Arranged Love

A Glimpse into His Soul

Arranged marriage. Just the thought of it used to make me feel confined, tied down, and cornered. And now, ironically, here I was on the verge of it. If you'd asked me a year ago, I would've laughed at the idea. I had my own plans, and marriage wasn't really one of them—not to a stranger, and certainly not through some age-old family arrangement.

But when my parents introduced me to the idea, they were serious, almost insistent. And the person they had in mind was someone from a family that was "just as distinguished" as ours. She was South Indian. The words kept echoing in my mind. I had little exposure to South Indian culture. All I knew was what I had seen in movies—strict traditions, temples, family bonds held together by invisible threads of respect and discipline. The more I thought about it, the more it felt like a different world, even though we lived in the same country.

Her name was Samhita. The only things I knew about her were the few, well-crafted sentences my parents shared. "She's soft-spoken and well-mannered," they said. They mentioned her upbringing was grounded in family values, her respect for traditions, and a "pure soul" quality that resonated with her entire being. The words painted a delicate, almost fragile image of her, and that intimidated me more than it should have. The last thing I wanted was someone who'd look to me for constant approval, someone who'd be overshadowed by my ambitions and lifestyle.

I couldn't help but wonder what it must be like in her family. In the world I knew, families had a rigid structure, but they weren't overbearing. In North India, we had a way of balancing things. Our culture was a blend of freedom and boundaries. But in her world? I imagined rituals, customs, and hours spent in silent devotion—quiet lives, guided by age-old practices. People often described her type as "homely," a word that, to me, sounded almost repressive. I pictured a life of quiet dinners, calm conversations, and steady routines.

Then again, Samhita's family had settled in North India. Maybe they were different? It was hard to tell, and there were moments I felt almost embarrassed at how much I was relying on stereotypes. My mother assured me that she'd fit into our world seamlessly, that she was adaptable and open-minded. Yet, I couldn't shake off the image I'd built of her in my mind—a girl who'd been sheltered, always protected, and probably treated like a prized artifact, too fragile to touch.

I had my own questions about how they'd raised her. Growing up in the Rathore family had been anything but sheltered. My father, a king, had seen to that. My world was a mesh of privilege and responsibility, freedom and duty. I had a legacy to uphold, yes, but I also had dreams that no one would ever clip. I wondered if Samhita had the same sense of independence, if she knew what it was to want something outside of her family's expectations. Or was she trained to obey, to follow the path set by her parents?

Marriage was a union of two worlds, my mother kept reminding me. And this marriage would be more than just that; it was an alliance, a bridge between two states and two families, which, to my parents, was more valuable than I cared to admit. This was politics as much as it was love, or at least their idea of it. It was about families, dynasties, and the blend of two cultures. My mother reassured me that she was as curious about me as I was about her. "She asked about you," my mother had said. "She wanted to know about your life, your work, your passions." It caught me off guard because, up until that point, I'd imagined her as someone content to let life happen to her.

Maybe she wasn't like I imagined. Maybe she was someone who'd break away from the assumptions I'd made, who'd surprise me with a spark that went against everything I'd pictured. That possibility intrigued me more than I wanted to admit. What if she was quiet but not passive, reserved but not timid? And what if, behind her quiet demeanor, she had a fierce will? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was only ever going to know the real Samhita by meeting her.

Despite my reservations, a part of me couldn't ignore the underlying respect I felt for her. It takes strength to hold onto one's values, to live by principles. And if Samhita had managed to do that while adapting to a life in North India, then maybe she had a strength I couldn't see just yet.

I still wasn't certain I was ready for this marriage, but maybe that was the whole point. I was used to knowing what came next, to planning and deciding. This time, I didn't have all the answers, and as frustrating as it was, it was also oddly exhilarating. This was uncharted territory—something I couldn't control, and for once, I was forced to surrender.

Maybe the union of two worlds didn't mean one had to consume the other. Maybe it meant something more powerful, something neither of us would see coming. But as long as I could have a sense of who she really was—her spirit, her dreams—perhaps there was a chance we'd make this work. And that chance, slim as it was, was enough to make me look forward to the day I'd finally meet Samhita.