Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 5

This is part 6 of 6 in the book 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 2
Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 3
Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 4
Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 5

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Panchgani Trip in Threat

5,147 words, 27 minutes read time.

A Marriage of Convenience Love Story Set in Kolkata

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience Love Story – Chapter 5
Panchgani Trip in Threat

Don’t forget to read Chapter 4 of Destined: A Marriage of Convenience.

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 4

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story

Leave a Comment Cancel Reply

Mehek

Abhoy: Meet me.

I frowned, reading the message once, then again, as if it would change the second time. Tomorrow was our engagement, and he wanted to meet me today. Of all days.

A small, tired breath left me as I stared at the screen. No one would even let me step out of the house right now, let alone go and meet him somewhere. Still, I got up and stepped out of my room, hoping to find Maa in the middle of the chaos.

The house was full. Relatives everywhere. Voices overlapping, laughter, instructions, someone calling out for something every few seconds. It felt like the walls had shrunk overnight. I had stayed in my room most of the day, and thankfully, Maa had allowed that much.

She had already told me that tomorrow morning there was a good muhurat, and she would apply alta to my hands and feet herself.

“Maa, listen.”

She was speaking to a lady I didn’t recognize. I knew she had to be some relative, but I had no idea how we were connected. Maa didn’t even turn, too busy nodding and responding to whatever the woman was saying.

“Mom…”

“Yes, Priyo?” she said absently, still not looking at me.

“Come here.”

That made her pause. She frowned slightly, then excused herself and walked toward me, her attention finally shifting.

“What is it?”

“He’s calling me to meet him.”

“What? Who?” she asked, confused for a second.

“Maa…” I lowered my voice. “Abhoyji. He wants to meet me.”

“Now?”

She shook her head immediately, already dismissing the idea. I just stood there, looking at her, waiting.

“I don’t want to meet him. He wants to meet me. Should I say no?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

Maa’s brows creased as she thought for a moment. “Wait, let me ask your Baba.”

“I can just say I’m busy,” I added quickly.

She nodded. “Okay, do that. Meeting a day before engagement is not wise. You need to rest.”

Of course I did.

I nodded back and turned, making my way toward my room again, slipping past people who barely noticed me.

“Mehek. Come here,” someone called out. I turned to see one of the aunties looking at me closely. “See, you have no glow on your face. Wait, I will make a face pack for you. It gives instant glow.”

I kept my face neutral, forcing a small nod before moving away.

Glow.

Right.

“How about not marrying me against my wishes?” I muttered under my breath as I closed my bedroom door behind me.

The latch clicked softly, and I leaned back against it for a second, letting out a long sigh.

Finally.

Alone.

The noise from outside was still there, muffled but constant. My house felt like an orphanage right now, people everywhere, no space to breathe.

I walked over to my bed and picked up my phone, unlocking it.

Mehek: Sorry. Can’t. Busy.

Abhoy: Tell me the real reason. I can’t believe you don’t want to meet me, especially since you want to go to Panchgani.

My mouth opened in disbelief. He was blackmailing me.

How dare he? But even as anger rose inside me, I knew I could do nothing. He could take away my trip in a blink of an eye.

I hated how the males in my life had so much control over me and my life.

Taking a deep breath, I typed another message.

Mehek: Mom said no. As tomorrow engagement is there, I can’t leave the house today.

I stared at the message for a second before hitting send.

His reply came almost instantly.

Abhoy: Your terrace?

I blinked.

Mehek: My house is full of relatives right now.

Abhoy: I will wear a mask.

I raised an eyebrow, staring at the screen.

Mask?

Really?

A small, disbelieving breath escaped me. For a second, I almost smiled, but it faded just as quickly.

I typed again.

Mehek: Okay. But I can’t guarantee no one will come.

There was a pause this time, just long enough for me to glance at the door once, as if someone might walk in.

Abhoy: Okay, let me do something else. I will message you when I reach your place.

I stared at the message for a second longer before locking my phone.

Something else? What did that mean? But only he knew that, and the anticipation almost made my stomach churn uncontrollably.

