Luv (Un)Arranged by N. M. Patel PDF

LUV (UN)ARRANGED LUV SHUV #3 N. M. PATEL OCEANOFPDF.COM CONTENTS Trigger Warning Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Epilogue Thank you Glossary Acknowledgments About the Author OceanofPDF.com Copyright © 2024 by Nilika Mistry All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of a brief quotation in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Development Editor: Kristen’s Red Pen Editor: Editing4Indies Proofreader: Vanessa Esquibel (Kat's Literary Services) Created with Vellum OceanofPDF.com DEDICATION To my chaotic, hilarious, crazy, and perfectly imperfect family. OceanofPDF.com TRIGGER WARNING Instances of fat-shaming from the heroine’s mother. OceanofPDF.com 1 Song: Woh Ladki Hai Kahan - Kavita Subrahmanyam and Shaan Kriti M arriage might not be all bad, but the journey to marriage was slowly ruining my life, one arranged meeting at a time. Like the one I was getting ready for. “Stop making that face, Kriti. You look like we’re forcing you to get married.” Maa carried three dupattas draped over her arm as she entered my room. She gently laid them on the bed and handed me one after the other, looking to see which suited my salwar kameez the best. “You’re clearly forcing me to meet this guy today. I told you I had to go to Meera’s place. She needs me.” I draped the bright pink dupatta with thin golden lace along the edges over my shoulder. Usually, I didn’t mind these arranged marriage meetings, but my best friend, Meera, needed me today. She was finally paying off the loan shark who had been hounding her for years, and I had promised to stand by her side. Maa came behind me and pinned the dupatta to my light pink kameez. She tied the string at the back of my kurta and muttered, “If you follow the diet I tell you to, you could lose more weight. But no. No one listens to me in the house.” I wasn’t the slim-and-trim girl that was the most common requirement of all the men and their moms in the arranged marriage market. Most of my clothes came from the large section, and I didn’t mind it. The only one who had a problem with it was my mother. The moment I turned twenty-one, Maa had been trying to put me on a diet. Whether it was sending me bland tomatoes and cucumbers for lunch or putting less sugar in my chai, she never missed an opportunity. But the more she insisted on her ridiculous antics, the more Pappa snuck my favorite foods to me. So I didn’t concern myself with her complaints. I’d been hearing them for over five years now. “Maa, if a guy doesn't like me, he’s free to reject me. I don’t need the pressure and negativity.” “Rashmi told me they’re coming to the village just for the day. And the boy’s biodata seems good. Rashmi even messaged me his picture. His father was born in our village too. You know, Meera’s father was a friend of their family.” Rashmi is my mother’s point of contact for all the gossip in town as well as my self-appointed matchmaker. Maa kept going on and on with her list of reasons the guy would be a great match, like she did every time, while I applied some light makeup, barely paying attention to her spiel. Just because I wasn’t in the mood to meet this guy today didn’t mean I wanted to look unprepared. I expected a guy to bring his best to these meetings. After all, we didn’t get more than three to four meetings before making the final decision. First impressions were everything. Maa was still going on about the guy’s family when the doorbell rang. I turned to her in shock, thinking that the guy and his family had arrived already. Maa shook her head. “It’s your pappa. I’d sent him to get some snacks. His hands must be full.” She shouted, “Rati, Kartik, open the door. Now.” Maa and I were in my bedroom upstairs. But within a few seconds, hearing the excited chatter of my sixteen-year-old siblings had me itching to go downstairs. Pappa would’ve gotten some good snacks. Maa was arranging the bangle combinations, which could easily be done downstairs. I checked my kajal, put a small bindi on my forehead, and I was good to go. “Let’s go downstairs, Maa. You can arrange the bangles at the dining table too. I want to eat something before everyone arrives.” Maa complained a little about the inconvenience of carrying all the bangles downstairs, but I quickly plucked her bangle pouch and ran to join the others. Her shout followed me all the way to the kitchen. Opened newspaper packaging covered the kitchen countertop. I opened each package wider to find aloo samosa in one, kachori in the next, and fafda with shaved papaya chutney in the last one. My stomach rumbled, and I picked up a plate from the drying rack near the sink and started filling it up. “Didi, can you please bring the packages to the dining table?” Kartik asked, his words jumbled because of the food in his mouth. Didi is a proper form of address for an older sister. Before I could agree, Maa entered the kitchen. “We have guests coming soon. We don’t have time to sit and have snacks. Your brother can eat more with the guests. You can eat while you make chai. And don’t forget to add some ginger to the chai.” Before I could argue and convince her to make the chai and let me eat in peace, she gave me the classic “mom stare.” She only had to turn her unblinking eyes at me to get no arguments. I sighed, took a big bite of kachori, and started preparing the chai. Seeing things were in control, Maa left the kitchen and went to sit at the dining table. I poured the coriander chutney and tamarind chutney into my samosa and kachori. With my attention on the boiling chai and my one hand busy eating, I opened the biodata of today’s guy that Maa had sent me. Biodata is just another word for résumé but for the marriage market. BIODATA Name: Aakar Mishra Height: 6’ 0” Birth Date: 28 December 1993 Birth Place: Ahmedabad Birth Time: 7:12 a.m. Religion: Hindu Caste: Brahmin Education: Master of Business Administration (MBA) in Product Management from L.D. College of Engineering Bachelor in Textile Engineering (B. Tech) from L.D. College of Engineering Work: Manager at Mishra & Sons Textile Group Family Background Father: Pravin Mishra, Co-Founder of Mishra & Sons Education: Bachelor of Science in Mathematics Mother: Shilpa Mishra, Homemaker Education: Bachelor of Commerce W hat a boring biodata — no hobbies or a summary of his dreams and goals, not even anything that could indicate his interests—that he clearly put together under pressure from his parents. But then I opened his picture. Dark brown eyes stared at me with the smallest smile hidden behind the neatly trimmed beard, accentuating his sharp jaw. His shirt stretched tight across his broad chest with the top button opened, revealing a hint of bare skin. This man might be the hottest man I’d ever seen in my life, let alone for an arranged meeting. Maa had definitely upped her game. The hiss of the overflowing chai touching the flame made me jump in panic. I quickly turned off the stove and checked how much chai I’d wasted while distracted by that handsome face. Thankfully, not much. I poured the chai into our fancy kettle, reserved for these arranged meetings, and resisted the urge to look at his photo again. Aside from his looks, he and his parents were educated. Hopefully, that meant they would also value my education and be open to letting me continue working. The fact I started looking for positive qualities about him right after seeing his photo was purely coincidental. I wasn't that easily swayed by a pretty face. Not at all. As I polished off my plate of samosa, kachori, and fafda with half a cup of chai, I couldn’t help but wonder who would disappoint whom in the meeting. If not, we might actually end up married. Aakar The day I agreed to let my mother find a wife for me was the day I signed away my life for her entertainment. This past year had been an endless loop of meeting women, realizing my mother knew absolutely nothing about me or my expectations for a future wife, and trying to find a good enough reason—just one good reason, as my mother would call it—to reject the perfectly good women she introduced me to. I agreed to give arranged marriage meetings a chance for two simple reasons. First, to compensate for helping my younger sister get together with her American boyfriend against our parents’ wishes. Second, my life didn’t offer many opportunities to meet new women. College was different, but ever since I’d joined the family business, I hadn’t found the time to meet anyone new. This was as good an opportunity as any. “Did you read the biodata I sent you last night, Aakar?” Maa asked, startling me. We were on our way to our ancestral village. I informed Maa that I needed to help out our family friend Meera a week ago. Maa managed to find a single woman through the village grapevine and arranged a meeting with her and her family. “Maa, all the biodatas are the same. I don’t really care about her date of birth or her entire family history. Just tell me what she does and if she’s educated.” After reading over twenty biodatas, I’d stopped caring about that sheet of paper. It told me absolutely nothing about the woman I was going to meet. Maa made a chiding noise and pulled out her phone. Ria, my cousin who’s as close to me as a sister and only a year older than me, gave me a teasing smile from the passenger seat in the front. Maa and I sat in the back seat of our car while my younger brother, Abhi, took the wheel. Abhi didn’t particularly care about all the arranged meetings; he was here to help Meera out. Ria, on the other hand, usually came along with me and Maa to these meetings. Maa scrolled through her phone. “Look at her photo.” And before I could protest, she handed me her phone. I looked at the phone and stilled. If only for a moment. “Her name’s Kriti,” Maa piped in. She was beautiful. Her dark brown hair was lush, and her full lips were curved in a soft smile. But her eyes had me transfixed. Bold and lined with thick kohl, her gaze was fixated on the camera, challenging me to look away. I couldn’t. Maa continued, “She’s a teacher in the local government school and has been teaching for the past five years. I know she’s not very young or slim, but Aakar, you gave me only a week’s notice.” No wonder her eyes posed such boldness and authority but also warmth. Of course, she was a teacher. “I didn’t give you any notice. I informed you I was going to the village.” I didn’t know why I was arguing about that when I couldn’t take my eyes off the picture. Yes, she wasn’t slim like all the women I’d seen until now. She had curves men only dreamed of. “I’m not exactly young either,” Ria said, teasing my mother. Maa looked at Ria. “You’re a little older than Aakar, beta. Maybe you should start looking at arranged marriage prospects yourself.” I couldn’t stop the chuckle. “Yes, Ria. When was the last time you went to see a guy? Aren’t you missing the delightful conversations you have with the guys? Are you ready to cook and clean for your in-laws before leaving for work and serve them dinner after you return home?” Ria poked her tongue out. “I’d rather die single.” Maa gasped and started praying, making us laugh. I turned to my phone, and after a moment’s hesitation—or perhaps excitement—I opened Kriti’s biodata. I might as well check it out. BIODATA Name: Kriti Pandya Height: 5’ 6” Birth Date: 12th March 1996 Birth Place: Laxminagar Birth Time: 9:30 p.m. Religion: Hindu Caste: Brahmin Education: Bachelor of Science (B.Sc), Bachelor of Education (B. Ed) from Sarangpur Teacher’s College Career: Teacher at Laxminagar Secondary