Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 3

This entry is part 3 of 3 in the series Destined: A Marriage of Convenience

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience and not Love: Blurb
Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 1
Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 3

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Their First Meet

10,356 words, 55 minutes read time.

A Marriage of Convenience Love Story Set in Kolkata

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience Love Story – Chapter 3
Their First Meet

Don’t forget to read Chapter 2 of Destined: A Marriage of Convenience.

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 2

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story

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Mehek

I was scared. No, I was terrified, but there was nothing I could do about it. We were leaving for their house in a while. Kaka had called earlier and told Maa that I should wear a saree instead of a dress. Something more appropriate, he had said. Something that would make a good impression.

“Mehek, are you ready?”

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to steady my breathing, then nodded even though my chest felt too tight. My fingers were cold despite the heat in the room.

“Priyo, everything will be fine,” Maa said softly, stepping closer. “I am telling you, this is for the best. Just trust me.”

“Ma,” I whispered, my voice barely holding, “I am going to meet a man I know nothing about. And it’s not even just a meeting. I am supposed to marry him. How can that be fine?”

The door opened before she could reply.

I quickly wiped the tear that had slipped out before anyone could notice. Baba walked in, his presence filling the room immediately. He was dressed in a crisp white kurta and dhoti, looking exactly the way he always did when something important was about to happen.

I lowered my gaze at once and turned back to the mirror, pretending to fix my bangles. The soft clinking sound filled the silence as I adjusted them one by one. I had bought this jewelry months ago, saving little by little, imagining I would wear it on a happy occasion someday.

I hadn’t imagined this.

“Mehek, I want you to behave today.”

His voice was calm but firm, leaving no space for argument.

“Yes, Baba,” I replied automatically.

My shoulders stiffened on their own. I kept my eyes lowered, afraid he might see something in them. I had never seen him lose his temper, but I had never wanted to test that either.

“These are very respected people,” he continued. “When you see their house, you will understand why I agreed to this marriage.”

I tightened my grip on the edge of the dressing table. What would I do with a big house? The thought came and went, but I didn’t say it out loud.

“Kaka says you must have done some very good deeds in your previous life to receive a proposal from this family,” Baba went on, his tone softening just a little. “Abhoy’s mother saw you in the Maa Durga temple. Think about that. Tell me, would this have happened if it wasn’t meant to be? Would Maa Durga let something wrong happen to you?”

I pressed my lips together, staring at my own reflection without really seeing it.

“They are the best,” he said. “People will be jealous when you marry into that family. We cannot give dowry, and they are not asking for anything. Everything is happening so smoothly. It is as if Maa Durga herself has chosen this for you.”

“Baba… I just…” The words rose to my lips before I could stop them.

Maa shook her head quickly, her eyes warning me to stay quiet.

I swallowed the rest of my sentence.

“Nothing,” I said softly.

Baba let out a small breath and nodded, as if satisfied. Then he turned and walked out of the room. Maa followed him, pausing for a moment at the door to give me one last look before leaving.

The room fell silent again.

I sat there for a few seconds, staring at my reflection. The girl looking back at me was dressed like a bride already, her hands adorned with bangles, her ears heavy with earrings, her saree draped perfectly.

She didn’t look like someone whose life had just been decided for her.

An hour later, I was sitting in the car between Maa and Baba.

The city moved around us, but I barely noticed anything outside the window. My heart was pounding so loudly in my chest that I was sure Maa could hear it. Each beat felt heavier than the last.

She kept rubbing the back of my hand gently, her thumb moving in slow circles as if that would calm me down.

It didn’t.

Nothing did.

I had worn an off white saree, the kind Maa would call elegant, with intricate golden work running delicately along the border. The silk caught the light every time the car passed under a streetlamp, glinting softly, almost as if it had a life of its own. The pallu rested over my shoulder, heavy with tiny golden flowers, each one carefully beaded, adding a quiet richness to the whole look.

On my feet were heels Maa had borrowed from my cousin Nikita.

Nikita was her cousin Sangita’s daughter. Two years older than me, always ahead in life, currently finishing her masters. We were the same size though, and she never minded lending me her shoes for functions. These were golden, with a slim heel that made a soft, confident sound every time I walked.

It had taken me a few tries at home to even stand properly in them without wobbling. The first time I had nearly fallen flat and Maa had gasped, holding my arm tightly. But I didn’t give up. I wanted to wear them. I had always wanted a pair like this.

They made me feel different.

Taller. Straighter. Like I had stepped into a version of myself I hadn’t met before.

I had begged Maa so many times to buy me heels like these, but we always ended up checking the price tag and quietly putting them back.

My saree was the most expensive thing I had ever owned. The gold worked beautifully against my skin, making it glow in a way I wasn’t used to seeing. Maa had draped it perfectly, adjusting every pleat with care, stepping back again and again to look at me.

“Like a princess,” she had whispered, almost to herself.

We lived a simple life on Baba’s professor salary. There was always enough, but never extra. Now that I had started working, things were supposed to get better, but I hadn’t even received my first proper payment from Kaku yet. My freelancing brought in small amounts, barely enough to count.

Every rupee I had saved had already gone somewhere else.

Panchgani.

The moment Baba had agreed to let me go, he had made one thing very clear. I would have to pay for it myself. He couldn’t afford it. I hadn’t even argued. I had run straight to my room, pulled out the small box where I kept my savings, and emptied everything onto the bed.

Coins. Notes. Folded, crumpled, some carefully tucked away.

I had counted it all slowly.

Fourteen thousand eight hundred and fifty.

I still remember staring at the number, doing the math in my head again and again, trying to make it stretch further than it could. Then Maa had come in quietly and added her share. Money she had hidden away in the folds of her saree, tied in a small knot.

I had hugged her tightly, my throat thick, while she just patted my cheek and looked away.

It had come up to around twenty thousand.

Enough.

Barely, but enough.