This was a bad idea. I knew it. And yet, I didn’t stop it. There was something about it that felt… different. A strange thrill, quiet but present. The kind that made me aware of every little thing. After all, no one could get angry at Abhoy. He was the jamaiji now. And because of him, no one could really get angry at me either.

I could always say he came, and I had no choice but to meet him.

That would be enough.

And somewhere beneath all that, there was another reason. I wanted to know why he wanted to meet me.

An hour passed slowly. I tried reading, my eyes moving over the words without really taking them in. Then my phone buzzed.

His message.

I got up immediately, my fingers already reaching for the cupboard. Without thinking too much, I picked one of the dresses he had given me earlier. A formal kurta pant set. Soft fabric, neat work, something that felt just right.

I changed quickly and stood in front of the mirror for a second.

It looked good.

Too good.

I didn’t let myself think about that for long. I slipped out of my room, closing the door softly behind me, trying not to draw attention.

“Priyo.”

My steps froze.

I turned slowly.

Maa was standing there, looking straight at me.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” I said quickly.

“Did you press the saree?”

“Yes.”

“We need to finalize the jewelry you will wear with it.”

“Um… now?” I asked, my voice coming out a little more hesitant than I wanted.

Before she could answer, the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through everything.

Kaki moved to open the door, and within seconds, the house stirred again. Voices, movement, curiosity pulling people toward the entrance.

Maa and I both walked forward to see what was happening.

And there he was.

Abhoy.

Standing at the door, holding something in his hands.

“Abhoyji… please come…” Kaki said, stepping aside.

Maa turned to look at me. That look. Like I had called him. I hadn’t.

I looked back at him, confusion settling in. Weren’t we supposed to meet on the terrace?

“Mom had sent this,” he said, holding the package out.

“What is this?” Maa asked, taking it from him.

“Tomorrow’s saree and jewelry for Mehek.”

Maa paused, her fingers tightening slightly around the packet. “But we have already bought the saree,” she said slowly, “and we were just about to decide on the jewelry. That’s the custom.”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone steady, “but I want Mehek to wear this.”

I stilled.

He wanted me to wear this.

Why?

Then a thought came. Was it because we weren’t from the same background? Because what we had wouldn’t be enough? Because his choice would be better?

A slow heat rose inside me, uncomfortable and familiar at the same time. I felt angry. Really angry. But I didn’t say anything. I had learned that long ago.

This wasn’t the first time someone else was making decisions for me. Baba did it. Kaka did it. It wasn’t new. It was just… expected.

Whenever they spoke, I was supposed to listen. Stay quiet. Not react. Not question. Because speaking up, especially in front of others, was seen as disrespect. Their insult.

But no one ever stopped to think about how it felt on the other side. How quietly these decisions landed. How easily they brushed past what I wanted.

As if it didn’t matter at all.

“Okay, of course,” Baba said.

“Thank you,” Abhoy replied smoothly, like he meant every word. Then his eyes shifted to me. “Can I talk to her for a minute or two?”

“Now?” Kaki asked, her surprise written all over her face, her mouth open enough for a fly to sweep into her mouth and return after doing the full tour.

“Yes.”

Kaki looked at Kaka. Maa looked at Baba. A silent exchange passed between them, the kind that didn’t need words.

“Son, Mehek is very busy right now,” Baba said carefully.

“I’m sure she can take out an hour for me.”

One minute or two smoothly turned into an hour. Wow, I would give him that. He knew how to get his way. And he also knew how to turn my family speechless.

“Um… today there’s so much to do and…” Baba started again, his voice losing some of its firmness.

Abhoy turned his full attention to him.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t aggressive. But something shifted in the air. Baba’s voice trailed off, and for a second, he actually seemed to lean back, just a little, as if the weight of that attention was enough.

“Okay… Mehek, take Abhoy to your room.”

“No,” Abhoy said, just as calmly. “I’m taking her out.”

“Out?” The word slipped out of Kaki before anyone else could react.

“Yes. I will get her back in an hour.”

