Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 6

This is part 7 of 7 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: Chapter 6

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

6,768 words, 36 minutes read time.

A Marriage of Convenience Love Story Set in Kolkata

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience Love Story – Chapter 6
The Engagement and Gifts

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

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 5

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story

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Abhoy

I reached home, completely exhausted.

My eyes move around, scanning the living room.

Then I found my mother. She was moving from one corner of the house to another, her voice bouncing around, giving instructions, correcting things, asking for changes before anyone could settle into what they were doing. I stood for a moment, just watching.

The room had changed, completely transformed.

It didn’t look like the same place I had walked through yesterday. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, deep and sweet, almost overwhelming if you stood too long in one place.

Orchid bouquets were arranged at every corner, their pale petals adding a quiet contrast to the richness of the reds. White flower garlands hung from the ceiling, soft and delicate, turning the space into something more ceremonial, more… final.

Three new chandeliers had been brought in. The technicians were still fixing them, climbing up and down, adjusting wires, fitting each crystal drop carefully. When the light hit them, they caught it in fragments, reflecting it back in a way that made the room look brighter, grander.

Everything looked perfect. Exactly how it was supposed to.

And yet, something in me felt off.

I didn’t like how it ended. I had to be the mature one but I wasn’t. I was petty, stupid, and reacted more than I should have. Mehek pressed my buttons, that was it.

I had never reacted like this before, left someone in the café and leave. She was my responsibility, yet I did something I would have never done with a sane mind, which I always thought I had.

I scrubbed my face, irritated. With myself. How could I do that?

I pulled out my phone and message her.

Abhoy: Have you reached home.

I waited for a reply, none came. I saw the blue ticks and she has read the message.

Abhoy: I’m sorry.

Still nothing. God… she was really angry at me.

I glanced up, wanting to talk to Maa, but one look at her made it clear she didn’t have the time. Not right now. Not for anything that wasn’t about the engagement.

So I turned and climbed the stairs, walking to my room instead, closing the door behind me. The silence felt different here. Like even it condemned my actions.

I didn’t know why I had lost it. The way she spoke to me… no one had spoken to me like that before. Not in that tone. Not with that edge.

I walked to my wardrobe and opened it, my fingers reaching for something without much thought. The frame was where it always was.

Yagini and my photo. It was from our engagement.

I just stood there, looking at her. There was nothing else to do, nothing that could bring her back so I could marry her and not someone who maybe wasn’t my type.

She had never spoken to me like that. Never challenged me in that way. But Mehek… she was young and inexperienced. Maybe she didn’t understand that some words, once said, stayed. They didn’t just disappear.

Loveless marriage, freedom, she said it like she was insulting me. No one had spoken to me like that. I exhaled slowly.

“I can’t compare her to you,” I said quietly, my thumb brushing against the edge of the frame. “You were made for me. She isn’t. Why did you die that day? Why did you leave me alone after promising to be with me for more than just this lifetime? But you bowed out far early. You didn’t even stay with me this lifetime.”

I stopped because talking to her photo was my new low.

“I miss you,” I added, unable to stop myself. “Every day, I miss you more.”

I stood there for another second before placing the frame back where it belonged.

Then I lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I wasn’t feeling well, but I knew nothing was wrong with me physically. The conversation replayed in fragments. The way she had looked at me. The way she had refused the card.

I had only wanted to make things easier for her, you know give her my wings to fly.

What was wrong in that?

Giving her the credit card, making sure she didn’t have to think about money, making sure she could enjoy her trip without worrying about expenses… how was that wrong?

But she had reacted like I had insulted her.

I hadn’t. I had just wanted to take care of her.

From what she had said, and from what she hadn’t, I could tell enough. She didn’t have a voice in her own house. Decisions were made around her, over her.

No one really took care of her. I wanted to. So I did. And she didn’t even value it.

I let out a slow breath and closed my eyes.

Just then the door opened, and I sat up immediately, my body reacting before my mind could. It was just the twins. My little sisters.