Flights had taken most of it. Thirteen thousand gone in one click. The rest had to cover everything else. Stay, food, travel. I had already started planning shortcuts in my head. Maybe buses instead of cabs. Maybe skipping a few things.

But all of that depended on something else now.

Someone else.

Abhoy Chatterjee.

I pressed my fingers together in my lap, the bangles clinking softly. It had taken me days of pleading, tears, and silence to make Baba say yes to the trip. He had finally agreed, rubbing his forehead, muttering something under his breath before nodding.

This would have been my first solo trip.

My first step into something that was just mine.

And now, I didn’t even know if it would happen.

Would he allow it?

Would he even care?

Or would he just decide and expect me to follow?

The thought made my chest tighten again.

Money had never meant much to me. I had learned to adjust, to be happy with what we had. But today, as I sat in a saree, wearing things we normally couldn’t afford, I couldn’t ignore it.

Maa had spent her savings.

Not on a trip we had always dreamed of taking together.

Not on something she wanted.

But on this.

On making me presentable for a family I had never met.

I looked down at my hands, at the bangles, the rings, the careful detailing, and felt something twist inside me.

The car moved steadily through the streets as I sat there, my insides trembling quietly. We were in Kaku’s car, a simple Maruti Dzire, nothing fancy, nothing that matched where we were going. At least that what Baba kept saying, as if they were from another world.

I had no idea what waited for me there.

Being the only child, and a daughter, Maa had been preparing me for this day for as long as I could remember. Little lessons hidden in daily life. How to behave, how to speak, how to adjust.

But when it actually came, it didn’t feel like something I was ready for.

It felt sudden.

Like a wave crashing straight into me before I could even see it coming.

This morning, I had stood in front of the small temple at home, folding my hands, whispering a quiet prayer to Lord Shiva and Mata Parvati. I had asked for a love story like theirs. Something strong. Something meant to be.

Now, sitting in this car, dressed like a bride for a life I hadn’t chosen, I wasn’t sure what I believed in anymore.

Why hadn’t Abhoy Chatterjee asked to meet me before deciding to spend his entire life with me? Why hadn’t he at least requested a simple meeting before everything was finalized?

But he hadn’t.

Had he even seen my photograph? Because I hadn’t seen his.

This was the twenty first century, and yet I couldn’t open my mouth and object in front of Baba. I couldn’t even gather the courage to ask him to show me the man I was supposed to marry. The words stayed stuck somewhere in my throat every time I tried. My upbringing had drawn a clear line. I could say anything to Maa, complain, argue, even cry in front of her. But Baba was different. With him, I measured every word.

And Maa had been too busy the entire day to even notice.

She had taken me to the Maa Durga temple in the morning. I had stood there quietly, folding my hands, whispering prayers I didn’t even fully believe in anymore. From there, she had taken me straight to the market. Shop after shop, sarees being unfolded, refolded, draped over my shoulder, held against the light.

Once the saree was selected and tried, she had sent me home.

“I will handle the rest,” she had said, already turning to the salesman, discussing blouse stitching as if time wasn’t slipping through her fingers.

I had gone home and waited.

And waited.

Instead, her calls kept coming. First, asking me to prepare lunch. Then telling me to eat on time and make sure Baba ate as well. Hours passed like that. By the time I finally called her, my patience had thinned out completely.

“At least show me his photo,” I had said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Get ready,” she had replied instead. “Plans have changed. We are going to their house.”

And just like that, the call had ended.

No explanation. No discussion.

Not even the courtesy of telling me earlier.

Now, sitting in the car, I watched as Maa held a large round basket in her lap. It was covered with a golden net cloth, tied neatly, like something meant for a celebration. Inside, I could see a shirt and pant piece wrapped carefully in plastic, placed right at the center for him. Next to it was a gold chain.

It made everything feel final.

There was no space left for doubt anymore.

This was happening.

She had also bought two dress suits for his sisters. I had heard about them in passing. Two sisters, around my age. Living their lives, studying, laughing, deciding things for themselves.

No one was rushing them into marriage.

Then why was I being pushed into this?

When Maa had selected a saree for my future mother in law, she had kept asking the salesman to show the more expensive pieces. I had stood there quietly, watching her pick one after another. My mother never spent like that on herself. She would look at the price twice before buying anything.

But today, she hadn’t hesitated.

Not for herself.

For them.

For people we hadn’t even known until yesterday.

Within a single day, my life had turned upside down. Even now, no one had bothered to show me his photograph. My fingers tightened around the edge of my saree as a slight tremor ran through them.

Why would anyone bother?

I leaned my head back slightly, staring out of the window for a moment. I wished Rohil was here. My chest tightened at the thought of him. Kaka’s son, my cousin, but more than that. He had always been my person. My soul brother. The one who understood me without me having to explain anything.

He would have said something.

He would have stopped this.

Or at least tried.

But he was miles away, in Boston, busy with his masters, completely unaware that my life had been decided in his absence.

I couldn’t even bring myself to call him.

“Mehek, calm down,” Maa whispered, gently dabbing the corner of my eye. “We don’t want your makeup to spread.”

“Sorry, Maa,” I murmured, blinking quickly.

Baba turned slightly from the front seat and looked at me. His expression softened just a little as he offered me a small smile. I forced one back.

I could never stay angry at him. Even now.

Somewhere, I knew he didn’t have complete control over this either. The decisions were taken by Kaku. In our family, his word carried weight. No one openly disagreed.

Kaku meant well. I knew that. But I wasn’t ready for this.

Suddenly, I remembered Meesha and our conversation from the morning. She had found him online. The thought hit me like a spark. My fingers moved quickly as I pulled my phone out of my purse.

Before I could unlock it, Baba cleared his throat.

“I just need to check something,” I said quickly. “It’s urgent.”

“What is so urgent?” he asked, his tone not harsh but questioning.

“It will just take a minute, Baba.”

He didn’t respond, and I took that as permission.

My fingers moved faster than usual as I typed his name into the search bar.

Abhoy Chatterjee.

The page took a few seconds to load, the little circle spinning as if it had all the time in the world.

