I've always been petrified of sex. The fear rooted deep from childhood—overheard stories from aunts about the agony of first nights, the way men's desires could overwhelm and break a woman. I imagined it as a violent storm I'd never weather. When I married Raj at 22, I hoped his kindness would ease me in. He was tender, whispering encouragements during our wedding night, but I panicked, shoving him away with sobs. 'I can't, Raj. It hurts just thinking about it.' Months dragged into a year of celibacy, our marriage a fragile shell. His touches grew rare, his eyes distant with unspoken resentment. I loved him desperately, but my body locked shut.

One night, after I flinched from his attempted kiss, Raj exploded.