“Ishika, Ishwari,” I said, my voice settling. “What do you want?”

“Dada, we have your outfit for tomorrow,” Ishwari said, holding up the garment bag slightly. “Want to see?”

“No,” I replied, leaning back slightly. “I will check it later. Now leave.”

They didn’t.

Instead, they walked in and sat on the bed, both of them looking at me with that familiar curiosity I had learned to recognize.

“What happened, Dada?” Ishika asked.

“Nothing.”

“We are not babies anymore,” she said, narrowing her eyes slightly.

Before I could respond, her hand came up and brushed the corner of my eye. I stilled.

A tear. I hadn’t even realized it was there.

I reached out and ran my fingers through her hair lightly. “You’ve grown up, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Dada,” she said softly. “So tell me what’s bothering you.”

I hesitated for a second before asking, “When I give you money, do you feel insulted?”

“No,” Ishika said instantly. “Give us more.”

A small laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“What if someone does feel insulted?” I asked. “Why would they feel like that?”

Ishika frowned, thinking, but Ishwari’s lips curved into a knowing smile.

“You gave Bhabhi money?” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

“How did you give it?” she pressed.

“I gave her my credit card.”

Ishika winced immediately. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

I looked at her.

“You should have put some money in an envelope and given it subtly,” she continued. “Not like that. A credit card feels like you’re showing off. Like you’re above her.”

I leaned back slightly, exhaling. “Okay. My mistake.”

“When she comes tomorrow, give it properly,” Ishwari added. “Give us the money. We’ll gift wrap it.”

“Or use it,” I said dryly.

They both smiled.

“Are you okay?” Ishika asked again, softer this time.

“I am.”

There was a pause before Ishwari spoke again, more carefully now. “I know you miss… Yagini Bhabhi. But that chapter is over. Dada, we want to see you happy. Just look at Maa. She hasn’t been this happy in years.”

I nodded.

“I know.”

“We love you,” they said together, standing up.

I watched them walk out, the door closing behind them, leaving the room quiet again.

After a moment, I got up and reached for the outfit. I unzipped the cover, running my hand over the plastic that held the outfit.

A golden kurta, the fabric rich without being too loud, detailed with intricate green embroidery that caught the light just enough. The pale yellow dhoti paired with it was simple, but the golden border gave it a finish that brought everything together.

It looked perfect. Exactly how it was supposed to. I placed it back carefully.

This was my reality now. My future. Mehek was part of my future and I had to understand her, rather than compare her to Yagini.

Mehek was just twenty-one. I couldn’t expect her words to be mature.

The next day came faster than I expected. The engagement mahurat was at eleven, so guests were to start arriving by ten. First there was a puja, then followed by ring ceremony, and then lunch.

The house had already begun to fill with movement and voices, but my room remained quiet. Maa had sent my breakfast upstairs so I could eat in peace. No one was allowed in my room today except for her. And my sisters. No one could stop them.

I sat by the window, the plate untouched for a few minutes before I finally picked up the fork. The omelet had gone slightly cold, but I ate anyway, sipping my coffee between bites, letting the silence stretch around me.

I finished quickly and pushed the plate aside, wiping my hands before getting up to get ready. I took a shower, letting the water run longer than needed, then shaved, leaving behind a faint stubble. It changed the way my face held itself in the mirror, sharper, less approachable. I had always liked that. It made people hesitate, made them measure their words. That worked for me.

I slipped into the kurta, adjusting it over my shoulders before draping the dhoti with practiced ease. The fabric fell into place, each fold where it should be. I reached for the dupatta, lifting it slightly, when I heard voices outside, low at first, then closer.

Before I could move further, the door opened.

“Abhoy,” Maa’s voice came from the door. “I got this from your car. You didn’t give it to Mehek?”

I turned and saw the box in her hands. For a second, I only looked at it, my thoughts catching up slowly, and then it came back to me. This was the gift I was supposed to give Mehek. I could still picture the way her eyes had lingered on it in the car, a brief pause, a quiet curiosity she had not acted on, her fingers resting still in her lap.