Just as the results began to appear, Kaku’s voice came from the front seat.

“We have reached,” he said. “They are big people. I want everyone to behave properly.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Mehek,” he continued, his tone firm now, “don’t speak unless you are asked a direct question. Keep your head down. There is no need to look around like a tourist and make us look foolish.”

My fingers loosened around my phone and it slipped slightly in my hand as I looked up.

We had arrived.

For a second, a sharp thought crossed my mind. Was he even worth all this silence and obedience? But I swallowed it before it could reach my lips and simply nodded.

“Yes, Kaka.”

Maa’s fingers tightened around my arm just as the page fully loaded on my phone. The glow of the screen reflected faintly on my saree, but I didn’t look at it. I locked the phone and slipped it back into my purse without checking.

What would it even change now?

The car rolled forward and came to a smooth halt.

And then I saw it.

My thoughts went completely still.

In front of us stood a mansion.

Not just a house. Not even something I could compare to anything I had seen before. It stretched wide and tall, almost unreal under the evening lights. My lips parted slightly on their own as I took it in, my breath slowing as if I had forgotten how to inhale properly.

What in the world was this place?

My eyes moved slowly, taking in the details one by one. The expansive grounds, the perfectly manicured lawns on either side, the grass so evenly trimmed it almost didn’t look real. A fountain stood in the middle, water rising and falling gracefully, catching the light with every movement.

Who was he?

I had heard about their brand. Omoolyo. In Kaka’s gold showroom, the name came up often. A diamond house that worked mostly on custom orders, exporting to clients who didn’t bother asking for prices. Occasionally they catered to Indian buyers, but only the kind who walked in with confidence and left without blinking at numbers.

But I had never imagined this.

We lived in a simple two bedroom apartment. A hall, a small kitchen, shared walls, familiar sounds. I had always dreamed of something small but mine. Maybe a place with a terrace where I could sit in the evenings.

My gaze lifted instinctively toward the top of the house, searching for open spaces, for something that felt personal.

But this was different.

This was not a home.

This was a statement.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted any of it.

I had seen my Maa quietly fold away her dreams, step by step, day by day, choosing the family over herself every single time. I wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet.

The mansion stood tall, a two story structure with an old world charm that spoke of generations of wealth. White walls, strong lines, and that unmistakable feel of something inherited, not earned overnight. Old money.

My gaze shifted to the side where a swimming pool lay stretched out, the water glowing under soft yellow lights. It shimmered gently, reflecting the evening sky, adding to the surreal feel of the place.

Movement near the gate caught my attention.

A man in uniform gestured toward Kaku, guiding the car forward. The guard walked alongside as we drove in, directing us smoothly until the car stopped right in front of the main entrance.

A small veranda rose ahead of us, a few wide steps leading up to a grand wooden door.

My heart began pounding again.

This was it.

I wished, just for a second, that something would happen. That the car would turn around. That someone would say there had been a mistake.

But nothing happened. The engine switched off. And the silence felt louder than anything before.

This was real.

All I could think about now was how this would follow me everywhere. Even in Panchgani. Even in those quiet hills I had dreamed about, this would sit at the back of my mind like a shadow. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy anything now.

The car door opened and we stepped out.

Just then the main door opened and two women walked out, both dressed in traditional sarees, their presence calm and composed. Maa adjusted her pallu quickly, her gajra releasing a faint fragrance as she moved.

I instinctively shifted closer to Maa, trying to stay behind her shoulder, to hide in the one place that still felt safe. But she didn’t let me. Her hand tightened around my arm and she gently pulled me forward. I stumbled a little, the sharp click of my heels against the ground sounding louder than it should as I struggled to steady myself.

Why would she do that?

I wasn’t ready.

“Please, come,” one of the women said with a warm smile. “Swagatam. She’s my sister.”

The lady introduced the other woman. So she was my future mother-in-law.

Both of them folded their hands in greeting. Maa’s face softened instantly. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she bowed her head and returned the gesture. I followed her lead, folding my hands as well, but I didn’t bow.

Why should I?

Before I could think further, one of the women stepped closer to me. I barely had time to react before she cupped my face in her hands and placed a kiss on my forehead.

Heat rushed to my face.

Oh God.

This was so uncomfortable.

Other than Maa, no one had ever kissed me like that.

“She is perfect,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “So beautiful. Priyo, you look like a pari. Maa Durga has answered all my prayers.”

I wasn’t so sure about that.

I tried to smile, but my lips barely moved. The uneasiness inside me sat heavier than any expression I could force, so I ended up biting my lip instead. She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she chose not to.

Her arm slipped around my shoulder, pulling me gently toward her as she started guiding me inside.

I stiffened slightly.

What the hell?

Why wouldn’t she just let me walk with my own mother? Maa was right there. I could have followed her. But I didn’t say anything. I just walked along quietly, letting myself be led, remembering Kaku’s instructions echoing in my head.

Don’t speak unless asked. Keep your head down. Don’t make us look foolish.

The moment I stepped inside, I forgot all of it.

My eyes lifted on their own. And I stared.

The house was just as grand inside as it was from the outside. Maybe even more. Everything gleamed under soft lighting. Shades of gold and white blended together, giving the entire space a rich, almost royal feel. The floors shone, the walls were adorned with intricate detailing, and everything looked perfectly placed, as if nothing here was ever out of order.

We walked into the living room and I stopped without realizing.

My breath caught.

My mouth parted slightly as I took it all in.

The woman beside me paused too, noticing my reaction. A soft laugh escaped her as her eyes crinkled again.

“Do you like your future home?”

The words landed heavily.

My future home.

I hadn’t thought of it like that. Not once.

I lowered my gaze quickly, unable to respond. I didn’t trust my voice enough to say anything without letting something slip.

“Your daughter is shy, Induji,” she said, amused.

Maa smiled, her hand coming up to run through my hair gently, as if reassuring both of them at once.

“She is pampered,” Maa said, her voice warm but proud. “But she has values. We have taught her good manners.”

