𝟏. 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞?

𝑼𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒉, 𝑽𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊 -

"Roop beta, khana lag gaya! Aa ja jaldi!" Mom's voice echoed from downstairs.

("Roop, the food is ready! Come quickly!")

I sighed, closing the book in my hand, and made my way toward the kitchen. The faint aroma of ghee and freshly cooked rotis filled the air - comforting, familiar.

When I entered the dining room, Mom, Dad, and Roohi - my younger sister - were already seated at the table. I quietly slipped into my chair, about to serve myself, when Mom's excited voice broke the calm.

"Ramlal ji ne abhi thodi der pehle ek ladke ki tasveer bheji hai," she began, her face lighting up. "Bade ghar ka ladka hai, apna khud ka business hai, ghar ka bada beta hai... hume toh bohot pasand aaya! Ek baar tu bhi dekh le, agar tujhe bhi pasand aaye toh hum unhe dekhne ke liye haan bol denge."

("Ramlal ji just sent a boy's picture a while ago," she began, her face lighting up. "He's from a good family, has his own business, the eldest son of the house... we really liked him! Just take a look once - if you like him too, we'll say yes to meet them.")

Her tone was full of hope - that soft, eager kind of excitement only a mother can have when she's talking about her daughter's future.

Dad cleared his throat gently, his voice calm and measured. "Whatever you decide, beta, we'll respect it. But... think about it once, hmm?"

("Whatever you decide, dear, we'll respect it. But... just think about it once, okay?")

I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to say much. "Jii... I'll see to it," I murmured.

("Okay... I'll see to it.")

Roohi, sitting across from me, tried to suppress a grin. I caught her smiling knowingly, teasing me silently - as if my agreeing meant something more than I intended.

                 ******************

Just after lunch, Ramlal ji entered - with his usual broad smile and the same air of exaggerated cheerfulness that somehow felt... off today.

"Namaskar," he greeted warmly, folding his hands.

("Hello/Respectful greetings.")

Dad stood up instantly, smiling as he walked toward him. "Arrey Ramlal ji, aap Mumbai se kab aaye?"

("Oh Ramlal ji, when did you come from Mumbai?")

"Bas airport se seedha aapse milne... aur Bhabhiji ke haath ki chai peene aa gaya," he replied with a nervous chuckle, the kind that tried too hard to sound casual.

("Coming straight from the airport to meet you... and to have a cup of tea made by Bhabhiji's hands.")

We led him toward the sofa, and all of us settled down.

"I'll make some tea," Mom said, getting up. But before she could take a step, Ramlal ji raised his hand hurriedly.

"Arrey rukhiye Bhabhiji, woh toh baad mein ho jaayega. Pehle yeh lijiye."

("Oh wait, Bhabhiji, that can happen later. First, take this.")

He fumbled through his bag and pulled out a small brown envelope. His hands trembled slightly as he handed it to Dad. "Humne jo tasveer bheji thi, woh hum khud lekar aaye. Sach kahun, rab ne bana di jodi banegi, Kohinoor ki kasam."

("The photo I sent earlier - I brought it myself. Honestly, this is a match made by God, I swear on the Kohinoor.")

Dad took the photograph but didn't even glance at it. Without a word, he passed it straight to me.

The moment my fingers touched the glossy edge of that photo, something in my chest tightened. And when my eyes finally met the image-

It felt like the ground slipped away beneath me.

Like I was sitting in a Ferris wheel... and it had suddenly plunged down at full speed.

My breath hitched. My heart was a drumbeat gone wild. The food in my stomach-doing bhangra, garba, and maybe a full Bharatnatyam by now.

"Esa toh nahi hai ki humne koi aur chehra nahi dekha hai, magar yeh chehra itna haseen hai ki nazrein hatne se ghabra rahi hain." my subconscious voice spoke a dramatically.

("It's not like I've never seen other faces before, but this one's so beautiful that my eyes are afraid to look away.")

He looked... unreal.

The kind of man who seemed to exist only in the spaces between your dreams and your fears.

Everything I'd ever wanted, wished, waited, maybe even manifested for-was staring back at me from that photograph.

And now... I was more curious than ever to know him. Roohi nudged me to answer something but I did the only thing I can do at that time, I simply nodded my head, still looking at the photo.

After that, Dad and Ramlal ji were busy discussing dinner plans with the Rathore family. Mom was already on the phone, her voice brimming with pride as she told one of our so-called relatives that we'd finally found the perfect first rishta.

("Marriage proposal.")

I sat there for a moment, staring at the photograph still clutched in my hand.

Then, quietly-almost instinctively-I got up, leaving behind their cheerful chatter and the clinking of teacups.

My footsteps echoed faintly as I walked toward my room... carrying with me a strange mix of thrill, confusion, and a pulse of something I couldn't yet name.

                  ******************

𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕,

𝑴𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒊, 𝑴𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒕𝒓𝒂 -

The loud ringing of the telephone cut through the silence of the hall.

