The morning sun seeped through the sheer curtains of the South Delhi flat, offering a warmth that felt entirely unearned. It wasn't a new morning in any metaphorical sense; it was merely a carbon copy of the last seven days. Outside, the city was waking up with its usual violent enthusiasm. The persistent hum of traffic—the high-pitched whine of auto-rickshaws and the rhythmic thud of nearby construction—seemed louder inside Aarshika's head than it did outside her window.
Pressure had a way of amplifying everything.
To Aarshika, the world was usually a series of data points—a stream of logic that could be filtered, cleaned, along with her novels. But today, the noise was "dirty data". It was interference.
She sat at the small dining table, the blue light of her laptop clashing with the orange hue of the sun. Her fingers moved with mechanical precision, scrolling through Python scripts and Excel sheets for LensenTech.
"Aarshika…"
The voice was soft, feathered with the kind of hesitation that usually preceded a heavy request. It was her mother, Anvi. She stood by the sideboard, her hands busy with a silk dupatta. She had folded it, smoothed it, unfolded it—and was now folding it again.
"No, Maa," Aarshika said flatly. She didn't look up. Experience had taught her that eye contact was a contract she wasn't ready to sign. "We've talked about this. These models are due by noon, and the variance in the third quarter is still off."
"Data, data, data," her father, Shubhank, muttered as he snapped his newspaper shut. The sound landed like a small gunshot in the quiet room. "You're twenty-eight, Aarshika. In our family, by twenty-eight, people are married. They have homes. They have children. They aren't staring at glowing screens until their eyes turn red."
"People my age also have peace, Papa," she snapped. The composure she usually wore like armor was thinning. For months now, this had been the soundtrack of her life—breakfast served with a side of emotional blackmail.
"Aarshika!" her mother reprimanded, before softening into a sigh. "Itna gussa… beta, we aren't forcing you. We're your parents. We're just asking you to consider the possibility of a life that isn't just… work."
"You have been forcing me," Aarshika said, finally shutting the laptop lid.
The silence that followed was heavy.
"Every dinner is an interrogation. Every Saturday is a 'casual' visit from a relative who just happens to have a biodata in their pocket."
Her father leaned forward, the newspaper forgotten. "Vivaan is a good boy. His family is known to us. He's settled. He's responsible. He's respectful. What more is there to look for?"
"Compatibility?" Aarshika suggested, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"He's extroverted. He's loud. We met at that wedding five years ago, and he spent forty minutes talking about his gym routine to a plate of paneer tikka. We are a different species, Papa."
Anvi sat across from her, reaching out to cover Aarshika's hand with her own. "Every match isn't love at first sight, beta. Love isn't a lightning bolt; it's a garden. You plant the seeds, you water them, and affection grows with care."
Aarshika looked toward the balcony. "Maybe I don't want my life to be a project, Maa. I have enough projects at the office."
"We're getting older," her father's voice dropped into a lower, more manipulative register. "We want to see you settled. Safe. In a good home."
Safe.
The word felt like a deliberate insult. To them, her independence was a hazard. Her late nights weren't signs of ambition; they were symptoms of a life left unguarded. She wanted to explain that her safety was built into her savings account and her intellect, but she knew the words would fall on deaf ears.
In their world, a woman was only safe when her name was joined to a man's.
Safety was marriage to them—and it didn't make sense to her.
"I'm not against marriage," she whispered, the fight leaving her. "I just want it to mean something."
"Then meet him once," her father seized the opening. "One proper meeting. No relatives. Just you and him. If you say no after that, we will drop it."
Aarshika stared at him. "You won't drop it. You'll just wait two weeks and bring up another name."
He didn't blink. Silence answered for him.
She felt something inside her tighten. She was tired. Tired of arguing, of being the sensible one, of carrying a responsibility she didn't ask for.
"Fine," she said. The word felt like a white flag. "Set the meeting."
As she stood up to gather her things, her younger brother, Daksh, emerged from his room. He was twenty-six, still navigating the early years of his career—and the only person in the house who truly saw her.
He followed her into the kitchen as she poured a cold cup of tea. "So," he asked softly, leaning against the counter, "the fortress finally crumbled?"
Aarshika glared at him. "Don't start, Daksh. I'm doing this so they'll let me breathe for a week."
Daksh's expression softened. He was the one who helped her move the heavy cardboard boxes of "supplies" into her room when their parents weren't looking. He didn't know the full details of what she was building, but he knew it involved late nights and a passion she never showed at her real job.
"You know why they're pushing so hard today, right?" Daksh asked, picking at a piece of toast.
"Because they're obsessed with my 'expiry date'?"
"No," Daksh sighed. "Because they want me next. Maa said it this morning—'Once Aarshika is settled, we can find a nice girl for Daksh.' You're the bottleneck, Didi. You're holding up the whole production line… and also because they love Vivaan a lot. They've been family friends for a long time—you know that."
