The day a bird followed me home part 8

Every day became the same day, same routine, same activities, same surroundings, so much so, that I would forget what day of the week it was. And would get in trouble for not remembering that it was the weekend next day, and forget to do the laundry, or pack my things in my small bag. 

As every Saturday, I would move to the small room, next to the entrance, called the spare room, I knew 'spare' meant something more than what one could use, so could be given to others, but now I was learning it was for something not important, or valuable enough so it could be spared. 

And this room was meant for nothing important. One could use it to keep their handbags, shoe racks, extra jackets, coats, umbrellas, or a spare tv, a small bed, and a wife, as was the case in my house.

Though  it was still my house, as I was the person who mostly lived there, took care of this place, cleaned it, kept it nice, and cooked in it. Only I knew what had finished and every week, what was needed, though, I didn't do the shopping, and then I knew how many sheets and pillow cases were in the linen cupboard, as only I washed them ironed them and kept them there. And always made the double bed  with fresh linen, especially, for the weekend.

It was not a small flat, but I could hear them at night. Making love, laughing and sometimes fighting. 

In the spare room, where I spent the whole weekend, I would watch tv, on silent mode with subtitles so they didn't get disturbed. 

And I watched a lot of tv. Movies mainly, as I was not allowed to cook something that would be messy, or would make noise, so I would make some food for myself, before hand, if I remembered, to keep in the spare fridge. 

They usually ordered dinners, and sometimes went out to have lunch or what they called it, brunch. 

Whenever my mother or my mother in law rang, I always told them I was alright. 

And yes, I was. 

He didn't beat me, or deny me food, as I hadn't gone without food, except for the first day, when he had not come to the airport to receive me, and, after spending the whole day, waiting for him, at the airport, I had taken a taxi to arrive at the given address, at 10 pm. 

He had shown me the spare room, to put my things there and sleep there. He had told me to go to sleep as he was busy, and I had gone to bed hungry and thirsty. 

I had eaten the whole packet of the dry bakery biscuits, his mother had sent for him, finishing it throughout that day. But at night, I had nothing to eat, and it was the first time in my life, that I had realised, what hunger was. 

So I had learned to value food then. If I can eat all the meals, I was naturally fine, ok, and comfortable. 

And also, what was the point of telling them anything, how would it help anyone? 

I couldn't speak about anything to my mother in law, what would she do? 

And I couldn't go back to my mother's house, what would I do there? 

I was married, and was supposed to be happily living aboard.  

Everyone who went overseas, had a happy, comfortable luxurious life, and a lot of money! That is how it was considered at that time.

And that is what the person with whom my story was supposed to have ended, one and a half years ago, had thought. 

As, one day, suddenly, the phone rang, right after 9 am and it was him. I was alone at home  and had picked up the phone, thinking it would be from the library telling me the books I had ordered had arrived, as it was too early for a call from India.

 I had not forgotten his voice. 

He said hello, asked me how I was, then asked me for some financial help, thinking that I could easily lend him some money, to help buy his ticket to the US. He wanted to go and study in the US.