Baba’s discomfort was clear now. His fingers shifted slightly, his eyes moving toward Kaka again. Kaka gave a small nod.

That was it. Decision made. I was going.

I wanted to laugh, to literally push my head back and laugh loudly, because I had never won a single argument against Baba or Kaka, but future fiancé had win one already. That too even without trying.

Abhoy’s eyes landed on me, and he gave a small nod, like it was already decided. I was already ready with my purse hung over my shoulder and my phone held in my hand.

He stood near the door and stepped back slightly, letting me walk out first.

I crossed the threshold, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze behind me, and stepped outside. He followed, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The air felt different. I didn’t feel suffocated with him, like I always felt with the males in my family.

I turned to him, and before I could stop myself, I grinned.

He cocked his head to the side, watching me. “What is this smile for?”

“You turned my Baba and Kaka speechless,” I said, the words slipping out easily now. “That’s new. I could never do that. It was always me who got shut down.”

For a second, he just looked at me.

Then he smiled.

And I forgot what I was saying.

My eyes dropped to his lips before I could stop them. The shape of them, the way they curved, the flash of perfectly aligned white teeth. The way his face changed when he smiled, softer, almost… warmer.

He was handsome, undeniably. And the worst part was, he didn’t even seem to try.

“Mehek,” he said, his voice steady, pulling my attention back up, “I don’t know what you have lived around until now, but in my house, females are heard. And men… they do fall silent as well.”

I stared at him, at his words. They didn’t feel like something said just to impress. There was no show in it, no exaggeration. Just a quiet certainty.

It made me pause.

It was just… typical.

A Bengali household where nothing was said out loud, but everything was understood. Where control didn’t come in harsh words, but in quiet expectations. Where women weren’t told to stay silent, but were raised in a way that made silence feel natural.

My mother believed in it too. She believed it was okay to step back, to let the men decide, to adjust, to keep peace. To look soft, agreeable, even when she wasn’t.

And she wasn’t. I had seen her strength. But I had also seen her tuck it away.

“Where to?” I asked, adjusting the edge of my dupatta slightly as I looked at him.

“I know a place.”

I nodded without asking anything more. It didn’t feel like something I needed to question.

His car stood parked a little ahead, black and sleek, the kind that quietly drew attention without trying too hard. He walked ahead and opened the passenger door for me. I paused for just a second before stepping in, a small, unexpected warmth settling in my chest.

It was normal. A simple gesture.

Nothing to feel giddy about.

And yet, it felt… nice.

I settled into the seat, smoothing my kurta as I adjusted myself. By the time he came around and got behind the wheel, my eyes had already wandered to the dashboard.

There was a box.

Gift wrapped.

My gaze stayed on it a second longer than it should have. Was it for me? The thought slipped in before I could stop it. My fingers curled into my palm, holding myself back from reaching out.

I couldn’t just take it.

It might not even be for me.

Tomorrow was the engagement. There were gifts everywhere. Packed, arranged, waiting for different people. This could be for anyone.

Still, my eyes drifted back to it once more before I forced myself to look away.

The drive was quiet, not uncomfortable, just… steady. The city moved around us in familiar chaos, honking cars, people crossing wherever they found space, the hum of Kolkata alive as always.

We stopped in front of a café.

I reached for the door handle instinctively, but his voice stopped me.

“Wait.”

I paused, my hand still hovering for a second before I let it fall back.

He got out, walked around, and opened the door for me.

“A woman never opens the door in front of a guy.”

I stepped out, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at my lips. I didn’t know where this was coming from, this ease, but it felt good.

Better than being at home, surrounded by people I didn’t even know.

“You know around twenty people are coming from your side for the engagement?” he said as we walked toward the entrance.

“No,” I replied, a small, almost embarrassed laugh escaping me. “These things are not shared with me.”

He glanced at me. “Do you want to call any of your friends?”

“I have one,” I said. “Meesha.”

“Call her.”

I shook my head lightly. “I can’t. Baba won’t approve, and Maa already has too much on her mind.”

“I’m telling you to do it,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “You want me to tell your father?”