I had meant to give it to her later, when I dropped her home, wanting to catch that small, unguarded spark in her eyes when she opened it.

But everything had unraveled before that moment could come.

I exhaled, the breath leaving heavier than I intended. I should have dropped her home. The thought rose sharp and sudden, tightening something in my chest. The way I had left, the way I had walked away without looking back, leaving her standing there, it stayed with me in a way that did not settle.

I was not that person. Or at least, I had never been.

But she had aggravated me.

Maa stepped in, her gaze resting on me a moment longer than usual, as if she was searching for something beneath what I was showing her.

“Forgot,” I said, keeping my voice flat. “How do I look?”

“Beta, you have always looked beautiful. Today you look hundred times more beautiful. Thu, thu.” She made the soft ritual sound to ward off the evil eye, then pressed her finger lightly into the corner of her kajal-lined eye and dabbed it behind my ear.

“Maa…”

“Uribaba,” she said, her voice warming with pride as she took me in again. “You look like a groom, beta. Good that you are, or you would have stolen someone else’s show.”

A smile slipped through despite everything, and she laughed, pulling me into a tight hug. I stood there for a moment, letting it settle, the familiarity of it grounding in a way nothing else had that morning.

Maa pulled away, blinking rapidly, as if clearing something from her eyes, and placed the box on the table. “Give it to her today. It will be helpful for her trip to Mumbai. I’m still a little scared that she’s going alone, but if you think it’s okay, it is. Your Baba and I will never interfere between you two. I can’t wait for her to come into this house. We will do a grand muh dikai ceremony.”

She kept speaking, her voice weaving plans and warmth into the space, while I moved toward the table and picked up the box. I turned it once in my hand, feeling its weight before setting it down again.

It was a smart watch, something useful, thoughtful. I hadn’t seen her wear a watch, her wrist was always empty so I bought it for her. But maybe… it’s another mistake.

What if she saw it the same way she had seen everything else?

“What’s happening, Abhoy?” Maa asked quietly.

“Nothing, Maa.”

She did not answer at once. I could feel her watching me, the silence stretching just enough to make me aware of it.

“Something is wrong,” she said after a pause. “Yesterday when you left the house, there was this strange excitement in your eyes. Today, it’s gone.”

I looked away, my gaze settling somewhere near the window without really seeing it.

“I miss Yagini,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “But you don’t want to hear that, so forget it.”

“Why?” she asked.

I frowned slightly, turning back to her. “What do you mean why?”

“You moved on,” she said simply. “The moment you met Mehek, your attention shifted. I have seen the change. Don’t think I don’t notice. I do. I keep watching you, even when you don’t realize it.”

I let out a quiet breath, running a hand through my hair before letting it fall back to my side.

“I just feel… Yagini was made for me,” I said slowly, the words coming measured, less certain than they should have been. “She isn’t.”

The sentence lingered between us, not settling the way I had expected.

“Maa… are we doing the right thing?” I continued, my voice lowering. “Destroying a twenty-one-year-old girl’s life. And she’s… different. She speaks without thinking. She could damage our name. She doesn’t understand the weight of words.”

Maa listened without interrupting, her expression steady, her silence patient rather than dismissive.

“I will guide her,” she said finally. “I will train her. She has time. She has her whole life ahead of her. We just need to be patient.”

She stepped a little closer.

“I know something happened yesterday,” she added, her voice softer now, losing its earlier certainty. “Something that changed how you are seeing her. But don’t be rigid, Abhoy. People do things for many reasons. You cannot take one moment and define their entire character by it.”

Her words settled slowly, and I looked away.

“Don’t judge her so soon,” she continued. “She brought a smile to your face without even trying. That matters.”

She was right. “I think… I keep comparing her to Yagini,” I admitted.

“You are,” Maa said gently. “And that is your mistake.”

I looked up.

