Author's pov

The Hooda household hummed with an energy that Vikrant Hooda rarely welcomed. His mother and younger siblings busied themselves preparing for the arrival of the Chautalas, family friends whose visit seemed to have stirred an uncharacteristic excitement in the usually stoic household.

Vikrant sat in the dimly lit study, poring over the village accounts. The rhythmic scratching of his pen against paper was interrupted by his father’s gruff voice.

“Vikrant,” his father began, entering the room,“Maine tumhare liye ek faisla kiya hai.”( “I’ve made a decision for you.”)

Vikrant looked up, his dark eyes narrowing. He knew that tone—firm and unwavering. “Kaunsa faisla?”(“What decision?”)

“Ab tumhari shaadi ka samay aa gaya hai,” (“It’s time for you to marry,” )his father declared, crossing his arms.

Vikrant leaned back in his chair, the pen slipping from his fingers. “Shaadi?”(“Marriage?”) he echoed, his voice laced with disbelief.“Mere paas in faltu cheezon ke liye samay nahi hai.”( “I don’t have time for such distractions.”)

“Yeh behas ka mudda nahi hai,”(“This isn’t up for debate,” )his father said. "Chautala parivaar ki ek beti hai, Samaira. Woh tumhare liye ekdum sahi hai. Dayalu hai, samajhdar hai, aur ek izzatdar parivaar se hai.”(“The Chautalas have a daughter, Samaira. She’s the perfect match for you. Kind, intelligent, and from a respectable family.”)

“Mujhe gaon sambhalne ke liye patni ki zarurat nahi hai "(I don’t need a wife to lead the village")Vikrant replied sharply. "Shaadi sirf mushkilein lekar aayegi.”(“Marriage will only bring complications.”)

His father’s gaze hardened.  “Yeh tumhari chahat ki baat nahi hai, Vikrant. Yeh gaon ki zarurat ki baat hai. Hamare parivaron ka yeh rishta sambandhon ko majboot karega aur sthirta layega.”(“This isn’t about what you want, Vikrant. It’s about what the village needs. A union between our families will strengthen ties and bring stability.”)

Vikrant clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He respected his father deeply and rarely defied him, but the idea of marriage—a bond he had never believed in—felt like a chain around his neck.

---

In the neighboring village, Samaira twirled a piece of ribbon around her finger, sitting on the swing in her courtyard. Her father’s announcement about her impending marriage to Vikrant Hooda had left her in a state of restless uncertainty.

“Papa,” she said softly, looking up at him as he sat beside her,  “Kya aapko sach mein lagta hai ki woh mere liye sahi insaan hain?”(“Do you really think he’s the right one for me?”)

Her father smiled, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Samaira, Vikrant ek accha insaan hai. Woh mazboot hai, anushasit hai, aur janmjaat neta hai. Tum uski zindagi mein roshni laaogi, aur woh tumhe sthirta dega.”(“Samaira, Vikrant is a good man. He’s strong, disciplined, and a born leader. You’ll bring light to his life, and he’ll give you stability.”)

Samaira nodded, her heart heavy with apprehension. She had dreamed of love—soft, warm, and tender. Could a man like Vikrant, with his cold and intimidating aura, ever fulfill those dreams?