**Winner 2024 Amby Awards**
Fiza has everything planned-medical school, a respectable future, and an engagement she never wanted. Determined to escape a loveless match, she creates a checklist to find the perfect husband her father will approve of.
...
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Alan arrived at my home the night before our departure to Vayanaadu. It was late, so my family only had a brief interaction with him before my mother showed him to the guest room. My sister, Farzana, was joining us directly at the resort from Chennai.
At the break of dawn, we set off. The long drive from Cochin stretched before us, my father at the wheel, my mother in the passenger seat, and Alan and I in the back.
"Do you drive?" my father inquired, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"Yes, uncle," Alan replied, his voice respectful.
The drive usually took four hours, but we had set out early hoping to beat the traffic. My father had booked a two-bedroom cottage for us and a separate single room for Alan at the resort.
"Fiza talks a lot about you," my mother began, turning slightly in her seat. The conversation I'd both anticipated and dreaded had started, and there was no escape in the closed confines of the car. "She says you are best friends?"
I held my breath, my eyes fixed on Alan's profile.
He hesitated for a heartbeat. "Yes," he said. "She's my best friend." I saw the fleeting conflict in his eyes as he opened his mouth to say more before closing it.
"You are very close," my mother observed, her tone neutral. Then she switched topics. "What do you plan to do after medical college?"
"I'm not sure yet, but I will specialize..." We had talked about our futures. I too didn't know yet what I would specialize in. But he was leaning towards surgery.
"That's nice," my mother commented, sounding satisfied. But she wasn't finished. "It will take some time to get settled, though. Two more years of MBBS, another three years of MD or MS... that is if you get in on your first attempt."
Alan nodded.
"That's five years," my mother reiterated, her voice softening into something that felt far more dangerous than criticism. "Fiza would be married by then."
I felt the air leave my lungs. I didn't dare look at Alan, but I felt him go perfectly still beside me. I flash a flash of betrayal.
"Why? Why would I be married by then?" I asked, my brow furrowing as I voiced the question burning in my mind.
My mother simply chose not to respond and I pressed further.
"I would just be turning 26 in five years," I asserted, reminding them of the agreement that I would only be compelled to marry Fahad at the age of 26.
"Maybe we shouldn't wait that long," my father interjected.
I steeled myself, my voice firm. "I'd like to be settled in my career before I get married."
I felt Alan shift beside me, his leg beginning to bounce nervously. Instinctively, I reached over and placed my hand on his thigh, hoping to calm him.
I saw my mother and father exchange a pointed look through the rearview mirror, taking note of the casual intimacy between us.