“I can see that,” the woman replied, her gaze still on me. “She is exactly what I wanted.”

Exactly what she wanted.

I stood there quietly while they spoke about me as if I wasn’t even there. As if I was something being presented, observed, and approved without being asked a single question.

Maa nudged me gently from the side. I understood immediately. Bending down, I touched the lady’s feet. My fingers brushed against the cool marble floor before I straightened again. An older man stepped forward just then, greeting Kaku and Baba with familiarity. I lowered myself once more and touched his feet as well.

It was something I had grown up doing.

Respect. Tradition.

I didn’t mind it.

But today, it didn’t come from the heart.

We moved to sit down, and I followed without a word. I paused just a second before lowering myself, fingers fussing with the pleats of my saree, aligning them twice over before I was satisfied. I sat on the very edge of the sofa, back straight, shoulders held tighter than they needed to be, my hands settling lightly in my lap as if they had been placed there.

A few moments later, another woman entered. She was dressed simply, her hair tied back neatly. A house help. She carried a tray of glasses, moving with quiet efficiency from one person to the next. First Kaku, then Baba, then Maa, and finally me.

I took the glass from her hands.

Gondhoraj ghol.

The faint citrusy aroma reached me instantly, familiar and comforting.

I loved it.

On any other day, I would have smiled, maybe even asked for another glass. But today, my stomach felt tight, pulled into knots that refused to loosen, like it had decided this was not the time to behave.

Still, I lifted the glass and took a small sip.

The coolness spread across my tongue, slow and steady, the sharp hint of Gondhoraj lime cutting clean through the heaviness sitting in my chest. For a moment, it grounded me. Just a little.

“Mehek…”

I took another sip, slower this time, letting it linger. The churning inside me eased, not gone, just quieter. The taste was perfect. Exactly how I liked it. Balanced, familiar, safe.

“Beta…”

My eyes shot up.

In that split second, my fingers betrayed me.

The glass slipped.

I felt it leave my grip before I could react, my hand jerking forward too late, fingertips brushing against smooth glass that was already falling away. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, the sound slicing through the room, too loud, too sudden. It shattered instantly, splinters of glass skidding across the polished floor as the pale liquid spread in a thin, uneven pool.

The sound lingered, echoing in a way that made everything else go still.

I froze.

For a heartbeat, maybe two, I couldn’t move. My gaze lifted slowly, almost reluctantly.

Maa’s face had gone tight, her lips pressed into a thin line. Baba and Kaku looked stunned, their expressions stiff, like something far worse than a dropped glass had just unfolded in front of them.

Before I could even think of what to do, the lady who had welcomed me earlier stood up. Her chair scraped lightly against the floor as she crossed the distance between us. She reached for my hand, her grip firm but not harsh, pulling me to my feet and guiding me a few steps back, away from the broken shards.

I hadn’t even realized I was crying until her fingers brushed against my cheek.

Warm.

She wiped the tears away gently, as if it was the most natural thing to do.

“A glass breaking is a good sign, Priyo,” she said softly, her voice low and steady. “Don’t cry. These things happen.”

I nodded quickly, my gaze dropping to my feet. My toes curled slightly inside the heels.

I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

“Clean that,” a voice said.

It was deeper. Firmer. My head lifted before I could stop myself. And I saw him.

I knew who he was. The recognition came sharp and immediate, like something snapping into place inside my head. A voice rose, loud and insistent. This is it. He is your future husband. This is it.

I swallowed it down, ignoring it as best as I could, even as it kept echoing.

My throat went dry as I stared at him.

The first thing I noticed were his eyes. Dark. Almost black. And they were on me. Not passing over, not distracted. Fixed.

He held a bag in one hand, passing it off to someone beside him without even glancing away. His attention did not shift. It stayed where it was, steady and unwavering, as if the rest of the room had blurred into nothing.

Then he started walking toward me.

Something in my chest tightened without warning, pulling in on itself. I had the sudden urge to step back, to put distance between us, to breathe. But I couldn’t.

The lady beside me, my future mother-in-law, still had her hand wrapped around mine. Not tight, not forceful, but enough. Enough to keep me where I was. Enough to remind me that I had already done enough damage for one evening.

The guy had worn a white shirt with a beige suit and matching pants. Crisp. Clean. Too calm. I didn’t know why, but I had expected him in black. Somewhere in my head, he had been darker. The man who was marrying me against my wishes. The one I had built up without ever seeing.

But maybe he didn’t know that.

Maybe, for him, this was just another day.

He stopped in front of me.

Close enough for me to notice the details I hadn’t expected to.

His hair was black, slightly messy, a few strands falling over his forehead like they had a mind of their own. Not styled. Not careful. Just there. He had light stubble along his jaw, sharp enough to catch the light, and his features were defined in a way that made him look… formidable.

Not soft. Not easy.

His presence settled around me, quiet but heavy. Not loud, not demanding, but impossible to ignore. It made me aware of everything. The air, the silence, the faint sound of someone shifting behind him.

He didn’t smile.

But he wasn’t glaring either.

I had created a mess. I was sure of it. The way the drink had spilled, it must have reached the couch too. The expensive looking velvet white sofa that now had no business being anywhere near me.

His gaze moved over me slowly, from head to toe, unhurried. Like he was taking everything in and placing it somewhere, piece by piece. It made heat rise up my neck, spreading across my skin.

I became aware of everything all at once. The fall of my saree, the tightness of my blouse, the way my hair had been pinned back, the slight tremble in my fingers that refused to settle.

I held my breath without realizing it.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

His voice was even. Controlled.

I nodded quickly, once, not trusting my voice enough to follow.

“Abhoy Chatterjee.”

He said it like a statement. Simple. Certain. Like it didn’t need an introduction. Like I was supposed to already know. He raised his hand for me to shake it, but I couldn’t do it.

My future husband. That was clear now.

Oh my God.

I looked at him properly then, my eyes scanning every small detail.