“You and Yagini met in college,” she said. “You spent years together. You had time to shape that relationship. You understood each other slowly. You changed for her in ways I never thought you would.”

Her gaze softened slightly.

“So why not give Mehek the same chance? The same time?”

I shook my head faintly. “Because I don’t want to. I just don’t want to.”

Maa sighed, not in frustration, but in something quieter.

“That is the problem, Abhoy,” she said. “You are the problem. Not her.”

I didn’t react.

“She doesn’t even know life can be hard,” Maa continued, her tone calm, almost thoughtful. “She doesn’t know what it means to have your dreams break in front of you. She doesn’t know how the world really works. She is naïve. She is real.”

Her eyes held mine, steady, unblinking. “You are not.”

The words didn’t hit me the way they should have. They settled.

“You have to try,” she went on. “You cannot stop trying. As long as you are alive, you have to live.”

She paused, her voice dipping just slightly.

“One day, you will lose me as well. Will you stop living again then?”

“Stop it, Maa,” I said immediately, hating that she would use this in her emotional blackmail. I was marrying for her, wasn’t I? Shouldn’t that be enough?

“I am just saying,” she continued, her voice calm. “People leave when their time with us is over. Your Baba and I will also go someday.”

I looked away, my jaw tightening.

“Mehek is perfect for you,” she said after a moment. “If she has shaken you in just one conversation, then she matters. Whether you accept it or not. Mehek has rattled you, and you don’t know how to accept that. We both know Yagini was more subdued, practical, but Mehek… I see this strange fire in her eyes. She is someone who can fight for her feelings, stand strong for her self-respect.”

Mom’s words echoed in the silence. Was she right?

“Son, Mehek deserves happiness.”

What that, she turned and walked out, leaving the door slightly open behind her.

I stood there for a while, not moving, her words repeating in my head, settling in places I didn’t want them to.

Maybe she was right. Or maybe I just didn’t want to admit that she was.

I grabbed my phone from the bed and messaged her. Again. My third message to her since yesterday.

Abhoy: Once again sorry for yesterday. Happy engagement in advance.

I chuckled at my words. Ballsy of me to wish her engagement. Maybe mom was right. Maybe I did like the little arguments I normally had with her, finding them insanely stimulating.

I locked my phone, not really expecting her to reply.

When it was time, I stepped downstairs.

Voices filled the hall now, soft conversations blending into each other, the space alive in a way that felt almost suffocating. The decorations looked brighter in daylight, the flowers fresher, the chandeliers finally in place, casting light that reflected off every polished surface.

Mom had outdone herself.

Then the door opened, and they entered.

Her father and Kaka walked in first, both dressed in crisp white, their posture straight, their expressions controlled, polite. They greeted my parents, exchanging the usual words, the formal smiles that came with occasions like this.

Behind them, her mother and Kaki stepped in, silk sarees draped to perfection, the soft sheen catching the chandelier light as they moved. Fresh flowers rested in their hair, strings of jasmine and roses, their fragrance drifting through the hall, reaching even where I stood. They had boxes of gifts and sweets with them.

I was getting impatient, waiting for her.

And then she walked in. Mehek Bagchi. Something spread inside me, a warmth I didn’t want to feel. It slowly spread inside me.

Then I saw her. She was accompanied by someone I didn’t recognize, a girl trailing half a step behind her. The rest of her relatives entered too, voices blending into the room, but my attention did not move past her.

It stayed there, fixed, as if everything else had blurred out.

My eyes dropped on their own, taking in the details without permission. I frowned. She wasn’t wearing the saree I gave her yesterday, and her jewelry was also different.

For a moment, I didn’t react. I just stood there, watching, letting it sink in slowly, piece by piece. Something inside me tightened, a slow heat rising under my skin, controlled but sharp. My jaw locked before I even realized it had. I was angry. So fucking angry.

Why didn’t she wear the saree I got for her? Just to spite me? She wanted to fight me at everything?

Maa’s words echoed faintly somewhere at the back of my mind.

She is real, she is naïve.