and Higher Secondary School About I’m an easygoing person who knows basic housework. I love my work, especially when I can convince a family to let their daughters continue their education. My life’s goal is to educate as many girls as I possibly can. I value and respect our culture but do not lead my life solely based on them. I wish to bring friendship, companionship, and, hopefully, happiness to my future husband and his family. Family Background Father: Saurabh Pandya, Business Mother: Reshma Pandya, Housewife Expectations: A loving, kind partner with a sense of responsibility toward his family. Independent and career-oriented with a sense of humor. Someone who wants a wife to be his partner and a friend. Last, someone who is patient and willing to learn more about me. T hat was one long biodata. It wasn’t often that I came across biodata where the woman stated her expectations. Usually, it was a list of generic terms laid out by the family: a guy with a government job, nondrinker, nonsmoker, vegetarian, a minimum salary requirement, and a family man. But this one was a little more interesting. It still had the generic terms, but it read like something she wanted for her own. It made me want to know her more. As we neared Kriti’s house, Maa pulled out her compact from her purse and dabbed some powder on her cheeks. “Aakar, be good. Smile a little at the girl. Do not make her nervous. And when we send you to talk in private, please talk for at least fifteen minutes, even if you’re not interested. It’s rude if you return in five minutes.” “What am I supposed to talk about if the girl only answers in one or two words? It’s not like I have many questions.” Maa glared at me as she stuffed her compact in her purse. “We are looking for your future wife. You must have questions. Are you even taking this seriously?” God, I was so done with this same conversation. It took every effort not to roll my eyes at her. “Maa, I wouldn’t be meeting so many women if I wasn't serious. And I’m tired of getting the same answers every time I ask them what they want from me as a husband or from the marriage. But I’m trying. Okay?” Maa nodded and muttered, “We’re almost there. Look happy.” Abhi snorted from the front, helping me relax. Leave it to Maa to ruin my perfectly good mood and then expect me to revert to a happy face. I unlocked my phone to Kriti’s biodata, and her face popped into my mind. I almost smiled. I wasn’t going to ask Maa to forward me her picture. Absolutely not. She’d make a big deal out of it. I was just going to meet the woman, talk about her job and interests, have some chai, and be on my way to Meera’s place. This was just like every other meeting. Then why did my hands shake as I combed my hair? And did I just comb my hair? For a meeting? I quickly put the mini-comb back in my pocket and looked up at the house where we parked the car. Control. I was in total control as I stepped out of the car. And I would keep repeating that mantra until my heart stopped pounding. OceanofPDF.com 2 Song: Do Anjaane Ajnabi - Shreya Ghoshal and Udit Narayan Kriti T he guy’s family didn’t even need to wait after ringing the doorbell because my mother had already seen their car arriving and taken her position in the entryway within seconds. Her glare at me, my siblings, and my father was enough to get us in our positions without any arguments. I stood near the end of the sofa—where I would sit, adjacent to the other sofa where Maa would invite the guy to be seated—ready for the show. My siblings stood behind the sofa, and Pappa stood with Maa in the foyer. The moment the bell rang, Maa opened the door, beaming. “Shilpaji, Aakar Kumar, please come in. I hope it wasn’t too difficult to find the house.” Ji and Kumar are honorifics used to show respect. A few namastes were exchanged in the entryway, and everyone moved into the living room within the next minute. Maa entered first, followed by a woman in a light pink saree wearing a necklace with a large teardrop- shaped green pendant resting on her chest. Behind them came the man I was to get acquainted with. With jet-black hair, short on the sides and perfectly gelled on top, he wore a light blue shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders, gray pants, and a large watch on his left wrist. His well-groomed beard was slightly longer than in his picture, but it only made him more handsome. All in all, he looked prepared, polished, and, dare I say, hot. His photograph did not do him justice. H is eyes met mine , and for a second, he paused in his conversation with Pappa. I gave him a small smile, and his lips barely lifted in return. Maa called his name and led him to sit on the sofa adjacent to mine, our knees almost touching. After we sat, he gave me another small smile, and my stomach fluttered. My attention was pulled away from Aakar when introductions started. Maa introduced me and my siblings, and we said hi to the young people, whereas namaste to Aakar’s mother. Aakar’s mother started introducing their family. “Kriti Beta, I am Shilpa, and this is Aakar, my eldest son.” Aakar looked at me and nodded, his eyes warm, with a hint of a smile on his lips. I clutched my dupatta on my lap, nerves heating my cheeks, and nodded back. Shilpa Auntie continued, “This is my youngest son, Abhi. My daughter, Akira, studies in America.” Then she pointed at another young woman who sat beside Abhi and said, “That’s Ria, Aakar’s cousin. We all live together in a joint family of fourteen people.” I must not have been able to hide my reaction because Maa quickly said, “Our Kriti is very adjusting. She’s always wanted to live in a big family. Isn’t that right, Kriti?” That wasn’t right at all. The more people in a family, the more opinions they would have about my life. And I was barely prepared to take care of a husband and his parents, let alone a family of fourteen. How many of them were kids? How many were older people? “Right,” I said out loud, giving a polite smile to everyone. “What do you do, beta?” Shilpa Auntie asked. “I am a teacher at one of the schools in the village.” “What do you teach?” The question came from the man sitting on my right. Aakar. His deep and resonant voice commanded my attention. I was shocked—not by his voice, but by the fact that he had spoken at all. Men rarely participated, or even cared, to talk to me when their mother was already speaking. He looked at me, waiting for my answer, without looking away in awkwardness or hesitation. He was like a rock, steady and patient. I tried to find my bearings. “Uh…I’m the teacher for a ninth-grade class. I teach science to high school students and English to primary grade students.” Aakar nodded, and I could feel all the eyes trained on us, especially Maa’s. At this point, I’m sure she was dreaming about our wedding, just because he made conversation in front of everyone. Shilpa Auntie added, “That is wonderful, Kriti. So you must speak great English, right?” Well, I was a teacher in the subject. “Yes, Auntie,” I said politely. But when my eyes met Aakar, his smile was a little wider than before. Was he reading my mind? Maa turned to where Rati and Kartik stood. “Rati, Kartik, get the chai and snacks, would you?” With a nod, they shuffled to the kitchen. Maa looked at Pappa and tried to have that silent conversation with her eyes as if none of us could see her. I turned to Aakar to gauge his reaction. The glimmer of amusement in his eyes indicated he was all too familiar with these antics and knew what came next. Right then, Maa looked at Shilpa Auntie. “Shilpaji, I was wondering if it would be okay if the kids talked for a little while in private?” Shilpa Auntie, clearly expecting this, answered, “Of course.” Maa turned to me. “Kriti Beta, why don’t you and Aakar Kumar go to the porch outside? I'll send some chai and snacks to you.” I nodded, and Aakar and I stood together. With little space between the sofas and the coffee table, Aakar stepped aside and let me lead the way. I opened the front door and led him to the porch, taking a seat on the wooden, hand-carved jhula—a wide swing for two. When I looked at Aakar, he sat beside me, leaving several inches of space between us. As if by mutual understanding, we moved our legs to swing the jhula slowly. The low creak of the metal bar at the top of the swing was the only sound between us. Back and forth we went, the silence growing more painful by the second. If he didn't start talking about something—anything —in the next thirty seconds, I would reject this guy. Too bad, he really was handsome. I started counting down from thirty, looking everywhere but at him. At the count of fourteen, Aakar cleared his throat. “So I read your biodata.” Turning to him, I found him watching me. “Oh. That’s good.” He chuckled. “It was interesting.” I couldn’t help but smile at him. “What did you find interesting?” He lifted a finger and opened his phone. “I really liked your About section, but what I found especially interesting were the last two lines of your expectations.” It had been a while since I’d prepared my biodata. Maa had been circling the same piece for the past two years. I might’ve looked confused because Aakar held up his phone and read aloud. “Someone who wants a wife to be his partner and a friend. Last, someone who is patient and willing to learn more about me.” He raised his eyebrows as if to say, Remember? “Aah. Well, wouldn’t you agree?” Aakar looked at me, and our eyes held for a beat. “I agree. I’m glad you think so too. It’s not often that people mention that they want a partner in their biodata. It’s usually a list of demands like a government job or private business, someone who is spiritual, and other ridiculous expectations.” “Well, a woman has to leave her family, her world, and go live with a whole new family. I guess she can have as many expectations as she wants, no matter how ridiculous they are.” He raised his eyebrows at me, perhaps shocked that I disagreed with him. He should be glad I only said that much and didn’t mention how his biodata didn’t even have the Expectations section. “I agree. I apologize for my insensitivity. I did not think.” Now, I was shocked. He chuckled. “What? I can admit my mistake and apologize when I’m wrong.” My cheeks flushed. “That’s good to know.” Before I could think about what to ask him, he took the lead once again. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you decide to become a teacher?” His voice was steady and calm, and genuine curiosity shone in his eyes, causing warmth to bloom in my stomach. Not a lot of men cared enough to want to know about my job, my passion. I thought about my students and my classes, and my lips automatically stretched into a smile. “Well, we spent our entire childhood at school, made our best friends there, and still remember our favorite teachers. It’s the most important period of our lives, even though our memories of school fade as time passes. When I was attending, so many girls were taken out of school. People often forget the importance of education and how it brings security and stability to our lives, especially for women. I just had to be a part of it. I wanted to teach in a way that made learning enjoyable, instilled discipline and manners in my students, and helped prepare them for what’s to come in life.” I knew I surprised him with my answer because his eyes were wide with wonder, making me proud of my work. “That’s very admirable. I always thought people went into teaching because they couldn’t succeed in anything else. How wrong I was.” I rolled my eyes at that. “You’re not the only one who thinks that. So many relatives constantly advised me to go into engineering and get a traditional job at some company. I had no interest in that.” He groaned softly, and a warm sensation rose in the pit of my stomach. “C’mon, Kriti, please don’t compare me to your relatives. I’d like to think I must be better than them.” Hearing him utter my name for the first time had heat rushing through my body. I gulped as my brain tried to form words. “I really hope you are.” His laughter washed over me. “I’ll just have to prove to you that I’m better than them.” Pressing my lips in a small smile, I asked, “What about you? What do you do? “I run my family’s textile business. We produce and manufacture different fabrics, working on various designs, dyes, and finishes. I’m involved in almost every aspect of the business from quality control of the products to handling distribution to our clients, marketing and strategy for bringing in new clients, financial management, and researching new innovative and eco-friendly practices.” He sounded so confident, so authoritative, as he talked about it. “Do you enjoy what you do?” He chuckled lightly, a hint of doubt in his tone. “Well, I am the oldest. It’s always been my responsibility.” “That wasn’t my question,” I said softly. He sighed at that and looked straight ahead. “It’s a little more complicated than a yes or no answer.” Aakar seemed so self-assured, like he had everything in control, like he was sure of what he wanted out of life. “How so?” He cleared his throat. “Now that I’ve been at our company for five years, my dad and uncles rely on me. I feel more responsible. I like certain aspects of working at our company, like researching the market industry, preparing reports on what to order, how much to order, making the marketing strategy, and executing it. I want to expand it, bring in sustainable technology, and handle things my way. But is working and expanding our business my true passion? No. Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it or get a sense of satisfaction from it. I know I’m good at it and enjoy seeing the company grow. Working there makes my family happy and secure for the future. And that makes me happy.” His life revolved around his family. “Spoken like a true eldest child.” He snorted and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Do you believe that a person should always follow his passion? What if a person has no passion?” I must have hit a nerve. I looked down at my lap as I thought about his question. He didn’t rush me at all and simply waited. “I do believe that a person should always follow his passion. But I don’t think that passion must always translate to a source of income. People can be passionate about different things—family, friends, traveling, reading, or simply collecting random items. Every person is passionate about something. Your passion seems to lie in your family’s happiness.” Aakar looked at me with such intensity and something akin to gratefulness that it was difficult to meet his eyes. “Thanks, Kriti.” He nodded. “I’m not like my siblings. Akira is spreading her wings, being independent, and falling in love in America, and Abhi seems to be exploring his options. I just want to support my siblings and family and be there for them when they need me. I want my siblings to achieve their hearts’ desires, but I don’t want my father and uncles to have no one to rely on in their old age. They’ve worked so hard to build the company. I just…I just need everyone to be happy.” An ache bloomed in my chest at his words, his love for his family so evident that, despite knowing him for all of ten minutes, the words flew out of my mouth. “I know you will keep everyone happy.” Just then, the front door of my house opened, and Rati walked out with a tray. I quickly got up and took it from her. “How’s it going?” she whispered, her eyes lit with excitement after far too many meetings. “Later,” I whispered back. I placed the tray of snacks and two cups of chai on the jhula between us. I picked up a cup, placed it on the saucer, and handed it to Aakar. He took the chai and said, “Thank you.” Manners and a thank you? Aakar was earning points in my book. “You’re welcome.” “So enough about me. Tell me about your expectations from a husband?” This was the moment. If and when someone asked me this question, my answer often had them running away. It was shocking that few guys even bothered to ask this simple question. But sadly, that was the society we lived in. I took a sip of my chai and placed the cup on the saucer. “Aakarji, I must be honest,” I began but was interrupted when he said, “Please, just call me Aakar.” Oh my. Clearly, he was a city boy. I nodded at his request and continued, “Aakar. I actually have three conditions my future husband must agree to before I would agree to marry him.” His eyebrows rose high, interest clear in his eyes. He placed the chai back on the tray, turned his body to face me, and gave me his full attention. “Let’s hear them, then.” I cleared my throat, mostly because his gaze was fixed on me, and I needed a second to meet his eyes. I took a breath, pulling in all the authority and defiance I could muster, remembering the men I’d previously met telling me how unreasonable my conditions were and how I would forever stay alone. Fire burned within my heart, my jaw hardened, and I faced him head- on. “First, I will continue working even after marriage and having kids. Second, I won’t have sex with you for at least the first six months of the marriage. And third, I will have full control over the money I earn. Whether I spend it on my family, college fees for my siblings, donate it, or spend it on myself and things that make me happy, that’s my call. It doesn’t mean I won’t discuss it with you or share my plans with you. I’d welcome your opinions and thoughts, but in the end, I should be free to do what I want with my money.” Aakar Kriti’s eyes burned with defiance as if daring me to mock her. Her words, spoken with such conviction and power, made my heart beat faster. How could I ever mock her? And what was there to mock? Her conditions were perfectly reasonable. “Are you going to say something?” she asked, an edge in her tone. “Yes. Sorry, I was just thinking.” She raised her eyebrows, clearly telling me to get on with it. I couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped me. She looked gorgeous in her beautiful light pink dress and dark pink dupatta. Her dark pink painted lips, which had me struggling to focus on her words, were now pursed tight, and her eyes, lined with a thick line of kohl, narrowed with impatience and frustration. How quickly she transformed from a sexy goddess to Goddess Kali, the Goddess of Death, I’ll never know. I cleared my throat. “I mean, these seem like good requests.” “They’re not requests. They’re conditions. Request implies that you have the power to say no in the future.” Her eyes were narrowed to slits, almost as if she would soon shoot fireballs from them. How much must she have heard about her conditions to make her so defensive and hardened about this topic? “Of course. Conditions. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I am sorry you had to put these wishes as your conditions.” Her shoulders loosened a little, her hand clutched her dupatta, and a hint of softness came over her face. She looked at me with such hope, such relief, when she asked, “So you don’t think these conditions are unreasonable?” Unreasonable? What sort of guys had she been meeting? “Of course not. They are perfectly reasonable. Your conditions concern your life. Your work. Your body. Your possessions that you have earned. No other person has a right to any of it.” She met my eyes, not with defiance but with something positive. Something light. Something that warmed my chest. And this time, her voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you.” “Has it been that bad for you when you stated these conditions?” Now that she knew I was on her side, she rolled her eyes and picked up her cup of chai. After taking a sip, she said, “It has been awful. There hasn’t been a single guy who has agreed to all three conditions. Some didn’t even have an opinion and had to consult their family before giving me an answer.” I picked up my own cup and took a sip. “It’s a really good chai. And if you don’t mind, can I ask which conditions were unacceptable to other men?” She smirked. “Why do I feel that you think it was condition number two?” A loud laugh burst out of me. She wasn’t shy. “Was it?” She chuckled and shook her head. “That was the least of their concerns. Some wanted me to leave work after having kids. Some couldn’t handle the fact that I wanted the choice to handle my money. Some wanted me to contribute to their household income or give it to the head of the family. Not many even bothered to discuss the topic of physical intimacy. Some just ignored that fact, while others scoffed and said it was one of my many duties to my husband.” I put my cup back on the tray, unable to stomach anything at the moment. It wasn’t that I was unaware of how the men in our society were. It was just hard to hear the list of sacrifices that came with marriage for women. “I’m really sorry you’ve had to meet such men.” She gave me a small smile. “Frankly, I thought you would say, ‘Not all men are the same.’” I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Honestly, I was going to say that. But it felt like a cop-out. And I knew you would glare at me if I did.” She laughed loudly. The sound of her laughter, the way her eyes lit up, and how gorgeous she looked with her lips stretched wide in delight had my heart hammering in my chest. As she placed her cup back on the tray, I said, “I have grown up with my sister, Akira and my cousin, Ria. I never want them to have to lay out such conditions for marriage. Thankfully, Akira already has an American boyfriend who worships her. And Ria, well, she can handle her own. But I don’t know what I would do if their partners had issues with even the tiniest of their wishes.” Kriti smiled at me, her gaze drifting toward the street outside their porch. “You’re a good brother.” “I try. It all comes with being the eldest, I guess. I mean, Ria is a year older than me, but I feel older.” She looked at me, curiosity in her eyes. “So, Mr. Good Brother, what are you looking for in a wife? You didn’t exactly include much in your biodata.” Her raised eyebrows, wide eyes, and smile screamed gotcha. Heat warmed my cheeks, and before I could answer her, Kriti’s sister, Rati, opened the main door to their house and poked her head out. Without meeting my eyes, she told Kriti, “They’re calling you back inside.” Already? We’ve barely talked. Kriti looked at me, and she must’ve seen the disappointment on my face because she turned to Rati and said, “Tell them we’ll be there in a bit.” Rati nodded and quickly went inside. With a grateful smile, I said, “Thank you.” She gave me a beautiful smile in return. “You were saying?” Ah. The age-old question. What did I want in my wife? I looked at Kriti—her large earrings entangling with a few locks of her hair and her eyes trying to read me—and I wanted to share my answer with her. “I don’t have a list. But I’m looking for a solid connection. Someone with whom I can share my feelings with ease, someone with whom I can joke around, someone who is passionate and kind, and someone who genuinely wants to know me and be with me. Someone I can consider a friend. Someone I’m excited to go home to.” Kriti looked entranced. “How would