He was handsome. Striking, actually. The kind that didn’t need effort. But there was something else beneath that. Something quieter. He looked older. Not like Baba, but not my age either. There was a steadiness in him. In the way he stood. In the way his expression didn’t flicker. In the way his eyes stayed where they were, like they had chosen and had no reason to move.

His lips were well-shaped, set in a faint line, and there was the slightest crease between his brows, like he was always thinking about something just out of reach.

His hand was still extended toward me.

Waiting.

I stared at it.

Then at him.

“Hello,” he said, one eyebrow lifting slightly, the smallest hint of impatience slipping through.

He was nothing like my expectations, though I hadn’t expected much. I was too lost in my head to think about anything else. His eyes were sharp, but I saw the faint trace of dark circles under them. Like life had tested him, and won.

Then I heard Baba clear his throat and I raise my hand quickly. I would recognize that sound anywhere. Even in a crowded room.

Our hands met. His grip was firm. Steady. Formal. He shook once, twice, and then let go.

The warmth of his touch lingered for a second longer than it should have. Or maybe it was all in my head. He turned to his parents without looking at me again.

“We need to talk alone.”

“Abhoy…” his father started, rising slightly from his seat.

But Abhoy shook his head, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “I meant Mehek and myself. We need to talk alone.”

There was a brief pause.

“Of course,” his mother said, recovering first, her tone slipping back into ease. “You can take her to your room, if it is alright with Bhaskorji.” Then she grinned, a knowing curve of her lips. “Your future father-in-law.”

The words lingered in the air, deliberate. A reminder. As if anyone in the room needed one.

My eyes moved instantly to Baba.

I didn’t know what I wanted him to say.

Did I want him to refuse? To stop this?

Or agree and let me go?

Did I even want to be alone with him? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be here. Yet I was. And he was going to decide if I could go to Panchgani so I had to find a way to ask his permission.

“Yes. No problem,” Kaka said before Baba could respond.

Of course.

My shoulders dropped just a little, a quiet release I hadn’t meant to show. I didn’t know why that answer felt heavier than anything Baba could have said.

Abhoy gave a small nod, acknowledging it without looking at anyone in particular. Then he stepped forward and bent down, touching Maa and Baba’s feet. The gesture caught me off guard.

I liked that. There was something grounding about it. He wasn’t just taking. He was giving the same respect back. He straightened and turned toward me again.

Before I could react, his hand came to rest lightly on the small of my back.

I stilled.

The touch wasn’t forceful. It didn’t push or demand. But it was firm enough to guide. Certain. Like he didn’t need permission to do it.

A strange tingling spread from that single point, sharp and sudden, making me aware of everything at once. My breath, shallow and uneven. My posture, too stiff. The way my body reacted before my mind could catch up.

“Thankfully your saree is not ruined,” he said lightly.

I looked down instantly, my fingers brushing over the fabric, checking for stains, for damp patches. He was right. The silk still held its sheen, untouched.

I let out a breath, relieved. Thank God, my mother’s savings hadn’t washed down the drain. This saree was so expensive.

“Sorry if I ruined the couch,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He said it simply, like it truly didn’t matter.

Then he gestured slightly, a small movement of his hand, asking me to walk.

And I did. But not before a soft sigh slipped out of me, unplanned, unguarded. I knew he heard it. I felt it in the slight shift of his hand against my back. His fingers pressed against my back, or it felt like it.

He didn’t react. But he didn’t move his hand away either. Even after I started walking. He followed, his hand still there, steady, as if it had always belonged in that space.

We moved toward the staircase. I gathered my saree slightly, lifting it just enough to keep it from catching under my heels. My grip tightened around the fabric.

Each step felt deliberate. Measured.

My heels clicked against the marble, the sound echoing through the space, too loud in the quiet. It followed us upward, sharp and rhythmic.

And instead of making me feel confident, it made something twist inside me. Like every step I took was being watched. Like there was no turning back now.

And all the while, his hand stayed touching my back. That part was burning now, and I really wanted him to pull away. But he didn’t. And I couldn’t get myself to tell him that.

Abhoy

She was tiny. That was the first thought that stayed with me as I followed her up the stairs. Each step she took echoed in soft clicks of her heels against the marble, careful and measured, like she was afraid of getting something wrong.

I hadn’t been home when she arrived. Traffic had held me back. By the time I walked in, the first thing I saw was the glass slipping from her hand, hitting the floor, shattering into pieces. I don’t believe in signs, but for a second, it felt like one. Mine. Like something had shifted the moment I stepped in.

Then I really looked at her. From a distance at first. She looked beautiful in the white and gold saree, like a princess who didn’t want to be part of the story she had been pushed into.

Was she? She had to. Or where was the excitement of meeting me in her eyes.

Her bangles made a soft sound every time she adjusted her pallu, fingers fidgeting, restless. Her gaze stayed down, fixed somewhere near her feet, like looking up would make everything too real. Then I noticed her earrings. Too big. Too loud for her face. She would look better in something simple. Small studs. Something that didn’t try so hard.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

Slow. Quiet. No one noticed.

Something about that didn’t sit right with me. It was just a glass. Nothing important. But the way her family stiffened, the way the room shifted, it felt like she had done something unforgivable.

I had seen women cry before, too many times, for too many reasons, and it had never stayed with me. This did. I had encounters with women more beautiful than her, women who knew exactly how to hold attention, how to present themselves, how to be seen. She wasn’t like that. She was different. She was real and naïve. Totally raw for someone like me.

She didn’t look up, not once. I wanted to see her eyes, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to. Even when Maa pulled her away from the broken glass and wiped her tears, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor as if that was the only place she felt safe.

I knew then that I had to step in. She didn’t look innocent, not in the usual sense, but there was something else about her. Something quiet, something unguarded, something that didn’t try and still drew attention. Like a sin you don’t plan but still want to commit.

Her kajal had smudged slightly because of the tears, making her eyes look even bigger. I found myself wanting to see them clearly, just once, to know what they held when she wasn’t hiding behind lowered lashes.