But that did nothing to soften it. If anything, they irritated me more. The girl had a mind of her own. It showed in the smallest ways, in choices like this, in refusals that did not need to be spoken aloud.

I was her ally, not her enemy. Didn’t she realize that yet?

And I could feel it, the way the rage pressed against something instinctive in me, something that rose without asking. The urge came just as steadily, just as quietly, and once it settled, it stayed.

I wanted to control it. It was as if she was asking for it.

The saree I had given her was light golden color, threaded with green leaves curling into delicate white flowers. It had stood out the moment it was unfolded, richer than the rest, almost made to catch the light.

Mom had called someone home with stacks of sarees for Mehek, colors spilling across the room like a marketplace, and I had not paid attention at first. Then that one had come into view, and I had picked it without hesitation. I had wanted to see her in it today.

Whatever happened yesterday, this was her answer. Quiet, but clear. In her own way, she was trying to fight me. Mom did not know I had cancelled Mehek’s Panchgani trip.

I exhaled slowly and looked at her face. Her gaze stayed lowered, fixed on her toes, her expression still. Not shy, not smiling, not even uncomfortable. Just still, as if she had already distanced herself from the moment.

God, what did I do. I wanted to get angry at her, but guilt spread inside me instead.

I didn’t want to ruin this big day for her.

Mom had kept a small puja, and we all sat together. Mehek and I sat side by side, close enough for me to notice the faint tremor in her fingers as she adjusted the edge of her saree. The pandit’s voice filled the space, mantras rising and falling, steady and rhythmic.

“Can you smile?” I whispered, leaning slightly toward her.

She remained as she was, as if the words had not reached her.

“Mehek…”

“Mind your own business,” she snapped.

I sighed, rolling my eyes.

“Hey,” I tried again, softer this time, leaning just enough for my voice to reach her without carrying. “I’m sorry for yesterday. I know you haven’t worn the saree I sent you as a reciprocation. But you can go to Panchgani. I’m sorry. Seriously. Please.”

Nothing. Not even the smallest shift in her expression. She sat the same way, her gaze lowered, her hands still in her lap as if my words had not touched her at all.

I let out a quiet breath and leaned back, the weight of it settling heavier than I had expected. The puja came to an end, the final aarti circling slowly, the flame reflecting in brief flashes across the polished brass and glass around us. The scent of incense thickened for a moment before fading into the flowers.

Then it was time for the ring ceremony.

The women broke into ulu dhwani, the sharp, rhythmic sound rising above everything else, filling the hall, echoing off the walls as we stood. I reached for her hand. Her fingers were steady when I slipped the ring onto them, not trembling, not hesitant.

Mehek smiled then, but not at me. Not once. Her smile turned toward my mother instead, softening just a little when she noticed the tears in her eyes.

“The decorations are so beautiful, aunty. The house is smelling divine.”

“I wanted to live up to your name, Mehek,” Maa said, her voice warm, thick with emotion. “Mehek means fragrance, and I wanted the house to smell the best today so you know it’s your house now. And call me Maa. Or Mom. I’m okay with any.”

Mehek nodded, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to say something but could not find the words. For a moment, she simply stood there, taking it in, her gaze moving slowly across the room, pausing on the flowers, the soft glow of the lights, the details that had been placed with care but never announced.

Even I had not known this was the reason behind it all, the fresh flowers, the quiet layering of scents that lingered in every corner. My mother had done it without saying a word, as if it did not need to be explained.

Then I noticed Mehek glancing down at her ring, her fingers turning it slightly, letting it catch the light. The faint change in her expression, almost unguarded, eased something in me, and I found myself smiling before I could stop it.

Her eyes lifted instantly, narrowing the moment she caught me looking, but I did not let the smile fade.

I stepped closer, leaning just enough for my words to stay between us. “Looking beautiful,” I murmured. “But if you had worn the saree I chose for you, you would have looked exceptionally beautiful.”