you know you found that person?” I turned to her and met her eyes. “I’ll know.” She nodded and gave me a small smile. “Want to head back in?” I gasped. “Back to the riveting conversation between our parents?” She chuckled. “I could probably recite their conversation verbatim at this point.” I nodded, but both of us got up and shuffled inside. On the way to their living room, I looked at my watch, and a little more than half an hour had passed. Huh. Time just flew by. That was a first. Kriti’s long hair almost brushed the middle of her back, her dupatta enhancing every one of her generous curves. She walked with confidence, authority, and grace. My eyes were riveted to her every movement. The spell, however, broke as soon as we stepped into the living room. Maa, Abhi, and Ria looked at me, trying to decipher my interest in Kriti. And if I looked at Kriti’s family, I’d find them doing the same. For the next fifteen minutes, we sat making idle conversation while I tried to sneak a glance at Kriti, doing exactly what my family was doing to me: trying to decipher her interest. Maa cleared her throat, and I understood the telltale sign. It was time to leave because the parents had run out of conversation. My eyes met Kriti’s, and I gave her a small smile. Maa, Abhi, Ria, and I stood in tandem, and Kriti’s family followed. We slowly started to walk out of the house, exchanging obligatory goodbyes and we’ll talk soon, while Kriti and I kept exchanging glances. A rush of excitement, nervousness, and some foreign emotion churned in my stomach. As soon as we got in the car, all three started in on me. I specifically took the driver’s seat to avoid the grilling. “You guys were out there talking forever,” Ria stated. Maa added, “Do you like her, beta? Kriti’s father couldn’t stop praising her.” “Is she going to be my bhabhi?” Abhi teased. Bhabhi meant sister-in- law. She certainly was the most interesting person I had met so far. But if I said that to Maa, all she would hear is Get the invitation cards printed. Silence was my only option. I turned the car around at the next intersection to drop Abhi at our friend Meera’s place so he could help care for Hari, Meera’s younger brother. After enduring Maa’s nonstop questions and Ria and Abhi’s encouragement, I turned to the three of them and said what I always say when I meet a girl. “I’ll think about it.” Maa rolled her eyes and looked at Ria for support. “Ria, will you tell him that I don’t enjoy looking for a girl for him if he’s going to give me the same answer every time.” Smiling, Ria raised her eyebrows at me in mock anger. Maa caught Ria’s look and huffed in frustration. “Both of you are just hopeless. See if I care the next time I get a rishta proposal for you, Aakar.” “Oh, I will,” I said. I dropped Abhi off, then drove to our village house to drop Maa and Ria off before returning to Meera’s place. Maa did not need to witness the possible debacle waiting to happen. She would just turn it into gossip, and Meera and her mom would not like that. At all. For the rest of the drive, Maa asked, pleaded, and ordered me to tell her all about my private conversation with Kriti. And when I didn’t budge, she told me all about the praises that Kriti’s parents had sung about her. Usually, I never gave those praises any mind. This time, though, I couldn’t hear enough of them. OceanofPDF.com 3 Song: Saagar Jaisi Aankhoon Wali - Sreerama Chandra Kriti T he moment Aakar and his family left our house, I rushed out the door to head over to Meera’s place. I called out to Maa and told her that I’d talk to her after I returned home. If I stopped to hear her out even for a second, she wouldn’t leave me alone until she got every little detail about my conversation with Aakar. I ran to my two-wheeler, pulled off my dupatta to tie it around my face, and, with a quick start, drove off. Today, Meera was paying off the loan that had been hanging over her head for years. After the loss of her father, Meera’s mother had refused to sell their farm. But after years of healing, forgiveness, and dealing with the grief, she finally asked Meera to sell it. Fortunately, our friend Surbhi needed more space to accommodate the widows and children of farmers who had committed suicide. Surbhi ran a nonprofit organization helping the families of deceased farmers, and Meera’s father had been one of those farmers. Just last month, Meera told Surbhi about her land for sale, and Surbhi proposed to buy it. Today was the big day. Meera had called all her friends and family to witness her paying off her loan to Baldev, the sleazy loan shark her father had borrowed money from. I zoomed past a few slow-moving two-wheelers, past a few cars that seemed to think the road belonged to them, and took the turn at the street that led to Meera’s house. The uneven bumps on the road slowed me down a little, but soon, I drove through the little gate of her house’s compound. A few two-wheelers and a car were already parked. Removing the dupatta from my face, I draped it over my shoulder, checking my reflection in the tiny mirror of my vehicle. My hair was all right, but I was overdressed. Maa just had to arrange the meeting with Aakar today. But I couldn’t even complain. It was one of the few good meetings I’d had. Putting it out of my mind for now, I ran inside her house. “Am I late?” I asked. I turned to Meera, who stood at the doorway to her kitchen, and she shook her head. “Uh. No. Baldev hasn’t arrived yet.” “Thank God,” I said, realizing that everyone stared at me, their mouths open, a teasing smile on Meera’s face. I should’ve changed before running out of the house. Trying to regain some semblance of control, I said, “What are you guys looking at? Maa roped me into a sudden meeting with a man. Apparently, they were only going to be in the village today.” Before anyone could comment on it, I rushed into the kitchen. I would only come out when necessary. The delicious aroma of tomato, garlic, and herbs engulfed me as I stepped inside. I looked at the giant pan filled with pasta and couldn’t help myself. I grabbed a small bowl from a cupboard and served some. I know I had just had some chai with Aakar, and samosas and kachori before he arrived, but the pasta smelled delicious. Before I’d taken three bites, Meera, Surbhi, and Luke walked in. “How did the meeting go?” Meera asked. I hadn’t had much time to think about that. Maa was going to ask me many more questions. Just thinking about it put a sour taste in my mouth. But Meera’s question was easy yet difficult to answer. “Actually, not bad.” “Is that a bad thing?” Surbhi asked. I turned to her and tried to explain the disaster that awaited me. “I don’t think so. It’s just…it’s easier when things don’t go well in these meetings. It’s an easy no. Now, if the guy is interested, we’ll have to talk again and deal with all the questions and rushing from the parents.” Luke went back to spreading butter on his fancy bread while Meera, Surbhi, and I talked about Meera’s plan for today. Just a few minutes had passed when the doorbell rang. Meera quickly turned to walk out and said, “That must be Aakar. Let’s go to the living room. Baldev must be arriving soon.” Her words dropped like bombs at my feet. Sweat coated the top of my lip, and I was sure Surbhi could hear my heart pounding. My hands shook as I carefully placed the half-eaten pasta bowl on the kitchen counter. Did she just say Aakar? I couldn’t help but follow Meera out of the kitchen. My eyes met Luke’s, and he raised his eyebrows in question. I shook my head and offered him a smile. He put down his half-glazed bread and followed us. And there he was when I stepped foot in the living room. Aakar. He had a gentle smile on his face as he talked to Meera’s mother. He turned his head to look toward where all of us had gathered, a smile on his face, when our eyes met. His eyes widened in shock for a second, but he collected himself far quicker than I had. “You,” he said, his face turning slightly red as he looked around at all of us. “You know Meera?” I asked, wondering how I didn’t know that Meera knew Aakar. He walked toward me, his eyes moving across everyone. He closed the distance between us and stood right across from me, nodding. “Um…yeah, family friends. How do you know Meera?” “She’s my best friend,” I said without taking my eyes off him. “That’s good to know.” “You came for Meera all the way from the city?” I asked. I liked to believe that if a man came for a friend when she needed it, he had to be a good person, right? And Meera wouldn’t have asked for help from someone she didn’t deem honorable and kind. Aakar nodded. “I did. That loan shark wasn’t on his best behavior the last time I was here. People like him often tend to take advantage of their position. So Meera thought it would be better if I was here as a witness. In case he gets a little mouthy, Luke and I could handle it. Since Luke barely understands Gujarati, I felt like I could help.” I was about to thank him for coming when Meera said, “Baldev’s on the way here.” Aakar straightened, and as if we realized how close we stood to each other, we each took a step back. I felt Aakar’s eyes on me, but I fixed my gaze on Meera. Meera lifted the double-sized mattress in her living room and pulled out a big pouch of money from underneath it. She turned to all of us, and asked, “Ready, everyone? Luke, Aakar, and I will meet with Baldev out front, and you guys will stand on the porch. Just so he knows that everyone saw us exchange the money.” Once we all nodded, Meera, Luke, and Aakar took the lead, and the rest of us followed them. As Baldev approached the house, the three of them stepped forward to meet him in the middle. Meera stood in the center, with Luke and Aakar on either side. Meera’s mom held my hand as we watched the scene unfold. Baldev looked at them, then back at us, clearly confused by our presence. We could hear them talk in Gujarati, but we were too far away to understand what they were saying. As soon as Meera handed him the packet of money, he turned nasty. He said something to Meera, and she landed a solid punch on his nose. The next moment, Luke held Meera in his arms, holding her back, while Aakar stepped forward and slapped Baldev across the face. Aakar’s volume rose as he uttered a few profanities that made Meera’s mom worry even more, then slapped Baldev twice more. You’d think a punch would’ve been more powerful, but a slap just looked way more disrespectful. As if Baldev didn’t even deserve something as solid as a punch. That nasty little worm could be eradicated just by a tight slap to his cheek and his pride. YES. YES. Hit him. My mind inwardly cheered him on. If Meera raised her hand, Baldev must have said something really awful to her. I moved forward to intervene, but Meera’s mom and Surbhi pulled me back. Poor Luke looked confused by the words getting exchanged between Meera and Baldev, but Meera bellowed, “Leave me, Luke. I’m going to kill him.” “Even I want to punch him, but I can’t if I’m holding you back,” he shouted at her in English. Meera’s mom couldn’t understand their conversation in English, so I told her what they said. She looked about to cry, so I quickly told her in Gujarati, “Don’t worry, Auntie. Aakar is holding Baldev back.” I didn’t know why I said that or why I had so much faith in those words. Before Aakar could slap Baldev once more, Luke pulled Baldev away from Aakar and punched him on the nose, right where Meera had hit him. Blood sprayed out on the ground, and Baldev dropped to his knees. Luke bent over him and said something