When Aarav Kapoor, a shrewd businessman born into wealth, and Aanya Mehra, an ambitious architect returning to India, are thrust into an arranged marriage, neither is prepared for the secrets beneath their union. What begins as a reluctant compromis...
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I stormed into my room, the lilac saree brushing against my legs with every frustrated step. The door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. My thoughts were racing, tangled between the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded and the words that refused to leave my head.
Four days.
How could they possibly expect me to get married in four days?
I shut my eyes, and his face flashed before me—the man I'd bumped into when I tried to escape the roka. Aarav Kapoor.
The memory of our brief encounter earlier in the garden surfaced, making my cheeks burn. There was no denying it: he was attractive in that effortlessly infuriating way. The sharp angles of his face, the confidence in his stride, and those deep, observant eyes that seemed to notice everything without giving anything away.
For a fleeting moment back there, I had thought—maybe, just maybe—I could give this arrangement a chance. Something about him intrigued me, pulled me in despite my reservations.
But then his mother had dropped the bomb about the wedding deadline, and any fleeting warmth I felt evaporated.
I paced the room, tugging at the pallu of my saree in frustration. This wasn't just rushed—it was absurd. Who got married in four days? What about planning, preparing, making sure I was ready to start a new life with someone I barely knew?
Unable to contain my anger, I marched downstairs. The house was quieter now, the energy from the roka fading into a hum of subdued conversations. My parents were seated in the living room, sipping tea as though everything was perfectly normal.
"Papa," I began, my voice sharper than I intended. "Maa. What is going on?"
They both looked up, startled.
"What do you mean, beta?" my father asked, his tone careful.
"I mean this!" I gestured wildly. "You're rushing me into a wedding in four days with a man I just met! This isn't like you. You've always let us choose our paths, make our own decisions. So why are you doing this now?"
My mother frowned, placing her cup down. "Aanya, this is a good match. The Kapoors are a respectable family, and Aarav is a wonderful boy. You'll have a secure and happy life with him."
"How do you know that?" I countered, my voice rising. "How do I know that? I don't know anything about him except his name and the fact that he apparently comes with a five-year deadline for marriage."
"Enough, Aanya," my father interrupted, his voice firm. "Whatever is happening is good for you. We're your parents. We will do what is best for you."
I stared at him, stunned by his response. This wasn't the father I knew—the man who had always encouraged me to think for myself, to question everything.