I pulled away, and in that brief moment, I saw her tongue run lightly over her lips. The movement held me there for a second longer than it should have. My gaze dropped before I could stop it, settling on that deep red, the color deliberate, the same shade mirrored on her nails.

Around us, the ceremony moved forward. Our families exchanged gifts, the ritual unfolding with practiced ease. I accepted the clothes and gold her mother offered, bowing slightly as I touched their feet for blessings. My mother had prepared just as much, if not more, sarees and dresses laid out for Mehek, along with makeup, purses, and a gold necklace with matching earrings.

I saw the way Mehek’s eyes moved over everything, the quiet surprise, the hesitation, and beneath it, something softer she did not try to show too openly.

I also had something for her. A gift I wanted to give her, along with the smart watch. It was in my room.

“Come,” I said, my voice lower now, steadier than I felt, and I took her hand.

“What?” she asked, pulling back slightly.

“I need to talk to you alone.”

“No,” Mehek hissed under her breath, her resistance immediate.

I did not argue further. I simply held on and pulled her gently to her feet. She reached for something, perhaps to steady herself or to delay, but I did not pause. I guided her toward the stairs.

There were voices behind us, a few curious glances, but I did not turn. I knew my mother would handle it. She always did.

Once we were inside my room, I closed the door, the noise from outside dulling into a distant murmur.

I walked to the table and picked up the box I had meant to give her yesterday, holding it out to her. “Here. I forgot to give you this yesterday.”

“I don’t want.”

“So you don’t want to go to Panchgani?”

Her eyes lifted sharply, a glare settling in, her lips pressing into a hard line. I held her gaze, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly.

“I already said sorry. I won’t say it again,” I told her.

She stayed silent, her lips pursed, and arms crossed. I saw a small box in her hand but I ignored that.

I put the box in front of her on the bed, and turned toward my closet, stepping into the walk in wardrobe. The familiar space felt quieter, contained. I opened the safe and took out another box, smaller, something I had kept aside.

When I walked back to her and held it out, she did not take it.

“You need to stop this,” I said, my voice losing some of its edge. “Your words hurt me. I’m also human, Mehek.”

“Really?” she asked, her tone steady, her eyes not leaving mine. “Because you only told there will be no love in this marriage. So when I repeated it, why did it feel so insulting to you.”

The words landed, without hesitation. Mehek was very sharp with her words, I noted.

“I don’t know,” I admitted after a moment. “But it did.”

The honesty sat between us, unexpected but real.

I let out a breath and nodded toward the box. “At least check what I have got for you.”

She made a face, reluctant, but put her gift down and took the square box and opened it. The lid lifted slowly, and her eyes dropped inside.

“Wow,” she said, the resistance slipping for just a second, her eyes still on the watch. “A smart watch. I always wanted one.”

“Forgive me,” I said lightly, watching her expression change in small, careful shifts. “Just because I read your mind and got you what you wanted. I deserve something in return.”

I knew how I sounded, almost childish, but there was no point pretending otherwise. I wanted her to forgive me.

She made a face, a faint narrowing of her eyes, but then gave a small nod, reluctant and restrained. Without saying anything more, she reached for the second box. The lid came off slowly, and the moment she saw what was inside, her breath caught.

“Is this real?”

“It is.”

She looked at it again, longer this time, the light catching on the diamonds, scattering softly across her face. “I can’t take it.”

“You can,” I said, my voice steady. “The bracelet is yours. Let me put it on your wrist.”

“No.” The word came quickly, almost instinctively. “When there’s love between us, you can touch. But not before that.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

I took a step back without thinking, the reaction immediate. I had not expected that. Not from her, not like this.

But why? She was right. This marriage was a convenience so why did it hurt. I didn’t say anything, for the first time speechless.

She exhaled, her shoulders lowering slightly, as if realizing how it had sounded. “I… I was talking about intimate touch.”

I watched her, trying to understand what was going in her head.

“Um… I also got something for you,” she said suddenly, her voice shifting, almost as if she wanted to move past it.