I kept reminding myself that I loved someone else. I had repeated it enough times for it to feel like truth. But in that moment, this girl had taken over every bit of my attention.

She was trembling. I could feel it at my fingertips where my hand rested against the small of her back. The tremor was slight, controlled, but it was there. I could have moved my hand away. I didn’t. For a few seconds, I let it stay there, feeling that quiet nervousness, letting it settle into me in a way I couldn’t explain.

Then I shook my head, irritated with myself, and pulled my hand back abruptly.

She stopped and turned, her eyes lifting to mine for a brief second, searching, uncertain. And I forgot what I was thinking. Those lips, soft, naturally pink, slightly parted like she was about to say something but stopped herself, pulled my attention in a way that made me clench my jaw. I forced myself to look away from the thought forming in my head.

Yagini was nothing like this. She was sharp, confident, someone who took control of every room she walked into. There was nothing soft about her, and I had always liked that. Mehek was the opposite, and that was exactly the problem.

She bit her lower lip then, and I had to control my groan.

“Why did you stop?” I asked, my voice coming out tighter than I intended.

Her gaze flickered to my lips for a second before she shook her head quickly, as if catching herself, and turned away, climbing the rest of the stairs without looking back.

I slipped my hands into my pockets, putting distance where it was needed, and gestured for her to take a right. She followed, her steps slower now, her eyes moving around the space despite herself.

I noticed it, the way her gaze lingered, the quiet awe she didn’t voice. She liked the house. Her house too, now. The thought settled in without asking me. I exhaled slowly, trying to focus.

I had brought her here to talk, but about what. Dad’s words came back to me, the call at the office, the firm tone, the one thing I wasn’t allowed to say. I couldn’t tell her about Yagini. It was Maa’s condition, her promise, and I had agreed without argument. I would do anything for her. Even this.

But there were things I needed to know. Not about her family or what they had agreed to. About her. Was she okay with this. With me. With a man twelve years older than her walking into her life and changing everything overnight.

Twelve years was not a small gap. I knew why her Kaka and parents had said yes. That part was clear enough. But I didn’t know if she had. And for some reason, that mattered more than it should have.

We reached my room and I pushed the door open, but before she could step inside, my sisters rushed in like a storm. Mehek gasped softly, her body jerking back, and her back collided with my chest. I went still. The faint floral scent of her filled the space between us, soft and fresh, and for a second, I forgot to breathe.

“Ishwari and Ishika, leave. Now.”

“Dada… come on…” Ishwari dragged the words, already grinning, then turned toward Mehek with bright curiosity. “Hi, Bhabhi. We are your nanands. But we can also be your friends, if you want.” She nudged Ishika. “My twin.”

Mehek didn’t respond. She stood frozen, her fingers clutching the edge of her saree, her gaze somewhere near the floor.

I exhaled slowly. “Both of you, out.”

“We got the sharbat Bhabhi spilled downstairs,” Ishika said, like that explained everything. Right on cue, Oindrilla, our house help, stepped in, placed a tray with two glasses on the side table, and left without a word. My sisters followed her, but not before throwing me knowing, irritating grins.

I shut the door behind them.

A soft gasp sounded behind me.

“Don’t worry,” I said, turning back to her. “I just don’t want anyone disturbing us. I know my limits.”

She nodded quickly, almost too quickly.

“You like Gondhoraj?” I asked, picking up a glass and holding it out to her.

She nodded again, but didn’t take it. Her hands stayed where they were, fingers twisted together.

I watched her for a second. “Would it be better if I put it in a steel glass?”

She nodded.

I moved to the side, picked up a stainless steel glass from beside the water jar, and poured the drink into it. When I offered it again, she took it this time, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest second before pulling away. Her eyes moved around the room, anywhere but at me.

“Do you know why you are here?” I asked.

She turned slightly and nodded, then dropped her gaze back to her toes.

A sigh slipped out before I could stop it. “For this to work, you will have to speak.”

“I know.”

“What do you know?”

“That life can change upside down in a day.” Her voice was quiet, but there was something sharp underneath it.

“And do you like the change?”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated, her lips parting like she wanted to say something more, then closing again.

“Speak. Whatever you want to say, you can.”

“I am going out,” she said finally, the words coming out in a rush. “My plans are already made.”

I frowned, not expecting that. “What plans?”

“Panchgani.”

“Where is that?”

“Maharashtra. I have already booked my flight to Mumbai. From there I was going to take a bus. Six, seven hours to Panchgani. I had planned everything.” Her grip tightened slightly around the glass. “Then this happened. And now… I can only go if…”

“If?” I prompted.

She looked up then, and for the first time, there was something in her eyes that wasn’t fear.

Anger.

“If you allow.”

I understood immediately. I had told her Kaka that once this was fixed, her decisions would come through me.

“What? Say yes,” she added, almost challenging.

I didn’t answer right away. Mumbai was not exactly close. “Who are you going with?”

She didn’t reply. But I saw it. The slight tremble of her lips, the way her fingers tightened again.

I didn’t have the patience to circle around it.

“Do you know my age?” I asked instead. “Do you know the difference between us?”

She shook her head. “I… I tried to Google you… but then… we reached your house.”

She tried to Google me.

I almost smiled.

“Take out your phone,” I said. “I will wait.”

She hesitated, then slowly reached into her purse and pulled it out. Unlocking it, she searched, her eyes scanning the screen. A second later, her expression changed. Her eyes widened slightly.

I frowned and pulled out my own phone, typing my name into the search bar.

There I was.

I hadn’t expected that.

“You have won so many awards,” she said softly, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

“I have.” That wasn’t what I wanted her to focus on. “I am thirty-three, Mehek. You are twenty-one. Are you okay with that?”

Her head snapped up. Her lips parted slightly, the surprise clear on her face.

“I didn’t know.”

“I can understand that.” I held her gaze, not letting her look away this time. “If you are not okay with it, we can end this here.”