“No,” I said quickly, almost too quickly. “It’s okay. I’ll give her a party later. I’ll show her your photo, which she already has, by the way.”

“Really?”

“She’s the one who found you on Google.”

A small pause followed that, and then we stepped inside the café.

It was warm, softly lit, the faint smell of coffee and something sweet hanging in the air. He looked at me once we reached the counter.

“What do you want to order?”

“Um…” I hesitated, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. It wasn’t every day I walked into a place like this and ordered without thinking twice. “A burger, fries, and a hazelnut latte.”

He nodded. “We’ll order dessert later.”

I followed his gaze for a second and realized he had caught me looking at the cheesecake displayed nearby. I quickly turned my head away, pretending I hadn’t been staring.

“Go sit,” he said. “I’ll order and join you.”

“Okay.”

I found a table by the window and sat down, letting myself sink into the chair for a moment.

The view outside pulled me in almost instantly.

I loved Kolkata.

There was something about it that never felt still. It was loud, messy, alive in a way that made everything feel real. Down below, yellow taxis pushed through traffic, horns cutting through the air, while a hand-pulled rickshaw passed by, its bell ringing softly, almost rhythmically.

It felt like two different worlds moving together.

Like time didn’t just pass here.

It lingered.

“Where have you got lost?”

I blinked and looked up at him, pulling myself back.

“I love Kolkata,” I said, almost without thinking.

“Good that you are living here.”

“I am,” I replied, a small smile forming before I could stop it.

He took the seat across from me, and just then the food arrived. The moment the plate was placed in front of me, my attention shifted completely.

My mouth watered. I loved burgers. They were my favorite.

“If you want to invite you friend, you should.”

“That’s okay. Maa says we shouldn’t fight every battle but only the ones we can win.”

He stared at me, but stayed quiet. Then he pointed to the food and I picked a fry, chewing the salty goodness.

We started eating, the conversation pausing without either of us forcing it. He had ordered a wrap for himself, neat, contained, nothing spilling out the way mine already was.

I picked up the burger carefully, trying to keep it together, but the moment I took a bite, I realized it wasn’t as easy as I had imagined. Sauce, filling, everything threatening to slip.

I became aware of him watching me. I didn’t like it. Not entirely. It made me feel exposed in the most vulnerable way, like every small movement was being noticed, measured. But then again, he had bought the burger. So maybe he had earned the right to watch me struggle with it.

Before I could take another bite, he picked up a tissue and leaned forward, wiping the corner of my mouth.

I jerked back instantly. The burger slipped from my hands and landed back on the plate with a soft thud, a bit of sauce smearing against the side.

“I wanted to talk to you about your Panchgani trip,” he said, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just crossed a line I hadn’t even seen coming.

For a second, I just stared at him.

Did I need to remind him there was no love in this marriage? That he should keep his hands to himself?

The words stayed inside. I said nothing.

“It happens that I will be in Mumbai during that time,” he continued, his tone steady. “You are leaving on Wednesday, right? Three days after the engagement.”

I nodded slowly, my eyes narrowing just a little. He happened to be in Mumbai, exactly at the time of my trip.

What did that even mean?

“When you land in Mumbai, my car will be waiting for you,” he said. “My driver will drop you to Panchgani and pick you up when you are done. When is your return date?”

“You happen to be in Mumbai then?” I said, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “Wow.”

His lips curled slightly at the corners. He was smiling.

How dare he?

“When is your return date, Mehek?” he repeated, his voice calm, unaffected.

“Five days after,” I replied. “Monday.”

“Good. My car will be there. If you want, you can keep the car the entire time.”

That would have been convenient. More than convenient. But something about it didn’t sit right. It felt too easy. Too arranged.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening slightly around the glass in my hand. “Still looking at options. But the lady who is going to teach me her thread work has offered to let me stay at her place.”

He frowned immediately. “What have you booked until now?”

I looked down for a second, then took a sip of my cold coffee, buying myself a moment.

“Flight.”