“What? You got something for me?”

I was stunned because I had never expected this.

She nodded and handed me a small, neatly wrapped box. I took it, opening it carefully. Inside was a keychain, simple at first glance, with a tiny crystal bottle attached to it. An intricate thread work design was webbed around it.

“I know I should have got you something better,” she said, her voice dropping slightly. “But I made this.”

“You made this?” I looked up at her, the surprise not hidden.

She nodded again, then bit her lip, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away.

“It’s a keychain with a perfume bottle,” she explained, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the box as if grounding herself. “You can attach it anywhere, and it will keep spreading a floral scent. Jasmine. It will last a month or so.”

“Wow,” I said, turning it slightly between my fingers, noticing the detail, the care in how it had been put together.

“You like it?” she asked, watching me closely now.

“I… I have never seen something like this,” I admitted. “You should make more of these. We can actually build a business around this.”

She smiled a little. “Thank you. Um… we should go,” she added after a moment. “Everyone is waiting. My entire family is there, and they are not used to things going out of the ordinary. Everything is anyway not happening as it should.”

“What do you mean?”

“The engagement ceremony has to happen from our side,” she said, her voice steady but edged now. “I’m supposed to wear what my parents got for me. But you think it’s not good enough. You think we are not good enough, which is why you keep changing everything, and poking your nose in between.”

“That wasn’t what I wanted to do,” I said, quieter this time. “We will go now, but promise me you will meet me in the evening.”

She crossed her arms, throwing me a mean glare. “No.”

God… who was this woman and did they make them like this?

“Fine.”

I walked to the door and closed it, then leaned back against it, folding my arms, the wood cool against my shoulders. “We are not going anywhere then.”

“What?” She stepped forward immediately. “Open the door. Abhoyji… please…”

Abhoyji… wow. I liked it.

“Promise to meet me in the evening.”

She glared at me, her eyes sharp, her patience thinning. I held it, letting the silence stretch just enough.

“Fine,” she snapped.

I moved away and opened the door, stepping aside and gesturing for her to go first.

We walked downstairs together, the sounds of the house rising to meet us again. The moment we entered the hall, I caught my mother’s gaze. She was already looking at me, her lips curving into a small smile before she let out a breath and looked away, as if something had settled for her.

She knew me too well, whatever she saw on my face told her I was okay now. The agitation of yesterday was gone.

My attention shifted to her mother then. There was a tightness in her expression, something uncertain, something waiting. It eased the moment Mehek smiled at her, just a little, enough to reassure. The change was immediate, the tension leaving her shoulders. Mothers read things others missed.

Her mother’s eyes dropped to the boxes in her hand, widening slightly. Mehek opened the box and showed her. Then she handed them over without a word. Her mother took them carefully, almost reverently, and tucked them into her bag, securing the clasp.

“When is the marriage happening? Date fixed yet?” someone asked, the question cutting through the softer conversations.

“No, not yet,” my mother replied easily. “Whatever Bhaskorji say. We are fine with anything.”

A murmur followed, low but present, words passing from one person to another. I could feel it without needing to hear every sentence. The bride’s family had no say. The arrangements would follow our side. It lingered in the air.

I glanced at Mehek. She frowned slightly but said nothing. I saw her palm curled in fist. She had been taught to stay quiet outside. It was good in a way, because she had sharp voice.

“We… we haven’t thought about any of this…” my father-in-law said, his voice uncertain, searching for the right words. He was flustered.

“It has to be a memorable event,” a woman added, her tone carrying across the group. “Your samdhiji has outdone themselves for the engagement. Now, you have to reach their level. Mehek…” she turned toward her. “You are lucky you are going to stay at such a big house.”

Mehek went still. Not frozen, but contained, as if she had pulled something inward and held it there. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, fingers tightening just enough to show what she was holding back. She did not speak.

I looked at my father, a brief glance, enough to say what I needed without words. He understood.

