice from debut British-Asian author, Serena Kaur. It is a love story that challenges our preconceptions of relationships and shows us that the choices we make have implications and ramifications far beyond the horizon we can see.

Informations

• Publié par: RedDoor Press
• Date de parution: 16 avril 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781913227937
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

All the Words Unspoken
Serena Kaur

Published by RedDoor
www.reddoorpress.co.uk
© 2020 Serena Kaur
The right of Serena Kaur to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover design: Emily Courdelle
Typesetting: Fuzzy Flamingo
For my husband, Hinesh
Thank you for believing in me
when I couldn’t believe in myself
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Book Club Notes
About the Author
Chapter 1
Maybe she should’ve told him what she was doing. Some part of her knew he deserved to be told. But telling him would invite discussion and what good would talking about it do? Like Newton’s cradle, they’d go backwards and forwards, stuck in an endless sway as they explored the outcomes, each swoop from left to right making the problem harder to ignore and, one day, forget. To speak of it would give it the chance to grow roots and fixtures – to take residence in reality. No, she was right. She shouldn’t have told him.
As she stared at the pill in front of her, her fears rose like dust in the air and clawed the back of her throat. What if she regretted her decision? What if she couldn’t purge herself later for committing the act? She feared the onset of too much guilt, but equally feared a dearth of it – the palpable absence of it, confirming a fear too great to handle. The fear that she, Maansi Cavale, was a terrible person. She dug her fingertips into her knees and squeezed. How did she get herself into this mess?
‘Miss Cavale?’ came a woman’s silvery voice.
Maansi snapped back to the cool, colourless office of the clinic. The smell of disinfectant roamed the room and stung her eyes, encouraging them to water. The formal quiet bothered her. She could feel it, as it settled over her head like an airtight, plastic bag. She didn’t want to speak to the woman any more, or look upon the information laid out in glossy leaflets before her. She cast her eyes towards the sink at the rear of the room, seeking a moment’s distraction. A bulb of water gathered at the tap’s nozzle and trembled, resisting the fall and final splash against stainless steel.
‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ the nurse said, trying for her attention once more. Maansi met her face. Her cerulean eyes were empty of the warmth required from them. Her lily-white skin told her she’d never understand. People like her could go one way or the other, without concern or consequence. Maansi winced. No, that wasn’t fair. It’d be a hard decision for anyone to make.
‘I’m not going to change my mind.’
She tried to remember where she was when the absence of her monthly bleed began niggling at her mind. What had she been doing, when she allowed herself, just for a moment, to imagine that the worst thing had happened? When she let herself think that she, of all people, had somehow… The idea was laughable, at the time. She was convinced stress had interfered. Then, as the days leapt ahead and her uterus continued to resist release, she held the common cold accountable. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that. Her bodily systems had just been thrown out of balance. There was nothing to worry about. She waited for the initial stirrings of a menstrual cramp. She checked her underwear for the first, reassuring drop of pomegranate-pink. Nothing came, except waves of nausea and two distinct bands on a stick. She checked the Clearblue packet. Over ninety-nine per cent accurate.
She pushed her weight into the hard-backed chair. The violent impulse to run out and chase after the safety of last month gripped her. She was a student. She should’ve been worrying about making morning lectures on time, or making them at all. Any distress she felt should’ve been because of trivial things, like microwaves ruining the integrity of leftover pizza. She thought back to the appetite-sating pleasures beneath the sheets, her body wrapped up with Lewis’s. For a touch of time, she must have been sloppy and careless, not just surrendering her body, but the last hunks of a working mind. Had they gone too fast? Had the protective barrier torn? Where the hell did it all go wrong?
‘Would you like me to go over anything again?’ the nurse continued. ‘If you have any questions for me, now would be the time to ask.’
‘No. No more questions.’
They’d already been over the details three times.
Her stomach spasmed as she remembered what her mother had told her some years ago. They’d just finished watching Aamir Khan’s TV show: Satyamev Jayate . The famed actor had brought guests on to discuss India’s problem with female foeticide. Maansi’s mother, with ears pricked, readied her own lecture regarding the action of garbhpat .
‘Everyone goes through the cycle of birth, death and rebirth until they can meet with God again. If you terminate, you ruin a soul’s progress towards God,’ her mum had said, issuing the loaded statement while sifting through dried lentils, hunting for those hidden, molar-breaking stones that sometimes slipped through and spoiled a good daal. ‘For women that do it, there are consequences, Maansi. Severe spiritual consequences.’
Sweat wriggled like larvae down Maansi’s spine. Because of her careless mistake, she must interfere with a soul’s cycle. If she didn’t, she’d be cast out – sullied and depraved like a criminal. She could already feel them – the ‘sanctified’ members of the community – clawing at her like starved beasts, attempting to snatch what was hers. She’d have to surrender what she held before she could even understand her feelings towards it, or else risk their hell-powered judgements. All because she was unmarried.
She picked up the pill. It layered the tips of her fingers with a fine, white powder. A trace of the substance slid off and jammed itself beneath her nail, masquerading as flaking skin. She’d dig it out later. Obvious or not, she’d remove any evidence that clung to her.
‘So, if there are any problems, or if I have questions…’
‘You can ring the twenty-four-hour number. They’ll be able to advise you or address any concerns you might have.’
She held her breath. Now or never, she told herself. In one swift motion, she popped the pill into her mouth, brought the paper cup to her lips and swallowed the lukewarm water. She pictured the pill journeying down her throat and into her belly, where it would dissolve like sugar and begin the process of erasure.
She told herself it’d be all right. Of course it would. God wouldn’t hate her. She was a good person and she was sorry. That would be enough. And anyway, maybe there weren’t any Gods or souls. Maybe Hinduism was wrong and all she did was delete a lifeless collection of cells from her body. Maybe each action didn’t have a karmic value. She sighed. Somehow, telling herself the world was void of souls and meaning wasn’t making her feel better.
Maansi leaned back in her chair, ignoring the nurse’s questions about how she felt and whether she needed a moment. She focused on keeping her tears at bay. It seemed wrong to her that a thing so important and weighted could be resolved in such a way. It was too simple; like knocking back paracetamol to quell a mild headache.
‘I’m all right,’ Maansi croaked. ‘Thank you. I’d like to go.’
‘Of course. Remember, you’ll need to take your second pill in twenty-four hours. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call.’
She’d forgotten about the second pill. How was she going to find the strength to do it again? She stood to leave, surprised her trembling legs could hold her and carry her out.
Outside the clinic, she brushed herself down, smeared lip balm over her cracked lips and began her journey back to campus, her senses sedated. She was deaf to the passing of cars along the main road. She couldn’t hear the primary school children skipping ahead of her, hand-in-hand with red bookbags precariously swinging at their sides. The sounds around her were muffled and fading, as if she were trapped beneath the surface of water, dropping lower and lower until she was several feet beneath its sun-dappled ceiling.
fff
She found Lewis waiting for her outside her room, one hand fidgeting with his university-branded clothing, and the other winding the strands of his chestnut hair into tight loops. He’d gone home for reading week and wasn’t due to return until the following day. She hadn’t expected to see him immediately after what she’d done. Her feet slowed their pace as she reworked her face into a blank, expressio