Tangled Vows

Part 2

Aashi's jaw dropped. "Kapoor Industries? Di, you're marrying into a billionaire family?!"

"Calm down, Bittu," I muttered, though my mind was already racing. The name felt oddly familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

Amey smirked. "Looks like you're upgrading from toast fights to boardroom battles."

"Enough," Mom said, shooting both of them a look. "This is a serious matter."

I nodded, forcing a smile. "I'll do whatever you think is best, Papa. Let's see how it goes."

Deep down, though, unease bubbled in my chest. As much as I trusted my parents, the thought of being thrust into such a significant decision so quickly felt overwhelming. And why was Aarav's name tugging at the edges of my memory?

"Don't worry, Di," Aashi said with a wink. "If he turns out to be a jerk, just tell me. I'll scare him off."

"Me too," Amey added, flexing his scrawny arms for effect.

Despite the anxiety gnawing at me, I couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, Bittu and Chote. I'll keep that in mind."

I sat cross-legged on my bed, the screen of my phone glowing faintly in the dimly lit room. The announcement of my engagement to Aarav Kapoor earlier in the evening had been met with joy and congratulations from my family. But as the excitement faded and I retreated to my room, the weight of reality began to sink in.

What had I done? Why had I told my parents I'd be okay with whatever decision they made?

"Because you wanted to make them happy," I muttered to myself, hugging a pillow to my chest. But even that reasoning felt hollow now.

Unable to sit still, I picked up my phone and opened Google. If I was going to marry this Aarav Kapoor, I needed to know more about him. Surely there would be something—a photo, a quote, an interview—anything to give me a sense of who he was.

I typed his name into the search bar: Aarav Kapoor, Kapoor Industries.

The results were... disappointing.

Pages upon pages of financial news and business articles flooded the screen. There were mentions of his company's growth, stock market moves, and a few dry reports about his leadership strategies. But there wasn't a single personal detail. No photograph, no interview, no social media profile—nothing that revealed who he really was.

"Who doesn't have at least a LinkedIn profile these days?" I grumbled, scrolling through yet another bland article about Kapoor Industries' quarterly earnings.

I tossed my phone onto the bed, frustration bubbling up inside me. This was ridiculous. How could I possibly marry someone I didn't know? Someone who, for all intents and purposes, might as well be a ghost?

My gaze wandered to the closed door of my room, and guilt gnawed at the edges of my thoughts. My parents had worked so hard to arrange this match. They believed they were securing my future, aligning me with a family whose reputation and standing matched our own. And I had told them—promised them—that I trusted their judgment.

But now, the thought of stepping into an arranged marriage with a man I couldn't even picture in my mind felt suffocating.

I sat up straighter, the pillow dropping to the floor. "No," I whispered. "I have to tell them."

I paced the room, rehearsing what I would say.

"Papa, I'm sorry, but I can't do this. It's too rushed."
"Maa, I just need more time to decide."
"Bittu, help me fake a stomach bug or something."