“End it?” she repeated, like that was the part she couldn’t process.

I nodded once.

Her brows pulled together. “What about my family? What about their reputation?”

“Is that more important than your entire life?” I asked, my tone turning firmer. “I don’t want this to continue and turn into a lifetime imprisonment for both of us.”

“Then why did you say yes in the first place?” she shot back, irritation slipping into her voice.

Something in me snapped at that.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” I said sharply.

She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she placed the glass down on the table without drinking it and folded her arms across her chest, almost like she was bracing herself.

“I am going to Panchgani,” she said, her voice steady now, like she had made up her mind and I was just someone she was informing.

“Is that the only thing important to you?” I asked.

“Right now, yes.”

I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my patience in check. “I asked you who you are going with.”

That question quieted her instantly. Her gaze dropped, her jaw tightening.

My irritation rose.

“If you can’t answer that, you are not going. Anything else?”

“I am going alone,” she said finally, her voice softer but still firm.

“What?”

“Please…” she added quickly, her fingers tightening against her arms. “It is my first solo trip. But it is more than that. I make jewelry, and there is this artist I want to meet. She lives in Panchgani. She invited me to come, to learn from her. I want to go.”

I studied her face, the way her eyes lit up just a little when she spoke about it.

“So you don’t mind this marriage then?” I asked.

“I…” she hesitated, then looked away. “No one asked me if I was okay with this marriage. You don’t have to either.”

That answer didn’t sit well.

I stepped forward.

She stepped back.

I took another step.

She moved again, until her back hit the wall and she had nowhere left to go.

I stopped in front of her, close enough that she had no choice but to look at me.

“Panchgani will last for a week,” I said quietly, my voice steady now, controlled. “This marriage will last forever. Once we get married, there is no way out. You will be tied to me, whether you like it or not. Whether you want it or not, I am not someone who walks away. If this happens, I will take over your Kaka’s business, and you will be tied to me in more ways than you can imagine.”

Her breathing had changed. Faster now.

“So forget Panchgani for a second,” I continued.

“What… what do you want me to say?” she asked, her voice unsteady now. “Fine. I don’t want to go ahead with this. Do you have any idea how my father will take it? My mother has spent all her savings on this saree and the gifts for your family. Once my Kaka decides something, it cannot be changed.” Her eyes met mine again, this time filled with something raw. “So tell me. What happens after I say no?”

“How can I determine that?” I asked.

“You can’t.” Her lips pressed together for a second before she spoke again. “I can. You should have said no earlier. The moment you found out I was twenty-one, you should have stopped this. Why didn’t you?”

Her words hit harder than I expected.

“You had a choice,” she continued, her voice quieter now but cutting sharper. “I don’t. I don’t have the freedom to decide anything. You did. And you still went ahead with this.”

For a second, I had no answer. The truth sat right there, but I didn’t say it. One of us had to hold control over this situation, and it couldn’t be her.

“My family has a reputation,” I said, my voice steady again. “And I won’t let anyone or anything tarnish it. You have one day. Twenty-four hours to decide if you want to step back. After that, you are tied to me. To the Chatterjee name. And once that happens, you are also responsible for keeping it clean. Because if anything affects my family, I won’t accept it.” I paused, making sure she was listening. “So take your time. One day. If you don’t step back, then we go ahead. And after that, nothing changes. I will do whatever I have to, to keep you with me and to keep things in place.”

I stepped back then.

She didn’t move.

She just stared at me, her eyes wide, fear settling into them in a way I didn’t like but didn’t stop either.

“We go downstairs and act normal,” I added. “Whatever happens between us stays between us. If you have something to say, you say it to me. Not to someone else. Understood?”

She nodded.

“Take my number.”

She unlocked her phone, her fingers slightly unsteady. I took it from her, quickly entered my number, saved it, and handed it back without another word. Then I turned and walked out of the room.

I didn’t look back, but I slowed down near the staircase, waiting.

A minute later, I heard her steps behind me. I glanced once and caught her wiping her tears quickly, like she didn’t want anyone to see.

Something in my chest tightened.

I hadn’t meant to make her cry.

But she wasn’t understanding either.

I had heard what she said. I knew her family hadn’t asked her, hadn’t given her a choice. But I was trying to give her one now. The only one I could. I couldn’t tell her that I hadn’t known either, that this had been decided just as suddenly for me. That I hadn’t had the chance to step back earlier even if I wanted to.

“If we continue with this,” I said as we reached the stairs, my voice lower now, “we will talk about your Panchgani trip.”

She nodded, still quiet, still shaken.

Without thinking, I reached out, my knuckles brushing lightly against her cheek. She froze instantly, her breath catching, her entire body going still at the contact.

“If we go ahead,” I said, softer now, “I will make sure you have everything you need. Even your business. Anouki will grow.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but before she could, footsteps echoed from below. Maa appeared on the staircase, her eyes scanning my face first, searching for something.

I gave her a small nod.

She relaxed immediately.

We went downstairs together. Maa made us sit side by side, close enough for our shoulders to almost touch. She applied a red tilak on Mehek’s forehead, her touch gentle, almost affectionate, and then began placing gifts in her lap one after the other.

Mehek accepted them quietly.

Too quietly.

Her eyes weren’t on the gifts. They were somewhere else, still stuck in the room upstairs.

Then Maa picked up a necklace and placed it around her neck.

Mehek gasped softly.

Finally, a reaction.

“You like it?” Maa asked, watching her closely.

Mehek nodded, biting her lip, her fingers instinctively rising to touch the necklace.

“I didn’t have time to get everything,” Maa continued, smiling. “For the wedding, I will take you to the showroom. You can choose whatever you want.”

Mehek nodded again.

Then it was my turn.

Her mother stepped forward, applying tilak on my forehead with slightly trembling hands. She handed me a neatly packed shirt and pant piece, along with a gold chain.

Mehek’s words from upstairs echoed in my head. Her mother had spent her savings on this.

I looked at the chain for a second.

