Arjun's POV
She's cute.
That was the first real thought that settled in Arjun's mind as he took her in properly, beyond the polite glances and surface observations. Not in a loud, movie-scene kind of way—but in the soft, unexpected kind of way that made his heart slow down for half a second. There was something about her—an innocence, maybe. Or the way she seemed to be holding herself together so carefully, like she was afraid she might fall apart if she breathed too deep.
And the lehenga? His gaze lingered on the pink fabric, the delicate embroidery glinting in the light. It's a little much, he admitted inwardly. It felt too grand, too formal, like she was dressed for a stage. But somehow… she made it work. She didn't seem overdone. She seemed soft in it. Fragile. A little lost.
Why is it so quiet? The silence in the room was growing thick, like a fog he couldn't see his way through. His father had stopped talking. Why? Why did he stop? Why is he looking at me like that? Oh no. Does he want me to say something?
He shifted slightly, clearing his throat, trying to summon something—anything—that sounded normal. He turned toward her—
And froze.
She's looking at me.
Her eyes—big, dark, uncertain—had lifted just enough to meet his. And in that brief, fleeting second, their gazes locked.
Eye contact. Crap.
His heart did this weird, unexpected thing—stumbled, then picked up speed, like it didn't know how to handle this moment. He wasn't supposed to be the nervous one. That wasn't him. He was the guy who joked around easily at college, who could hold a conversation with anyone, boy or girl, without a second thought. He wasn't the guy who fumbled for words, who forgot how to breathe just because someone looked at him.
Why am I nervous? His inner voice demanded an answer. This doesn't happen to me. I talk to girls all the time. I don't blush. I don't stammer. I'm frank. I'm straightforward. So what is happening right now?
Before he could overthink it more, his mouth moved. "Hi." The word came out simple, but in his own ears, it sounded stiff. Robotic. Like he'd forgotten how to be himself.
Shruthi's gaze dipped instantly, as if the eye contact had been too much for her. Her voice came soft, barely audible: "Hi."
And then his brain did the thing it always did—overanalyzed.
Was that a rejection? The thought hit fast, unwelcome. Was I too blunt? Did I sound cold? Is she already uncomfortable because of me?
But even as the panic tried to rise, his eyes caught the slightest flush on her cheeks, the faintest tint of pink rising to the tips of her ears.
She's blushing. Relief washed through him, so subtle but so real. She's just shy. Not rejecting me. Just… overwhelmed.
His heart softened. The tightness in his chest loosened a little.
I can't do this. Not like this. He shifted in his seat, his fingers absently rubbing his thumb against his palm. This whole marriage setup—it's too intense. Too many eyes, too much pressure. I need to talk to her. Just her. Not like a deal on the table. Like two people figuring this out together.
And then, as if reading his mind, his father leaned in a little, voice gentle. "Do you both want to talk in private?"
Yes. God, yes. His heart leapt at the suggestion. Please.
But before the relief could fully land, Shruthi's mother cut in smoothly, a polite but firm edge to her words. "There's no need for all that. We've told you everything about her already."
Arjun understood immediately. Ah. He almost sighed. She wants to close the deal. Wants to move this along. She's nervous, too. But I can't agree. Not without hearing Shruthi's voice for more than just 'hi.' Not without seeing what's behind those eyes.
He took a breath and stood slowly, deliberately, trying not to seem too eager, too forceful. "No worries, aunty," he said, respectful, calm. His voice felt steadier now. More like him. "But I'd just like to talk to her alone. Just for a minute. Is that okay?"
He could see the flicker of surprise on her mother's face. A slight hesitation. And then, because of the way he asked—or maybe because of the look on his face—she nodded. "If Shruthi is okay with it…"
Thank God for my expression, he thought, amused at himself. Whatever it was, it worked.
He turned to Shruthi then, gentler now, wanting her to feel that this was her choice, not just the adults' decision. "Is it okay?" he asked, hoping his voice carried none of the nervous energy still thrumming beneath the surface.
She lifted her head slightly, her gaze hesitant but open, and nodded. "Sure," she said, her voice low, as delicate as a breath, but clear enough.
In that instant, Arjun felt something ease between them—like the first thread connecting two strangers had finally been tied.
---
Shruti's POV
They stepped onto the narrow balcony, the sounds of the street below floating up faintly—vendors calling, the distant honk of a scooter, the rustle of leaves in the mild breeze. The air smelled faintly of jasmine from the neighbor's creeper that wound along the iron railing.
