Aayan x Aashi: Grumpy x Sunshine, Age Gap, Marriage of Convenience, Contract Marriage
Aayan - "Please don't expect love or compassion from me. I can promise you respect, but I'll never be able to give you the place of a wife. However, I can be your...
I arrived at the hotel at exactly 4 p.m., settling into my reserved seat with the precision of someone who values every second. The hum of the city outside was a dull roar compared to the ticking clock in my mind. I ordered a black coffee, its bitterness mirroring my mood, and casually took out my phone, scrolling through the plan my PA had meticulously prepared for tomorrow. The minutes ticked by, and at 4:15, she still hadn't arrived. Punctuality is a virtue, one that I hold in high regard. Her first impression, it seems, is teetering on the edge of failure. Those who don't value time often find that time doesn't value them.
Just as I was about to lose my patience, I saw her approaching. She moved with a quiet grace, dressed in a white chikankari kurti that clung delicately to her frame, paired with simple denim jeans. Her jewelry was oxidized, understated yet elegant, reflecting the same simplicity that emanated from her presence. Despite the rain, which had left her outfit slightly damp, she appeared composed, her modesty intact. She paused at the entrance, gently wiping her face, and that's when I noticed her eyes-small, expressive, and lined with just enough kajal to make them stand out against her otherwise makeup-free face. There was something disarmingly charming about her simplicity.
A moment ago, her tardiness had irritated me, but now, as she stood there, it was as if she'd managed to turn the tables. I found myself lowering my gaze, pretending to scroll through my phone, trying to compose myself. Then I heard her voice, soft yet confident, "Hi, this is Aashi. Are you here for the meeting?"
"Yes," I replied, perhaps a bit too curtly. She took the seat across from me, her demeanor calm and unflustered by my cold reception. I extended my hand, introducing myself, "I'm Ayan Singhania." She shook my hand, her grip light, her smile faint but genuine. An awkward silence filled the air, only broken by the arrival of my coffee. The realization hit me-I hadn't ordered anything for her. Turning to her, I asked, "Would you like something?"
She didn't hesitate, meeting the waiter's gaze directly, "A hot cappuccino, please."
Her self-assuredness threw me off balance. I wasn't used to feeling this nervous-not even when I'd closed the biggest deal of my career. How was I supposed to convey the complexity of my situation, the urgency of this marriage? But before I could muster the words, she surprised me with a direct question, "What's on your mind? Just say it."
Her boldness was unexpected, but it gave me the courage to speak. "I want you to marry me by the end of this month," I blurted out, the words harsher than intended. "If necessary, I'm willing to compensate you. Please don't misunderstand-I'm getting married because I have to."
I braced myself for backlash, perhaps even a scene-anger, indignation, a coffee cup thrown in my face. But she remained composed, her expression unchanged. After a moment, she responded with equal calm, "Look, I'm currently doing my ACCA articleship. I have six months left to complete it, and I've already received multiple job offers, both abroad and in India. Once I'm done, I plan to leave India for good. If you're okay with your wife settling abroad permanently a few months after the marriage, then I'm open to it."
Though I was already aware of her career ambitions, hearing her say it so plainly made me feel as though fate was working in my favor. Relief washed over me. I began explaining Navya's last wish, a lump forming in my throat as I spoke, and she listened intently. In return, she made it clear how committed she was to her career.
"Please don't expect love or affection from me," I said, my voice steadier now. "I can offer you respect, but I can never give you the place of a wife. However, I can be your friend, for the time being."
"Good," she replied, her tone matching mine in straightforwardness. "I expect nothing less than privacy and space. We won't interfere in each other's lives."
"Agreed. I'll have a contract drafted for this marriage and send it to you. Please review it carefully and sign it."
"Send it to my office address," she requested, her voice firm. "I don't want my family involved."
"Understood," I replied.
"I'll inform our families about our decision to marry," she continued, "but let's keep the wedding short and simple, with only close relatives."
Her pragmatic approach to this arrangement impressed me more than I cared to admit. I was about to suggest the same thing. "Agreed," I said, nodding.
"For my career," she stated, as if sealing the deal.
"And for my late wife's last wish," I added softly, the weight of those words hanging in the air between us.
As we finalized the details, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions-relief, apprehension, and an odd sense of admiration for the woman sitting across from me. This wasn't just a transaction; it was a step toward fulfilling a promise, and perhaps, in some strange way, a new beginning.