“Sorry, but I can’t accept this,” I said, holding it out.

Her mother froze, her expression faltering, her eyes widening in shock.

“I just… I don’t want gifts,” I added, trying to keep my tone even. “I will keep the material, but not the gold.”

“Why?” she asked, confusion and hurt mixing in her voice.

Even Mehek turned to look at me, and this time, there was anger in her eyes.

What did I do wrong now?

“Abhoy, take it,” Maa said firmly. Even Baba gave a slight nod.

I exhaled quietly and took the chain back without another word.

I had thought if I didn’t take it, they could return it and get their money back. The gold didn’t mean anything to us. I already had more than enough.

But the way her mother’s hands had trembled, the way the room had gone still, made it clear that sometimes, meaning had nothing to do with value.

I turned and looked at Mehek. She was smiling now. It was small, barely there, but it was real. And I caught the way her eyes lingered on the gifts, moving from one to the other with quiet curiosity. So this was it? Gifts could soften her, could shift something inside her? The thought didn’t sit right, but I still pulled out my phone and sent a quick message to my assistant, asking him to gift wrap the solitaire earrings we had just received from the designer and send them over immediately.

We all got up soon after and moved to the dining room. Maa held Mehek’s hand as she walked beside her, showing her around like she already belonged here. Mehek responded to it. I saw it clearly. The way her face lit up, the way her smile came easier now. It wasn’t guarded anymore. It wasn’t forced. It was warm, affectionate, and painfully real. For a second, I was taken back to a time I didn’t want to remember. She used to smile like that once. Before everything changed.

What if Mehek said no?

The thought came suddenly, catching me off guard.

What would happen to Maa then?

But that didn’t give me the right to ruin someone else’s life. I knew I couldn’t love Mehek. That part was already decided. But I could take care of her. I could give her a life where she didn’t have to worry about anything. And strangely, for the first time, there was something else too. A small flicker of something I didn’t want to name. A quiet, unfamiliar excitement that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

If she said no, all of this would end.

But if she didn’t…

Then she was mine.

Dinner was served, and the table filled quickly with dishes. I noticed how uncomfortable her mother looked, the way her hands stayed close to her lap, the way she glanced at her husband every few seconds as if seeking reassurance. This wasn’t their world. Not like this.

Was Mehek the same?

I looked at her.

She kept her eyes on her plate, carefully breaking pieces of her food, avoiding looking up. But then, almost like she felt my gaze, she looked up. Our eyes met for a brief second. I saw her throat move as she swallowed, then she quickly dropped her gaze again.

I almost smiled.

This was new.

I had seen her anger upstairs, the quiet defiance in her words, but here she was, shy in a way that didn’t feel fake. It felt… untouched.

The conversations around the table continued, moving from one topic to another, until Amitava Bagchi addressed me directly.

“Son, did you see the papers?”

“I did,” I replied. “I have sent them to my legal team. The approval is needed. It is just a formality, but it is required. They will get back to me within seventy-two hours, and then we can discuss further.”

He didn’t look pleased with that answer, but he nodded anyway.

I didn’t like him either, so it balanced out.

An hour later, after desserts were cleared and the plates taken away, everyone began to rise.

“Coffee?” Maa asked, her voice light.

“You ladies can have coffee,” Baba said with a grin. “We will go to the study.”

The study meant drinks.

I excused myself quietly and stepped out. My assistant was already waiting.

“Sir, I have gift wrapped it.”

“Thanks.”

I took the small box from him and walked back inside. Everyone had gathered in the living room again. The conversations were softer now, more relaxed. Mehek looked up the moment I entered.

I gestured for her to come to me.

She shook her head immediately.

I tilted my head slightly, holding her gaze.

She sighed and got up.

“Mehek… where are you going?” her mother asked.

“Let her,” Maa replied before she could answer, a small laugh in her voice. “I saw my son calling her.”

“Oh.”

I turned and walked toward one of the inner rooms, knowing she would follow.

“This is the media room,” I said as we stepped inside. “We watch movies here.”

She nodded, her eyes moving slowly across the space, taking in the dim lighting, the large screen, the plush seating that looked too perfect to touch.

“Did you like the dinner?” I asked.

She nodded again, still avoiding my gaze.

A breath left me, quiet but heavy. I held out the box toward her. “Open it.”

She hesitated for a second before taking it from me. Her fingers traced the edge of the wrapping, careful, almost unsure, before she opened it. The moment the lid lifted, her breath caught. A soft gasp escaped her, the same one she had let out when Maa placed the necklace around her neck.

“Like it?” I asked, watching her.

“Wow,” she whispered, her voice barely there. “I’m speechless. Are these real?”

“What do you think?”

She looked down at the box again, then back at me, her eyes widening just a little more. “Omoolyo. Your diamond brand?”

I nodded. “Latest designs. I got them yesterday. Do you like them?”

She nodded quickly, her gaze still fixed on the earrings, like she couldn’t quite believe they were real.

“Even if you say no, these are yours,” I said.

Her head snapped up at that. She just stared at me, like she didn’t know what to say, like she wasn’t used to this.

“Okay?” I asked.

“Okay,” she said softly.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I didn’t know why I had done it. The thought had come, and I had acted on it without thinking twice. I used to do the same for Yamini. Random gifts, small surprises, watching her reaction, that brief spark in her eyes, the way her voice would soften when she opened something she liked. It had always felt good. Taking care of someone you loved, seeing that happiness, that unfiltered reaction. Women were simple like that. Soft in ways they didn’t even realize.

I gave a small nod, stepping back slightly, letting her know she could go.

She didn’t say anything. She just turned and walked out, the box still in her hands. I followed a step behind, stopping near the doorway as she walked back into the hall. I saw her move toward her mother, showing her the earrings. Her mother’s eyes widened, then softened, pride and relief flickering across her face.

Maa noticed too.

She smiled.

And in that moment, I knew what she was thinking. That I was moving on. That I was finally letting go of the only person I had ever loved outside of my family.