Arjun didn't speak at first. He moved to stand beside her, not too close, but near enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence. He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the railing, his eyes fixed on the sky, as if it might offer him an answer he couldn't find in words.
Shruthi stood still, unsure what to do with her hands, finally folding them in front of her, fingers twisting the edge of her dupatta. He's so tall, she thought, sneaking a glance at him. And so quiet. Too quiet. The silence between them seemed amplified by the open space, by the vast sky that stretched beyond. I can hear my own breathing. And it sounded loud to her, embarrassingly loud.
What is he thinking?
Is he going to cancel this marriage?
Does he think I'm ugly? Maybe he's trying to figure out how to tell me without hurting my feelings.
Her heart raced, her mind bracing for rejection, for some polite excuse, for the ground beneath her feet to shift.
Then he spoke, his voice gentle, low, breaking the silence in the kindest way.
"Are you feeling nervous?" he asked, turning his head slightly toward her.
Shruthi felt the lump in her throat tighten. Yes! I'm terrified! she wanted to shout. But the words tangled inside her, too heavy with emotion. Instead, she nodded, her voice barely audible as she whispered, "Yes."
To her surprise, he chuckled softly, the sound warm, unforced.
"Actually… me too," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
Her eyes widened, blinking at him in disbelief. Wait. What? The guy who looked like he could walk out of a magazine ad or a perfume commercial—he was nervous? She hadn't expected that. Not from someone like him.
He glanced at her again, as if gauging her reaction, then took a breath and spoke carefully, thoughtfully.
"Are you okay with this marriage?" he asked. "I mean… do you have a boyfriend or something? If you really do, it's okay. I can talk with your parents. We don't have to go through with this if you don't want to."
Shruthi stared at him for a moment, startled. The last thing she expected was… this. His words weren't suspicious. They weren't accusing. They were kind. Considerate. He was giving her an out, if she wanted one.
"No," she said at last, her voice steadier this time. "I don't. And I'm okay with this marriage." Her heart pounded as she spoke, but she meant every word. Whatever this was… it felt better than the uncertainty of her own home.
There was a pause, then before she could stop herself, the question slipped out: "Is there any problem? I mean… from your side?"
Arjun hesitated, as if choosing his words. The breeze ruffled his hair slightly, and his gaze softened.
"You aren't happy with your parents, are you?" he asked quietly.
Her breath caught. She was stunned. "How did you—?"
"Their smiles," he said simply. "It's fake. I could see it. And my dad told me a little about your story. I can understand you."
Shruthi stared at him, heart beating faster—not from fear this time, but from the shock of being seen. Really seen. For someone who barely spoke, who seemed so composed, he noticed so much.
Arjun shifted his stance, standing straighter, his voice calm but firm.
"Look," he said, his tone honest. "I'm not interested in this marriage either. It's my father's wish. I don't have a girlfriend, and I'm not forcing this. But if we don't work out… we can divorce after your studies. I promise I won't make it difficult. Until then… your responsibility is mine."
He said it looking straight into her eyes, and something about the way he said it—so clear, so steady—made Shruthi feel something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Safe.
Not excited. Not giddy. Not swept off her feet like in the movies. But safe, like maybe the ground beneath her wouldn't fall away after all.
"Okay," she whispered, the word small, but certain.
He bent a little, lowering his head until he was closer, his eyes searching hers gently. His voice dropped, teasing but soft.
"Then shall we get married?" he asked, lips curved in the faintest smile.
Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest she was sure he could hear it. Her face felt hot—like fire had bloomed in her cheeks, spreading down to her neck. She looked down, flustered beyond words, too shy to meet his gaze.
"Sure," she finally managed to say, wishing she sounded braver, more composed.
And then—he smiled. Really smiled. Not polite. Not forced. But genuine, warm, and unexpectedly beautiful.
"Believe me or not," he said, his voice sincere, "you look beautiful in this dress."
Her eyes widened. What? Her mind stuttered. What did he just say?
He'd called her beautiful.
Look at yourself, dude! she thought wildly, I'm like a minion next to you. You— She shook her head inwardly. God help me. I'm melting. Literally melting right here.
For the first time that day, she felt a small, fragile hope spark quietly inside her.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
To be continued...