"Hello, Kon bol-" Ramlal answered but his voice cut in between.

("Hello, who's spea-")

"15 minute hain, tab tak pohoch jao."

("You have 15 minutes. Be there by then.")

An automatic voice came from the other side, and without waiting for Ramlal's reply, the call ended.

The location was sent.

Ramlal knew very well who that person was and what he could do. Without wasting a second, he rushed to reach the location.

After about fifteen minutes, he reached it - an old, deserted, broken house. He sensed a dark presence behind him. He turned and found a sleek black Mercedes parked nearby.

A tall man in a suit was standing next to it, his face with a long scar from his left eyebrow to his cheekbone. His broad shoulders carried an aura of command, his presence sharp and unsettling. In his left hand, he held a cigar, the smoke curling lazily around his face.

Ramlal's heart pounded, his instincts screaming to run - but fear and that man's sharp gaze held him still.

The man exhaled slowly, his gaze steady and unreadable.

"Ramlal," he said, his voice low and controlled, "I've been waiting."

"Bha-bhaiji, k-ky-kya baat hai?" Ramlal stammered, his voice trembling as his hands shook uncontrollably.

("B-bhaiji, w-what's the matter?")

"Kuch nahi," the man said coolly, his tone calm yet chilling. "Bas ek shaadi karvani hai... aur ladki walon se baat karni hai."

("Nothing much," the man said coolly. "Just need to arrange a marriage... and talk to the girl's family.")

"Ji-ji bhaiji, ho jaayega," Ramlal replied immediately, nodding frantically, desperate to please.

("Y-yes bhaiji, it'll be done.")

"Rajesh Sharma ki beti."

("Rajesh Sharma's daughter.")

The name hit Ramlal like a thunderbolt. His throat went dry, and his knees almost gave out. But somehow, he forced himself to stay steady.

"Ji bhaiji... main mana loonga," he whispered.

("Yes bhaiji... I'll convince them.")

Just then, the sound of a car door opening echoed through the dark street.

"Shiva, give him whatever I asked you to," came a voice - dark, cold, and commanding, carrying the weight of absolute authority.

Then, turning back to Ramlal, he spoke again - this time his tone sharper, his words heavy enough to crush.

"Aur tujhe kya karna hai, kya nahi... woh tu jaane. Lekin unki shaadi toh mujhse hi hogi."

("And what you have to do or what not to do... that's your problem. But she'll be marrying me, no matter what.")

Ramlal nodded vigorously, his fear visible in every movement. The man flicked his hand - a silent gesture to leave. Ramlal didn't wait another second.

As he disappeared from sight, another voice broke the silence.

"Tujhe kya lagta hai, woh log maan jayenge? Aur tere gharwaalon ka kya, Deva?"

("Do you think they'll agree? And what about your family, Deva?")

Yes - 𝘋𝘦𝘷𝘢.

The one speaking now was his closest friend, Shivay - the only person who dares to question him, his only friend.

"Agar nahi bhi maane," Deva said, his voice low and firm, "toh for bhi shaadi toh unki mujhse hi hogi. Aur rahi baat gharwaalon ki..." he paused, his eyes darkening, "woh main dekh loonga."

("Even if they don't agree," Deva said, his voice low and firm, "her marriage will still happen with me. And as for my family..." he paused, his eyes darkening, "I'll handle them.")

With that, he slipped into the car.

The engine roared to life, slicing through the silence of the lonely street as the two men drove off towards Rathore Mansion.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived. The gates creaked open, revealing a grand palace-like but eerily silent house.

They stepped inside - and were greeted by nothing but the echo of their own footsteps.

Nothing new. Silence was a usual guest here.

Without a word, they walked straight towards Deva's personal study, where the real plans were always made.

                  *****************

𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆-

It was lunchtime, and the grand Rathore dining hall buzzed with chaos. Silverware clinked, laughter echoed, and the younger members of the whole joint family were lost in their playful banter. The aroma of freshly served dishes filled the air, mingling with the sound of chatter and teasing voices.

But the moment footsteps echoed down the marble corridor, the noise began to die.

One by one, conversations faded, replaced by the sound of approaching authority.

𝘋𝘦𝘷𝘢 entered first - tall, composed, his expression unreadable. Shiva followed closely behind, his presence equally commanding. The two men took their seats of the long dining table, and instantly, the atmosphere shifted.

Glances were exchanged, throats were cleared, and silence slowly spread across the table like a ripple through still water.

No one dared to speak.

Because everyone in the Rathore mansion knew one thing - Deva hated noise.

The only sound was the faint clinking of Deva's spoon against his plate. Then, without looking up, he spoke - his voice calm, deep, and cutting through the quiet like a blade.

"I'm getting married."

The words hung in the air, heavy and electrifying.

For a moment, nobody moved. Even the air seemed to hold its breath - as if the walls themselves weren't sure they'd heard him right.

Shiva turned his head slightly, studying Deva with a faint, knowing smirk - the kind that said he'd been waiting for this moment.

_________________________________________