“Today is to celebrate,” my father said, his voice calm but firm enough to settle the room. “We can discuss this later in private. This is not for discussion in front of everyone. How they get married is Mehek’s choice. We aim to fulfil her dreams. A girl has dreams for how her wedding goes. And we are now one family, so whatever we do, we will do it together.”

The tone shifted almost immediately. Heads nodded, voices agreed, the earlier tension smoothing over as if it had not existed.

The conversation drifted elsewhere, then faded.

We all moved to lunch then, but even as I sat down, my attention stayed on Mehek. The room had shifted into an easier rhythm, conversations blending into a steady hum, but beneath it, something restless stayed with me. I wanted to be alone with her again, to finish what had been left unsaid.

The meal was arranged as a buffet, dishes laid out in careful abundance, but Mehek and I were seated, plates set before us as the food was brought one by one. The first platters arrived, filled with fish preparations, each more elaborate than the last. Shorshe ilish, rich with mustard and oil, bhetki paturi wrapped neatly in banana leaves, doi maach in its creamy base, chitol macher muitha, along with bowls of curries that filled the air with a layered warmth of spices.

The aromas gathered around us, familiar and indulgent, but I saw the way Mehek looked at it, her gaze lingering a second too long on each dish, not with excitement, but with something closer to disbelief.

Once the savoury dishes were placed, the sweets followed, one after another. Roshgulla glistening in syrup, misthi doi set in earthen pots, ras malai floating in thickened milk, payesh still warm, and sandesh arranged with delicate precision.

Mehek sat still for a moment, taking it all in. There was a quiet astonishment in her eyes, something she did not try to hide. She had not expected this, not at this scale. She did not know how far my mother could go, how much she could do when it came to my happiness, and now, inevitably, Mehek’s as well.

“Like the food?” I asked, watching her more than the plate in front of me.

She nodded, but her fingers only moved the food around, taking small bites that barely counted as eating.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She did not answer immediately. Her hand paused for a second, then she turned toward me, that familiar glare settling into place before she looked back at her plate. “No.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you have any idea?”

“No,” I said, keeping my tone even. “Mehek, I’m coming at a blank.”

She let out a breath, the restraint in it visible. “Everything here is out of our capacity,” she said, her voice low but firm. “We come from a noble, simple background. My Baba is a professor. He earns enough for us to live decently, nothing more. How can someone like you, who thinks himself to be so intelligent, not understand something so simple as this?”

Her words were sharp, but they did not feel careless. They felt measured, held back until they could not be anymore.

“Is this why you don’t like my gifts?” I asked.

She frowned instantly, her head lifting. “I love your gifts,” she said, almost defensively, as if the admission had slipped out before she could stop it. “No one… one has ever given me gifts.”

I didn’t reply to that. I was sure she didn’t mean to share that. “So just the functions that your Baba cannot afford?”

“He can afford it,” she said, her voice tightening slightly, “but he shouldn’t need to. He shouldn’t have to spend all his savings, the ones meant for his retirement, for one day of an occasion.”

I watched her for a moment, the way her grip tightened slightly around the spoon, the way her eyes stayed fixed on the plate, avoiding mine.

“Hmm… okay,” I said finally, letting the conversation pause before it could turn into something heavier in the middle of the room. “Let’s eat now. We will talk later about this. I assure my family didn’t do this to make your father feel down. But now that you have told me this, I will ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

She did not respond, but she did pick up her spoon again, quieter now, the words still lingering between us even as the meal continued.

Suddenly she sighed. “Are you in a mood to change your decision again about Panchgani?”

“No, I’m not. I just want you to really enjoy this trip. I’m sure planning this wasn’t easy for you. So use my credit card and have a time of your life.”

She didn’t answer. I sighed. “Let’s talk about this later.”

Then we ate in silence. My sisters came them, and fed us sweets.”

“Bhabhi, we can’t wait for you to come home,” Ishika said.

Mehek didn’t answer, just nodded. I looked around and saw everyone was happy. Even her parents were smiling. Her mother was eyeing the decoration with awe.