none of us on the porch could hear. Slowly, Baldev got up and wobbled away, carrying the money under his arm. As his car left the compound, I stood there, then rushed inside the kitchen. I opened the freezer, wrapped some ice cubes in a few hand towels, and ran outside to hand them to Meera and Luke. This moment, this day, was for Meera. It was the first time in almost six years that she was debt-free. Her knuckles were red, and her hair was a mess, but she wore the biggest smile. Luke looked at her like his life revolved around that smile. Not once did he turn to anybody else—not when I had them sit on the cot, not when I handed them their cold packs, and not when we moved back inside to give them a moment alone. Because my friend was finally free. Free of all the burdens that had chained her to this village, her farm, and kept her apart from Luke. And now, she could fly. She could dance, jump, and ride off into the sunset with the love of her life. And finally, finally live. I turned around one more time to look at their moment, so full of love, in envy and in hope. How lovely would it be to have that one person devoted to me, who cared about my happiness above all else, who had faith in me and respected me? Because I too deserved that kind of love. Aakar Kriti walked into the kitchen as I washed my hands and face at the sink. I needed to be rid of the filth that was Baldev. It pained me to imagine Meera having to deal with the likes of him for so many years without my family knowing about it. As I wiped my hands with the kitchen towel, I felt Kriti move closer. Her eyes on me had my heart beating faster. Her scrutiny unnerved me. What did she think of me after seeing me raise my hand at someone and hearing the profanities that came out of my mouth? For some reason, I cared about what she thought of me. She cleared her throat, and despite my nerves, I steeled myself and turned to her. “Do you need an ice pack for your hand?” she asked. Ice pack? I followed her gaze to my hand, raising it so she could look at it. “Um…I actually slapped Baldev. So my knuckles are fine. Uh…so are my palms.” She looked at my hand, and I turned it so she could see my knuckles. A breath escaped her lips, and she gave me a big smile. “Thank God. Meera’s and Luke’s hands are all red.” She didn’t mind that I’d beaten up a man? I usually didn’t get into fights, but as the eldest brother in the family, I could handle fights, conflicts, complaints, and bullies pretty well. But I just had to confirm Kriti’s feelings for myself. “So you don’t mind?” Kriti started reheating the pasta, giving it an occasional stir. “Mind what?” I was glad she wasn’t looking at me with that unbending, teacher-like gaze. To avoid meeting her eyes in case she turned to me, I went to the stainless steel rack on the wall and got the plates out. “That I slapped Baldev?” Her loud scoff made me turn around. She had one hand on her waist, her eyes wide in disbelief, and her lips were stretched in a huge smile. “Mind? I was about to join in, but Surbhi and Meera’s mom held me back. That rascal deserved worse.” Rascal? Holy shit. My face must’ve revealed my emotions because her eyes narrowed at me in suspicion. “Do you mind?” And I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Definitely not.” “Good,” she said, continuing to stir the pasta. This woman. Her eyes. Her manners. She exuded a confidence, a self- assuredness, that left me floundering behind her. And that rarely happened. She looked like she could handle it all with a smile. Even now, after the drama and the fight, she already had the injured settled and was on her feet getting the food ready. She was quiet while I was lost in my head. The moment I got home, Maa would bombard me with questions. She’d demand an answer. Yes or no. To this day, I’ve never struggled to answer. No. That was always my response. Why? Maa would ask. Because we don’t fit. But did I want to give Maa the same answers for Kriti? A big resounding No came from somewhere deep within me. I wanted to talk to her more. I liked that she was so assertive in her choices and so confident that she didn’t try to impress me. That was refreshing and quite relaxing. But I didn’t even want to say Yes to my mother. She would have us engaged and married in three months. God, this was confusing. I thought meeting women was stressful. I never thought about what would happen when I didn’t want to say No for a proposal. Shit. “Uh…Aakar,” Kriti said, pulling me out of my thoughts. She looked at me with her eyebrows raised in question. Where were you lost? I shook my head and asked, “Sorry, did you say something?” A teasing smile played on her lips. “Food is ready. Let’s go outside so we can all eat together.” As we all ate, celebrating, laughing, and basking in the relief Meera and her mother felt, my thoughts circled back to Kriti. Before Maa got the chance to ask me anything, I needed to have a conversation with Kriti. I needed to know if she was interested in talking to me again. There was no point in wondering what I would tell Maa if Kriti wasn’t interested in getting to know me more. As much as the thought sat bitterly in my stomach, I needed to be ready to face Kriti’s answer, even if it was a no. Even if that would disappoint me deeply. Once we finished lunch, Meera was about to join Kriti in cleaning the kitchen. But since I really needed to talk to Kriti, I asked her if I could help instead. Meera got a teasing smile on her face, but thankfully, she said she needed to talk to Surbhi about something and let me be. I carried the remaining plates and glasses to the kitchen and found Kriti soaping up the dishes. Upon seeing me and the dirty plates in my hand, she said, “Oh, just put them on the counter. I’ll get to them.” “Let me help. I can rinse the dishes since you’re already soaping them up.” I quickly rolled up the sleeves of my shirt and walked toward her. As I neared her, I noticed the slight blush on her cheeks. Slowly, she made space for me, and I stood beside her, our shoulders almost touching. I turned on the tap and began rinsing the dishes. “Do you often help out like this at home?” she asked. This would score me some major negative points. But maybe I could get some points for honesty. “Well, not really. Since we have a full-time helper, I guess I’ve never needed to.” She nodded. “I see.” What did that mean? Did she want me to expand on that? Had she already judged me? “It’s not that I’m opposed to helping. But I leave for work at nine and usually don’t come home before nine o’clock. Some days, the only person left to have dinner is me. So I just haven’t had the chance to help out at home.” “That makes sense,” she said. A smile played on her lips, yet she didn’t meet my eyes as she continued, “Can I ask why you’re helping me out right now?” I never had to ask a woman if she liked me enough to see where it could go just after one meeting. Well, technically, two now. But there was no other option than to be straightforward. “Kriti, you and I both know that the moment we go home, our parents will bombard us with questions.” When she nodded, I continued, focused on rinsing the utensils, “Well, to be frank, I’ve never really said an outright yes for a woman before. I’ve had a few second meetings when the woman’s family asked for it, and I didn’t have any reason to deny it. But I don’t really want to say No to my mother when I go home this time.” At that, she stopped scrubbing the dish, and I paused as well. The only sound was the tap running. After a beat, to keep from making things awkward, I resumed rinsing the plate as she processed my words. “Are you planning to say yes?” she asked. “That’s the thing, Kriti. We don’t know each other well enough for me to say yes either. I want to talk to you more and get to know you better. But if I ask my mother for a second meeting with you, or God forbid, a third meeting…” I paused. “They would expect a final answer, or more like a yes, after that,” she finished my sentence. “Exactly. And I don’t want either of us to feel that pressure. But before we get into it, I need to know if you even want to get to know me more. Because if you’re already planning to reject me, there really is no point in discussing this further.” This time, I looked at her. She ran her fingers through the suds of soap on the plate. My stomach twisted into knots in anticipation as I continued rinsing the plates. After what felt like hours, she said, “Aakar, unlike you, I have said yes to second and third meetings before. Clearly, they didn’t pan out. And good riddance for those. But it isn’t often that I meet someone who believes my conditions shouldn’t even have to be conditions or someone I’ve seen support a friend in need. You have all my respect and admiration for that. Frankly speaking, I’ve agreed to second meetings for less than that.” A relieved breath rushed out of me. Why did I feel so happy? I couldn’t even hide my feelings as I smiled at her. “I’m glad to have raised the bar for you.” She chuckled. “That you did.” Now that I knew she was open to getting to know me, I said, “So if you also don’t want to get roped into the pressure of giving our parents the final answer in just three meetings, I have a proposal for you.” She raised one eyebrow in question. One. “How did you do that?” I asked, trying to copy her. She laughed at my failed attempts. I must’ve looked ridiculous, but she was clearly having fun. “Like this?” she asked, doing it again. “I am going to learn this little trick. You just wait and see.” She laughed out loud with a big snort, making me laugh with her. “Stop now. What was your proposal?” she asked, air-quoting the word proposal. I raised both my eyebrows at that. “Well, at home, we somehow try to delay giving them an answer. And what if we exchange phone numbers right now and get to know each other behind their backs? We can take as long as we need to decide if we suit each other. And in the end, if we do, we can tell our families. If we don’t, no harm, no foul.” Just to mock me now, she raised one of her eyebrows. “That is an idea. I don’t see much harm in that. Worst-case scenario, my mother will be ready to hear about our meeting the moment I step inside my house and demand an answer right away. In the best-case scenario, I ask her to give me some time to think, and she will continue arranging meetings with other guys in the meantime.” The thought of Kriti meeting other men and potentially getting a Yes from them churned my stomach. A mix of jealousy and insecurity washed over me, but I knew I had no right to exclusivity. It was painful to say, but I sighed. “Well, I might be able to delay my mother from showing me other women, but you do what you have to do. We’ll figure it out along the way.” She seemed to mull over everything as she scrubbed the last of the utensils. She passed me the soapy dishes, washed her hands at the sink, and wiped them with the kitchen towel. I quickly finished up my part as I waited for her. “Deal,” she said and pulled out her phone. She raised her one eyebrow with an evil smirk, goading me. I tried not to laugh but ended up chuckling as I recited the last two digits. My phone vibrated in my pocket with a message notification. I pulled out my phone and opened the message. Unknown: This should be fun. I quickly saved her number and replied. Me: Can’t wait Kriti: Lol She chuckled at the one eyebrow-raised emoji I sent her. She gave me a quick salute and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me staring at her retreating form. This should be fun indeed. OceanofPDF.com 4 