That was it. I couldn’t tell him that everything else had been too expensive. That I had been calculating every little cost, trying to make things fit into a budget that barely stretched.

Now, with his car, at least the travel cost would be saved.

“Let me see some good staying options,” he said. “I will give you the top three. You can decide.”

I almost smiled at that. His options would not be pocket friendly. I knew that without even asking.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he took out a card and slid it across the table toward me.

“Keep it. You can use it. No pin required for transactions under five thousand.”

I looked at the card. Then at him.

“I don’t need this,” I said.

Even though a part of me knew I did. But something inside me resisted. Taking it didn’t feel right. It didn’t sit well with me.

What about my self-respect?

“I told you, Kaka,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, firmer now. “Every decision of yours will be mine. You are my responsibility now, Mehek. And I don’t run from my responsibilities.”

He paused for a second, then added, “You shouldn’t feel odd about this. If we are tied together, you need to learn to lean into me.”

Something in me tightened at his words.

“Until we are not tied in a loveless marriage,” I said quietly, but clearly, “I would like to keep my freedom.”

His eyes narrowed. The change was immediate. I could feel it.

“Maybe you think because I don’t stop you, you can talk to me any way you want,” he said, his voice still controlled, but colder now. “Maybe because I didn’t break your spite, you feel comfortable enough to insult me whenever you want.”

Fear gripped me before I could stop it. My body stilled, my fingers curling into my lap as I sat there, unable to move, unable to respond.

I had gone too far.

“You are not going to Panchgani,” he said.

The words landed hard.

“Are you done?” he asked then, his tone too calm.

My mouth opened, shock hitting me all at once.

He stood up suddenly.

“Let’s go. I will drop you home,” he added, then paused, his gaze brushing over me for a second. “Or do you want to go on your own? Maybe you should.”

“Bye,” he said calmly.

Then he turned and walked away without waiting for an answer.

I sat there. Frozen, too stunned.

The chair felt too still beneath me, too heavy, like it was holding me in place. Everything around me blurred at the edges, the noise of the café fading into something distant and unimportant. All I could hear was my own heartbeat, loud and uneven.

My eyes burned. And then the tears came. Slow at first, slipping quietly down my cheeks, and then faster, harder, until I couldn’t stop them even if I tried.

He didn’t turn back. Not even once. I kept staring at the empty space he had left behind, my hands resting uselessly in my lap, my fingers slightly curled as if they had forgotten what to do.

What had I done?

I picked up my coffee, my hand trembling slightly, and finished it in one go, not even tasting it. The bitterness lingered, sharp on my tongue, but I barely noticed.

Then I stood up and walked out. My house was thirty minutes away. I didn’t take a cab, nor did I call anyone. I walked.

The sun was still high, harsh against my skin, the heat settling into my clothes, sticking to me with every step. I could feel the sweat gathering, the dull sting of the sun, the thought of tanning crossing my mind for a second before disappearing just as quickly.

I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything. I wanted to cry. Properly cry. But I couldn’t, not here, not outside. Not where anyone could see.

So I walked, step after step, my mind going in circles, replaying everything, every word, every look.

By the time I reached home, my legs were aching, a dull pain spreading up from my feet. My shoulders felt heavy, my head light.

Maa saw me the moment I entered.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just followed me quietly to my room, her steps quick, her eyes already searching my face.

She closed the door behind us.

And I broke.

I stepped into her arms and held on, my fingers clutching her saree as I cried into her shoulder. This time, I didn’t stop myself. I didn’t hold back. The tears came freely, my breath uneven, my chest rising and falling too fast.

“Priyo… what happened?” she asked softly, her hand coming up to my head, smoothing my hair.

“I’m not wearing the saree he got,” I said between breaths. “Understood?”

She pulled back slightly, trying to see my face. “What happened?”

“First tell me yes,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “I’m not wearing his saree or jewelry. Do you understand?”

“Mehek… we cannot do that.”

“Then I’m not getting engaged to him,” I said immediately, the words coming out before I could soften them. “I will run away, but I will not get engaged to him in the saree he brought. This is the only thing I’m asking from you. Maa… please…”

I saw her eyes fill, her expression shifting from confusion to worry.