Aarshika felt a pang of guilt mixed with fury. "So my life is just a clearing agent for you?"
"I didn't say that. I hate it as much as you do," Daksh said, stepping closer. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "But look at your hands. You're shaking. You're taking the heat for everyone, but you're burning out."
"I'm just tired, Daksh. I'm so incredibly tired of performing."
"Then don't perform for Vivaan," Daksh advised. "Go there. Be your most boring, data-obsessed self. He'll be the one to say no, and you'll be off the hook."
Aarshika managed a small, genuine smile. "You're a genius."
"I'm a younger brother," he grinned. "It's in the job description."
She rolled her eyes.
Lets try this too wheather it work or not trying won't harm
---
That night, the house finally went quiet.
This was Aarshika's time.
She sat on her small balcony, shielded by stacks of files and her laptop. This was her secret universe. She opened a folder hidden deep within her drive. She wasn't looking at spreadsheets for LensenTech anymore.
A presentation lay halfway through—her secret business scattered around her like an alternate universe.
The only thing that was her peace.
Her escape.
Her dream.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her best friend,Irsha
Irsha: Again fight?
Aarshika: Eventually gave up.
Irsha: You okay?
Aarshika: I'm fine.
Fake it till you make it… she doodled in her open diary.
They talked for a few minutes and then hung up. She didn't want to talk; she needed silence. She kept working—making presentations, writing, planning—until her fingers and eyes hurt, because work was easier than thinking.
And maybe that's what helped her breathe.
----
A week later, she found herself standing outside Vivaan's large, modern house in South Delhi. It looked like the kind of place where laughter echoed and no one ever worried about electricity bills.
Her mother nudged her. "Smile."
"I am smiling."
"Fake smiles don't count."
Aarshika rolled her eyes and walked inside.
Vivaan entered the room like sunshine—bright, confident, friendly.
"Hi, Aarshika!" he said, extending his hand with an easy grin. "Finally meeting properly!"
She shook his hand. "Yes. Nice to meet you."
He laughed. "Please don't talk like we're in an arranged marriage interview. My mom might start playing background music."
She blinked. He was trying to be funny.
But we are in an arranged marriage interview, aren't we?
At least for her.
She forced a smile.
"Let's sit?" he asked.
They moved to a quieter corner.
"So… tell me about yourself," he said, leaning forward like he genuinely wanted to know.
"I work at LensenTech," she said. "Data Scientist."
"Nice! Corporate jungle," he chuckled. "I tried working in an office once. Left in three days."
She raised a brow. "Three?"
"I get bored easily," he admitted. "And you? Hobbies?"
Aarshika hesitated.
She couldn't say: Running a secret business till 2 a.m.
So she said, "I like reading."
"Oh wow. I don't read at all," he said proudly. "But my friends do! Especially Aadhrik—he's like… professor-slash-poet. Bit boring," he added with a laugh.
Aarshika smiled politely. She didn't know who Aadhrik was—and honestly, she didn't care.
Vivaan talked a lot.
About his cousins.
About his business.
About his friend group, which sounded like at least eighteen people.
He laughed loudly.
Complimented her thrice.
Tried to make her comfortable.
He wasn't bad.
Just… too much.
Too bright.
Too talkative.
Too everything.
She was quiet, observant, inward.
He was fireworks.
She was a candle flame.
But marriage wasn't about poetry, right?
When they finished, Vivaan asked, "So… would you like to meet again? Maybe with my friends?"
She nodded, because saying no felt too exhausting. Because he wasn't bad, and somewhere she knew she didn't have an escape. "Sure."
His smile widened. "Great! I'll plan something."
Her parents were glowing when she returned home.
"So?" her mother asked.
"He's… okay," she said honestly.
"Okay is good!" her father declared.
She didn't argue.
She didn't have the energy.
She knew fighting would give nothing.
She had tried for so many years—now she didn't care.
She let things flow their way this last time.
Just this once.
---
Planning began. More meetings followed.
She tried—really tried—to be happy, to live in the present. But something felt off in her gut, like something she couldn't see yet. She shrugged it off. Maybe it was just the wedding she never saw coming taking over her head.
Weeks passed in a blur of phone calls, venue visits, and family dinners.
Vivaan remained the same—warm, extroverted, overflowing with energy.
Aarshika remained herself—quietly drowning in expectations.
She met his huge friend group twice. They were loud, cheerful, and overwhelming. But one friend was missing both times.
"Aadhrik is busy," someone said. "University deadlines. He barely socializes."
Aarshika nodded, the name sliding through her mind like a stranger in a crowd. It felt vaguely familiar, like a melody heard in a dream—but she dismissed it. She had a wedding to plan and a secret business to protect.
She didn't know then that the 'bore' Vivaan joked about would be the only person who would ever truly hear her silence.