Song: Sawaar Loon - Monali Thakur Kriti B eing a teacher was my lifelong dream. Ever since I was a kid, I would pick up my old books and play pretend teacher. I’d buy a red pen, wear Maa’s saree, sit at my desk, and put fake remarks, checks, and grades in my old notebooks. Once Rati and Kartik started their school, I’d drag them to be my pretend students, making them do their very real homework, call me "Kriti teacher," and even dole out punishments like sit- ups, the silent game, and being a chicken for ten minutes. For the past five years, I have been living my dream. Not only was I a teacher of my favorite subjects, but I was also the class teacher, aka the homeroom teacher, of a ninth-grade class. The best part of being a class teacher was my sense of accomplishment and pride when my students scored well, topped the class, or won in school sports. Also, when my kids felt they could come to me with any problem, they believed that I wanted the best for them, and we formed lifelong bonds. But the worst part of being a class teacher was parent-teacher meetings. Like the one I was in right now. They were a different kind of hell when the parents of one of my top students were hell-bent on stopping her education this year. This wasn’t a surprise for me. Every year, I encountered two to three parents who wanted their daughters to quit studying after ninth grade to help their fathers at the farm or learn household chores. My job was to convince them to let their daughters finish tenth grade, the first milestone for every Indian student. My ultimate goal was to convince them to let their daughters complete their undergraduate education. But for parents who were adamant about pulling their daughters out of school, tenth grade was sometimes the most I could achieve. “Teacherji, Rani has no use for studying anymore. We need her to learn more chores and farming so she can help her husband and in-laws. She needs to keep them happy,” Rani’s mother, Pramila, said. Rani stood between her parents, staring at the floor. Her shoulders hunched, quietly losing her hopes for her future. “Pramilaji, Rani is a brilliant student. Her grades in mathematics and science are exceptional. I understand that a woman should keep her husband and in-laws happy.” I rolled my eyes internally but continued, “But if she finishes her tenth and twelfth grades, her life will be so much more secure. What if something were to happen to her future husband or family? What if they refuse to support Rani? Without any education, she would be helpless. If she finishes her twelfth grade or even a college degree, she will be able to support herself.” At that, her father said, “Look, Teacherji, if Rani knows how to work a farm, how to work a household, she would be a better help to her in-laws and a better support to her husband. If she is a perfect daughter-in-law, there is no way they would refuse to support her. In fact, they would rely on Rani for everything.” Such parents made my blood boil. How could they refuse to see the value of education? Why were they so scared of an unmarried daughter but had no problem supporting an unmarried son? Steeling myself, I bolstered my authoritative teacher gaze and looked at them. “Rani is your daughter first. Raise her and support her as your daughter, not a daughter-in-law to some unknown people. Please, I request you, let her finish her schooling. You never know what kind of a husband she would have. One never knows. Give her the ability to leave him if and when she needs. Make her capable enough not to just support herself but to also support you and her future family. Don’t you want that for her?” I never enjoyed telling parents how to raise their children, especially in front of the children. But sometimes, the kids, the girls, needed to know they were worthy and deserved to be treated better. Silence. That blessed silence when the parents had no logical argument to counter with. They were considering giving their daughter a chance. They just needed that little push. “Do you have any sons, Pramilaji?” I asked. I never addressed fathers directly—they always took everything as a challenge. Pramilaji shook her head. “No. Just five daughters.” I knew it. That was usually the pattern. “Rani is the oldest?” I asked. The father said, “Second oldest.” So if my assumption wasn’t wrong, the oldest was already taken out of school and married at a very early age. Rani didn’t look up as her parents talked. But her hands tightened into fists. I could feel her anger. I looked at her parents. “That can be tough. Having to marry off all the daughters. Dowry for all of them. I can understand your situation. But consider this: What if your brilliant daughter finishes her education? What if she earns enough to support her siblings? To support you? And when she marries, she will be capable of supporting her in-laws too. In fact, she might earn her own dowry. And if she finds a good family, a good husband, he wouldn’t ask for a dowry.” Rani’s father’s eyes shone with unshed tears. He joined his hands and said, “Don’t give us or my daughter false hopes and dreams, Teacherji.” “These are not just hopes. This could be a very real life for your daughter if you let her finish her education. Don’t worry about the education of all your daughters at once. The younger ones are already studying for free. Soon, Rani will help you with the education of your other daughters. Just have faith in your daughter.” At that, like a well-timed machine, Rani looked up at her parents, her eyes pleading. “Please let me study, Baba.” And she proved her brilliance. Finally, the parents crumpled. “Okay, beta. But we will take one year at a time. If you don’t score well in school, then no more school for you.” Well, they didn’t entirely crumple. But I didn’t need to worry about Rani. She was the topper of the class. And the joy on Rani’s face right now was the only reason I needed this to work. She clutched my hands, tears running down her cheeks. “Thank you, Kriti teacher. Thank you.” “You’re welcome. Now go tell the news to your friends.” After she ran off, I asked the parents to fill out the customary forms and bid them goodbye. Days like this kept me going. If I could help even a few girls from being forced to drop out, I would gladly work this job forever. Since Rani’s parents were the last to leave, I looked at my empty classroom and took a breather. I drank some water and opened my phone. There was a notification of a message. Aakar: Hey, all good on your end with your parents? A smile instantly spread across my face when I saw his message. I had received it about two hours ago but hadn’t had the time to open it in the middle of discussing grades and performance with parents. I thought back to when I’d asked Maa to give me time to think. She’d balked at first, then started ranting about how Aakar was the best rishta proposal I’d ever received. She claimed she wouldn’t be able to find someone better, so we needed to be quick and say yes to the guy before he got snatched up by someone else. It had been a long and tedious discussion, but in the end, she’d given up arguing and granted me two weeks to decide whether I wanted a second meeting. Me: Hey. Me: Well, I told her you were good. But I needed some time before I agreed to a second meeting. I was given two weeks. What about you? Aakar: Told Maa I’d think about it. That should last me a few weeks. Me: Great! Hopefully, my maa stays patient. Aakar: How is your day going? Me: Just stopped a girl’s parents from pulling her out of school. Phew. You? Before I could overthink it, I hit send. After packing all my things into my big purse, I headed toward the staff room, nodding to other teachers and students along the way. The school day was almost over. The primary and secondary level students finished school at 12:30 p.m., whereas the higher secondary level students were dismissed at 1 p.m. Since I taught the former levels, I always had to wait half an hour for Rati and Kartik to finish so we could go home together. When I reached the staff room, most of the teachers who didn’t have any lectures to take in the last period had already left, including Meera. I quickly packed a few homework assignments I needed to check and sat in my chair to wait for Rati and Kartik. My phone beeped with an incoming message, and my face stretched into an involuntary smile. Aakar: Wow. You’ve had quite a day. I’m glad everything worked out. My day was certainly not as interesting. Me: So tell me about your uninteresting day. I cleaned up my desk a little, arranging the homework assignments and classwork in separate piles by grades. Right then, my phone pinged with a new message. Quickly, I opened it and roared with laughter. Aakar wrote these paragraphs instead of sending short sentences in quick succession. Aakar: Sat in three meetings discussing emerging market trends and a potential partnership with a new client. Followed up with a few inventories that have been delayed. Did two interviews for the new assistant manager we need to hire. Me: Wow. That sounds incredibly boring and exhausting. Aakar: Lol. You have no idea. Me: How many people do you employ? Aakar: About 50. Me: Wow. That’s impressive. Aakar: Thank you! Enough about my boring day. Since you’re living your dream job, tell me about your dream vacation. Me: I haven’t given it too much thought. Me: But I would love to go spend a few days at a beach someday. Aakar: So you’d choose a beach if given the choice between beaches and mountains? Me: Ha. Definitely. Me: The sound of the crashing waves, the feel of the cool water and the sand at my feet, the smell of the ocean. Me: What about you? Beaches or mountains? Aakar: Mountains. Definitely. I burst out laughing. Me: What? Why? Aakar: I love driving. The long, winding roads. How the views of the horizon change at every curve, the crisp air at a higher elevation, the feeling that you’re on top of the world. Me: Stop it. I’m not changing my answer. Aakar: I didn’t ask you to. But I’m sure you’ll fall in love with mountains once you come to one with me. Me: You haven’t come to the beach with me before. Pretty sure you’d forget all about your precious mountains. Just the thought of sitting in the car with Aakar while driving along the long, winding roads had me blushing down to my toes. I got up and made my way to the school parking lot, knowing that the last bell was about to ring. I was almost at our two-wheeler when it rang. I quickened my pace before the hoard of running students stampeded me. It was like we were their jailers, and they were being let free after years of torture. As I waited for Rati and Kartik to appear, my phone pinged again. Aakar: We’ll just have to see about that. Me: Tea or coffee? Preferred beverage? Aakar: Is that even a question? I chuckled, knowing that the majority of Indians had tea in the morning. Me: Coffee, then? Aakar: Haha. Funny. You do not want to see me before I’ve had my chai. Me: Noted ;) Right then, Kartik jumped in front of me, almost causing me to drop my phone. I lightly slapped his back in reprimand. “You almost made me drop my phone.” “Didi, shift back. I’m going to drive today.” I scoffed. “Not before you turn eighteen. You can practice later around the house. But no way are you carrying me and Rati all the way home. Now, get back.” I quickly typed a message to Aakar. Me: On my way home. Driving. Ttyl. Rati placed her schoolbag at the front of the vehicle. She got behind me, and Kartik took a seat behind her. In no time, we were on our way home. We always traveled in triples. It used to be