“What happened?” she asked again, quieter this time. “At least tell me that.”

“He’s not a good guy,” I said, my voice dropping, the words sitting heavy on my tongue.

“Priyo…”

“He wants control,” I continued, shaking my head, the frustration rising again. “And I won’t give him that. Maa… please… my self-respect is important to me. Promise me you won’t force me to wear the saree he brought.”

She went quiet for a moment, her fingers still resting lightly on my arm, her gaze searching my face as if trying to understand everything I wasn’t saying. I could see her thinking, weighing things in her head, balancing what was right and what was practical.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice low but steady. “Let us keep this between us. I don’t want your Baba getting angry today. There are so many people in the house… I don’t want a big issue over this.”

She cupped my face gently, her thumb brushing away the dampness on my cheek. “Tomorrow, when you get ready, you wear the saree we bought. Okay? I will handle the rest. Please… don’t say anything to your Baba or Kaka. Let me handle everything.”

I nodded, the tightness in my chest easing just a little, relief mixing with the ache that hadn’t gone anywhere.

She pulled me into a hug again, holding me close for a moment before guiding me toward the bed. I sat, then let her ease me down without resisting, my body too tired to argue. I shifted slightly and rested my head in her lap, the familiar comfort of it making my eyes sting again.

Her hand moved through my hair slowly, gently, the same rhythm she had used since I was a child. It grounded me in a way nothing else could.

For a moment, everything felt quiet.

But beneath it, the anger stayed.

Sharp. Unmoving.

I closed my eyes, my fingers curling slightly against the bedsheet as silent tears slipped out, one after the other.

“What happened, Mehek?” she asked softly. “You can tell me anything. You call me your friend, right?”

I nodded, unable to speak, the tears continuing to fall, soaking into the fabric beneath my cheek.

“Maa…” My voice came out uneven. “He said I can’t go to Panchgani.”

Her hand stilled for a second. “But you told me he said yes. So what happened? Why did he suddenly change his decision?”

I swallowed.

I couldn’t tell her everything. Not about the car, the driver, the card he had pushed toward me like it was nothing. Not about how that had made me feel.

“I don’t know,” I said instead, staring at nothing. “He just did.”

My fingers tightened slightly against the sheet. “All my life… Baba and Kaka have decided things for me. Now, he will. I have no freedom. I have nothing. My life is not mine. It never was.”

“Priyo…” she said softly, her tone patient, almost careful.

“You see things too black and white,” she continued after a pause. “But it isn’t like that.”

Her hand resumed its slow movement through my hair, steady, calming. “You need to learn diplomacy. You are going to get married, and your fights are yours now. But crying won’t help. Staying angry won’t help.”

I stayed still, listening, even though something in me resisted every word.

“Do you think I never felt angry when your Baba did things against my wishes?” she asked quietly. “I did. Many times. But what would have changed if I stayed angry?”

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t carry bitterness. Just a quiet acceptance that felt heavier than anything else.

“The society we belong to… the family we belong to… there are certain rules and traditions that cannot be broken in a day,” she said. “So don’t try to do that. Work around the rules. Bend them. But don’t try to break them.”

Her fingers paused briefly, then resumed, softer now.

“You need to understand something, Priyo. Getting emotional and angry only works against you. No one cares… no one cares what you want.”

The words landed quietly, but they stayed.

“What triggered him to cancel your trip?” she asked. “Think about that. And think about how, in the future, you can change that. You can… manage it.”

I lay there, staring at nothing, her words settling somewhere deep, uncomfortable and real.

I hated that this was how things worked. That we had to think like this. Move like this. Bend without breaking. We had to manipulate for our happiness, while they didn’t care if they hurt us without caring. They made us cry without worrying or feeling guilty, but we had to be careful to not make them angry.

My ass. I hated every man in my life, no… I hate males in general. They were the worst.

And more than anything, in that moment, I hated him.

I hated Abhoy Chatterjee.

I loathed him with every fiber of my being.