easier when the twins were younger, but the past two months had me thinking about buying a car. But Maa, being Maa, had refused because she wanted me to invest in gold for my marriage. Her words were, “Once you’re married, your siblings can use the two-wheeler. None of us need a car.” By the time we got home and freshened up, Pappa was home from his office for his lunch break. He was a government civil engineer in a good officer position and enjoyed plenty of benefits, including the luxury of coming home for lunch. Maa had already eaten before the rest of us came home. Once we were all seated at the table, Maa served us while Rati and Kartik talked about their day and the loads of homework they had. Both of them were studious, and this year, being their twelfth grade, they were taking their studies very seriously. I recounted today’s school incident as I devoured the aloo gobi, rotli, dal with mango pickle, and buttermilk on the side. I opened the rotli container to get one more rotli when Maa clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Kriti, you’ve already had three rotli. Do you really want to have more? If you keep eating like this, no man would want to marry you.” I slammed the container shut. This was becoming an everyday headache. I used to love my mother. But as I grew into a “marriage age,” my relationship with her seemed to have deteriorated. “Could you get me some water?” Pappa asked Maa. Maa nodded and went into the kitchen. Quickly, Pappa handed me one of his rotli, which was the one with extra ghee. He gave me a sly wink that lightened my sour mood. I quickly devoured half of it before Maa returned. But of course, Maa figured it out because she turned to Pappa and said, “You keep spoiling her like this, and it will be on you if she doesn’t get married.” I kept my head down and ignored her rambling until I’d finished every bit of my lunch. I didn’t care if I was fat by marriage standards. So what if my clothes came from the large and sometimes extra-large rack? I loved my body. I was healthy, my curves were plenty sexy, and my body kept me functioning just fine. In fact, I was up on my feet all day. I helped out Maa when she needed, helped the twins in their studies when I could, paid for their coaching classes, and exercised every day. I was happy with what I had. If a man was to marry me for just my body, I didn’t want that man. I was perfectly capable of staying single for the rest of my life rather than living a life of misery and judgment. Once finished with lunch, I cleared the dining table and washed all the dirty dishes. I didn’t utter a word to anyone except for a smile for Pappa when he left to return to work. I got to my room and picked up one of my favorite romance novels for some mental relief. After reading a few pages without the hero or heroine succeeding in lifting my spirits, I checked my phone. Aakar: Okay. Talk soon. And I must have been truly out of my mind because I just had to ask him. Me: Tell me something, Aakar. Why does every man in these arranged marriages need a slim and trim wife? Aakar I was in the factory basement where we stored all our textile samples when my phone pinged with a notification. Hoping it would be Kriti because I had been irrationally waiting for her message since I last texted, I quickly opened the message app. And my feet stopped moving. Kriti: Tell me something, Aakar. Why does every man in these arranged marriages need a slim and trim wife? Where did that come from? Did something happen? Did someone say something to her? What the fuck. Kriti wasn’t “slim and trim,” as she put it, but she was fucking gorgeous. She had curves that had me reeling the first time I saw her. Every dip, every curve of her body, made it so fucking difficult for me to sleep at night. If I wasn’t thinking about her messages, about our conversations, I was thinking of her. Her body. I dreamed about the filthiest things that I wanted to do to her. I woke up unsatisfied and frustrated and hungry. How could she be shamed for a body that had me constantly burning with need? That wouldn’t do at all. I rushed back to my office and closed the door behind me. I turned on the air conditioner because either it was too hot right now or this message had me boiling with rage. Since we were communicating through modern technology, I could see she was online, and she would’ve already gotten those blue tick marks informing her that I’d seen the message. Before she could say anything else, I typed the first thing that came to my mind. Me: Who told you that? Kriti: Don’t act stupid. There’s a reason we have a section on weight and height in the biodata. I just didn’t put mine in because, clearly, it was too much for my mother. I flinched. Yeah, I’d forgotten about that. Not wanting to spook her or appear as a creep, I decided to go with a more objective answer on what “men” must be thinking. Me: I guess when you don’t really know anything about the other person, you sort of create an image of a wife from the media you consume around you. And these days, all the heroines in our movies are very slim and trim. I prayed that this was a proper answer. Kriti: This implies that the men see themselves as the hero. If you want Alia Bhatt or Deepika Padukone, you must be on the level of Ranbir Kapoor or Ranveer Singh. And I’ve never met such smoking hot men. Including you. I burst into laughter. She was honest. And very mad right now. What I wouldn’t give to see her face. Me: Lol. If I was that smoking hot, I wouldn’t be working in my family’s textile business. But give me a month, and I can grow a beard as good as Ranveer Singh Kriti: Ha. I shouldn’t have been rude. Ignore me. I’m just a little mad. She might be a little mad, but I was raging fucking mad. Nobody had a right to make her feel inadequate. And I wanted to know what caused her this insecurity. More like who made her question this. My fists were clenched so tight I had to pry my fingers open to be able to text her. Me: And who told you to get slim and trim? Kriti: Who else? Every girl’s best friend and her biggest enemy. My mother, of course. I snorted. I’d heard my aunt asking my cousin Ria to eat less on occasion too. But Ria had the genes of her father. She never gained any weight. But I understood how mothers got a little crazy if their daughters weren’t married by twenty-five. Me: You never asked me if I preferred slim and trim women. Kriti: Didn’t want to know. Me: What? Why? Kriti: Mostly because I don’t care. I’ve seen myself. And I love my body. This woman could make me smile and my cock rock hard with just three sentences and a no-fucks-to-give attitude. Kriti: I just asked that question because I wanted to know if slimness is genuinely something that men care about, or have all the mothers and women created this stigma that only slim women are beautiful? Kriti: And I wouldn’t have liked any of your answers. Kriti: If you’d said you like slim women, I would have been a little mad and a little hurt. Kriti: If you’d said you don’t like slim women, I would have felt like you’re just interested in me for my body. She clearly had a lot of thoughts on the matter. I read and reread her messages. And yes, from her perspective, it made sense. And her confidence. I’ve seen myself. And I love my body. I read that line over and over again, need pumping through my veins to see her for myself. And I loved that she loved her body. Nothing made me more attracted to her than her confidence. Me: You’re amazing, you know that? Kriti: That’s it? I typed so much. You just give me five words? Kriti: And thank you. Me: You do remember that I asked for your number, right? I had the best time talking to you then, and I’ve had the best time talking to you today. Even though you are a little scary when mad. And I’m glad you don’t care about my opinions on your body. It is your body after all. Kriti: Exactly. But why did I desperately want her to know that I really found her attractive? Would she appreciate a little flirting? Would she consider it too much too soon? I didn’t want her to get affected by her mother’s opinions again. Me: But if you ever want to compliment my looks, you are always welcome to make me feel better. Kriti: Lol. You know you’re good-looking. Me: So do you. But I’m glad you find me good-looking. Thank you. Kriti: You’re welcome. Me: If you want me to return the compliment, just say the word. I’m ready. Kriti: I’m not going to fish for compliments. Me: You’re not. I’m pleading you to allow me to compliment you. Kriti: Fine. I’ll take some. Me: Not all? Kriti: Save some for later. Me: Fine. You’re fucking gorgeous, and I couldn’t stop looking at you the day we met. No response for a few seconds. Did I take it too far? Kriti: Thank you… Kriti: Don’t you have any work? I looked outside the glass wall of the office. The inventory was ongoing. I could make a few calls for shipment and invoices. I knew I was becoming an irreplaceable pillar of our company since I was involved in almost every tier of the work. My father and uncles were entirely reliant on me and even asked me to hire more people to whom I could delegate more menial tasks that took up much of my time. I had plenty of work lined up. But nothing that I actually wanted to do right now except chat with Kriti. Me: Don’t you? Kriti: I do. She sent me a picture of piles of notebooks and her younger siblings studying in the background. I took a picture of the view of the office and people working and sent it to her with a message. Me: Same. Talk later? Kriti: Yes. Bye. I looked around my office. The thought of my impending task of verifying the accounts versus the inventories and cataloging the reports the employees prepared was already giving me a headache. I could only hope that Kriti’s day was going better than mine. It was late when I got home, so I quietly entered the house. I removed my shoes at the entry, put them on the shoe rack, and went to the living room. I found Abhi, my younger brother by eight years, and his childhood best friend, Karan, watching football. The moment he noticed me, he asked, “What took you so long?” I dropped beside him on the sofa, Karan on his other side, and checked the teams playing and the scores. Without removing my eyes from the screen, I answered, “Got held up by some work. Everyone asleep?” He hummed in agreement as he munched on popcorn. The three of us watched the match for a while in silence when Abhi said, “Mom was talking. Wondering what you thought about the last girl you saw.” I thought about Kriti and her last reply. I hummed and said, “Let’s see.” Abhi scoffed, shared a look with Karan, and turned to me. “You’re just stalling, aren’t you? You don’t want to have an arranged marriage at all, right? Do you have a girlfriend or something?” I frowned. “I mean, I know I started looking because of the promise I made to Maa after letting Akira run away to Sam, but it’s not all bad. Where else am I going to meet someone?” Karan shrugged and piped in, “I don’t know. Ideally, in college. Maybe at work. Or friends’ friends.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, discarding all the possibilities. “What about you?” I asked Abhi. He turned to football, not meeting my eyes, acting all casual. “What about me?” he asked. “Have any girlfriends?” I asked. He shrugged. “Nope.” I looked at Karan next, who was already smiling and shaking his head. “Nope.” I nodded and remembered what Dad had asked me to ask Abhi. “Since it’s your last year of undergrad, do you have any plans for the future?” Abhi looked at me, his stare blank. “Is that you asking or Pappa?” I chuckled. “Whoever you want it to be. For now, just me.” Abhi was currently pursuing a Bachelor of Business Administration (BBA), a course he easily convinced our dad to allow him to do. Abhi nodded, shared another look with Karan, and said, “I was thinking I could do my MBA in Mumbai or something.” I couldn’t help but sit straighter. “Are you serious? Do you not plan to join the business? And why Mumbai? Ahmedabad has good MBA colleges.” Abhi didn’t meet my eyes, just grumbled as I tried to catch his words. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m still thinking.” I pretended to relax and sit back because the idea of Abhi leaving the house was crippling. I loved my brother and sister. And I loved living together. Seeing them grow, being there for them when they needed me, and just having them around soothed something deep within me. With Akira in America, losing this one more connection had my heart racing. “Do you plan to start your MBA right away after graduation, or do you wanna have one or two years of work experience?” Now that I hadn’t disregarded Abhi’s idea, he turned to me. “I don’t mind having some experience. You think I should start spending some hours at our office?” A wave of relief flooded over me. Sharing some of the god-awful accounting responsibilities with Abhi would free up my time to work on something I enjoyed, and it had me doing a happy dance in my mind. “For sure. If you want to come to the office on your free days or for a few hours each day, I can show you some of our accounting stuff. I would love your help.” “Really?” Abhi asked, eyes wide, disbelief on his face. “Of course.” “Cool. I’ll let you know.” Ending the conversation, he returned to watching his game. Tired of the day and needing to chat some more with Kriti, I got up from the sofa. I wished the boys a good night, got a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and took it to my room. Yes, I had a personal room. Ria and Akira used to share a room, but since Akira went to New York, Ria, too, got a room to herself. Once in my room, I quickly turned on the AC, locked my bedroom door, and went to the attached bathroom for a quick shower. Once I got into my bed, I picked up the phone. Me: If you’re awake, good night. If you’re asleep, and you see this in the morning, good morning. Kriti: Did you just get home from work? Me: Oh, you’re awake. Yeah. Just got home. Had a lot of work. Kriti: Had a lot of work, or is this your way of stalling your mom? Me: Potato, Pah-ta-to. Kriti: Lol. You don’t need to sacrifice rest and sleep for our getting-to-know-each-other scheme. Me: Guess I’ll have to face her questions soon enough. Kriti: Anyway. I’m off to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow? Me: Ofc. Good night! Kriti: Good night. OceanofPDF.com 5 Song: Tu Hi Hai - Ali Zafar, Arijit Singh, Amit Trivedi Kriti T he loud murmurs and laughter echoed down the hallway of the school in the early morning. I walked quickly to my class, thankful for my low-heel sandals that complemented my pink-and-green salwar kameez, and greeted the teachers I passed. The moment I stepped into my ninth-grade classroom, the entire class stood and greeted me with a good morning in the same tune that seemed to be passed down through generations. It sounded cute when the kids were in first grade, but they looked completely ridiculous when they crossed seventh grade. Yet nobody ever tried saying good morning in a different way. The same singsong tune always made me want to sway my head in its rhythm. I greeted them with my normal good morning and quickly took their attendance before the prayer bell rang. I was just done noting all the present students when a short bell rang, and everyone stood. Every school decided their own prayers, but every school in the country had at least a fifteen- minute prayer time. A crackle came over the overhead speaker in the class, and soon, the prayers began. I walked between the rows of benches, occasionally glaring at the students who thought that closing their eyes and joining their hands in prayer wasn’t cool anymore. Once the prayers were done and the bell for the first period rang, everybody pulled out their science textbook to the chapter “Reflection of Light.” I pointed at a random student and asked her to start reading the chapter out loud. I always made my students read the chapters because I would be the only one paying attention if I started reading. As the student read each paragraph, I explained the concept of reflection of light, how an image is formed on a mirror, and how light travels. I drew diagrams on the blackboard, and the students noted everything in their notebooks. This was what I loved—teaching something new to my kids every single day. People often forgot how important the job of a teacher was. We shaped our students. They spent six to eight hours every day for over ten years in these rooms. Their minds, their knowledge, and their behavior developed in these rooms. It was a teacher’s job to teach something new, something valuable to their students every single day. And they did it not because they couldn’t find any other job but because they chose to be teachers. It brought us joy to watch the kids grow and learn. I put every bit of my energy into engaging the students, getting them to ask questions, and making them laugh. By the time my first period was over, I was ready for the next class with the eighth graders and the one after that with the mature tenth graders. The recess bell rang after the third period, and finally, I had time to breathe. I walked to the staff room and dropped beside Meera, who was busy texting on her phone. As soon as I sat on my chair, she turned to me. Her eyes widened, and she clutched my hand, looked around, bent closer to me, and whispered, “Are we not going to talk about how you and Aakar met? You have to tell me everything.” “First, how come you never talked about Aakar with me?” She shook her head, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. After Pappa passed away, Aakar’s dad mostly came to help us. And then, Aakar would occasionally check in. Only after Luke came to live with me did Aakar show up a little more. And I was barely able to accept his help, let alone talk about it.” I squeezed her shoulder. Meera hated accepting help from anyone. You just had to start helping her and force her to deal with it. “It’s okay. I’m just glad that you know him. I need all the details.” Since Meera already knew Aakar, I needed to know whether talking to him behind my parents’ backs was safe. We picked up our tiffin boxes and stepped out into the little courtyard outside the staff room. We sat in a cozy alcove in the corner and laid out our lunch between us. Since my mother was hell-bent on sending me salads, I was on a mission to feed half of it to Meera while I ate half of her lunch. Today, she’d brought pulao, while my lunch was a salad of cabbage, carrots, beets, cucumbers, tomatoes, and a half-cut lemon to squeeze over it. Well, it did complement the pulao. We only had twenty minutes for the break. While it wasn’t enough for a word-by-word explanation, it was plenty to give Meera the basics. “So you guys have been chatting for a week now? Every day?” she asked as I ate a spoonful of her delicious pulao. I nodded and, after swallowing the bite, said, “Yeah. Some days, we chat a lot, and some days, it’s just a few words. But pretty much the whole week.” Meera’s smile widened, and her eyes had this teasing glint that every best friend gets when talking about men. “So,” she stretched out the word, waggling her eyebrows, “are you having fun?” Just the thought of Aakar had a stupid smile spreading across my face. “I’ll be honest. He is one of the best men I’ve ever met through these arranged meetings. He’s smart, handsome, and hardworking, and so far, very forward-minded.” She chuckled at that. “I’m not surprised he didn’t bat an eye at your three conditions.” “You’re not?” Meera shook her head. “He was born and brought up in a big city. His sister studies in America and has an American boyfriend. He helped his sister run away from home when their parents were being difficult. And time and again, he has helped me. He is a pretty stand-up guy.” My heart warmed at the thought of Aakar helping his sister run away from home. Of course, he wanted a love like that. Listening to everything Meera said about Aakar, I couldn’t help but feel a small ray of hope. Maybe being married to a man who believed in love, who helped two people get together, wouldn’t be the worst idea after all. The bell rang, indicating the end of recess, and we rushed into the staff room, picked up our respective books and purses, and left for our classes. The rest of the day flew by as I spent a lot of time laughing and shouting at my students, and even more time waiting for the school day to be over so I could text Aakar. T he moment I stepped inside the house, with Rati and Kartik two steps ahead of me, I knew something was up with Maa. The three of us exchanged glances, not wanting to get roped into her rants, so we tiptoed to our rooms while Maa kept talking loudly. I was pretty sure she was on the phone with her sister. By the time we’d all freshened up and made our way to the dining area for lunch, Maa had already set the table and was still on the phone. I sat at the opposite end of the table from my mother, with Rati and Kartik seated along the sides. When she met my eyes, I raised my eyebrows in question. She mouthed her sister’s name, confirming my suspicion. We waited for a few minutes for Pappa. As soon as we heard his scooter pull into the gate, Kartik started stacking rotlis on his plate. By the time Pappa had washed his hands and taken a seat on my right, Maa bid goodbye to Sunita Masi—Masi being a term of respect for the aunt who is the mother’s sister—and gave me a hard look. My hand stopped midway as I was about to take a bite of rotli and tindora sabji. “What?” I asked, quickly eating the bite. “How was your meeting with Aakar?” she asked. Maa had cornered me with this exact question the moment I returned home from Meera’s place on the day of the meeting. I’d told her it was good. I didn’t know what prompted her to ask me the same question again. My hand slightly shook as I ate another bite and tried to act nonchalant as I chewed my food. My conversation with Aakar flashed through my mind, especially when I had told him that I would just say yes for him while he would be the one to delay. And he had agreed. I took a deep breath and said, “I told you that day. It was good. He was smart and respectful. Why?” “Did you say anything rude or inappropriate to him?” I gasped, feigning innocence. “Inappropriate? Me?” Rati and Kartik laughed, and even Pappa couldn't help but smile before quickly wiping it off at Maa’s glare. “Kriti,” she warned. Relenting, I answered, “No. I was my usual self. I don’t know if that’s inappropriate for you.” Maa simply huffed. She turned to Pappa, then back to me, and said, “Then why haven’t they called? It’s been a week.” I looked helplessly at Pappa. He sighed and patted Maa’s hand. “Things might happen differently in the city. What do we know? Maybe they will call in a few days.” Maa nodded, a hopeful spark back in her eyes. “You don’t think I should just give them a call myself?” “We’re not that desperate, Maa,” I snapped. Maa snapped back at me. “You are twenty-eight. I’d say we are desperate.” There was no point arguing with her when sh

Luv (Un)Arranged by N. M. Patel PDF

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