The morning didn’t feel different. The sky looked the same. The corners of my room were still dusty. But something in me had changed.

I sat up, slow and careful, like I was afraid to startle the silence that had wrapped itself around me. For a second, I thought maybe it hadn’t happened. Maybe I had just imagined the conversation. Maybe it was just one of those dreams that stays heavy in your bones for no reason.

But it had happened.

Last night, my father had said, “We’ve spoken to a family.”

My mother had added, gently, “They’re nice people.”

And the silence that followed was mine.

I hadn’t asked his name.

Or his age.

Or his profession.

Because none of it mattered. When a decision isn’t yours, the details feel decorative.

🪔

At the breakfast table, I sat alone at first. Dad left early, busy being the man behind a hundred decisions while mine had been made for me without a single word.

Maa joined me ten minutes later, carrying a plate of toast and a cup of tea she hadn’t stirred well.

She sat across from me. I didn’t meet her eyes.

“I know this happened faster than you expected,” she began, carefully, her tone somewhere between gentle and guilty.

I took a sip of tea. Too bitter.

“They’re a good family,” she said, like that could fix something. “Nice people. Simple, grounded… the kind who value relationships.”

I nodded once.

Not out of agreement.

Just to acknowledge sound.

“He’s a good man,” she added, quieter this time. “Polite. Educated. Stable.”

I said nothing.

“You’ll be happy, Diya,” she said, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

She stopped after that, the silence between us louder than any protest I could’ve voiced.

🪔

The rest of the day passed like most Mondays– disguised as normal, drowning in noise.

I went to work. Because emails didn’t care about emotional turmoil. Meetings didn’t wait for inner clarity. And tasks didn’t vanish just because you wished they would.

I filed reports. Sat through video calls. Ate lunch I couldn’t taste. And functioned. Like I always do.

🪔

I came home just past 8, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with work. My bag slid off my shoulder with more force than I intended. I toed off my shoes near the door and stepped inside the quiet house, too quiet– the kind that feels planned.

In living room i saw both of them– Papa and Ma, seated on the sofa like they’d been rehearsing something. Papa had a notepad open, pen in hand, his glasses perched low on his nose. Ma sat beside him, hands resting on her lap, fingers laced too tightly.

They looked up as I walked in. Papa cleared his throat like he was beginning a business meeting. “The date has been fixed,” he said.

I stood still.

"Your roka beta,” Ma added. “It’s in three days.”

They both looked at me then– waiting. Watching. Expecting… something.

Shock. Tears. Anger. A reaction.

But I gave them nothing.

Just a blink. A breath. A nod so small it could’ve been imagined.

And then I walked away.

My bedroom door clicked softly behind me. I sat on the bed, not bothering to switch on the lights. The room was dim, lit only from the soft glow of my fairy lights, the dots of warmth strung across the wall, pretending to make things feel less heavy, My fingers curled into the blanket.

They were really doing this.

There was a knock. Then the door creaked open without waiting for a reply— of course.

Ananya stepped in, her phone in one hand, a cream roll in the other, eyebrows furrowed like she’d just discovered a plot twist.

“Whose roka is in three days?” she asked, flopping onto my bed. “When are our parents going to stop talking about other people’s rishtas on speakerphone like we don’t live here?”

She let out a dramatic sigh and rolled onto her side, face half buried in the pillow. “So? Who’s getting married now? Priya di? Or is it Vivek bhaiya? It can’t be Pooja di, right? Do you know anything about it? Are we going to Indore to attend it or what?”

I didn’t respond. I just sat at the edge of the bed, staring ahead.

She sat up slowly, turned to face me, and squinted. "Why are you making that face like it’s your roka lol?”

I didn’t blink.

“Because it is,” I said.

Ananya froze.

There was a full second of silence where even her cream roll paused in her hand.

“…What do you mean?”

“My roka,” I said, voice flat. “It’s in three days.”

“You’re joking.”

I didn’t say anything.

She scrambled up, now standing directly in front of me. “Wait— WHAT?! When did this happen? And why didn’t you tell me?”

How could I?

How could I, when she’d spent the last two years chasing a dream that asked everything of her? Waking up before the sun, falling asleep on notes, memorising ncert till her eyes hurt just to earn a seat most people only talk about getting.

And she did it. She got in. First year, government medical college. New world. New pressure. New reasons to be exhausted.

She had just started figuring it out, finding some rhythm, some space to breathe. How could I throw this at her now, when she finally had a little peace?

I forced my voice into something calm. “It happened yesterday.”

Her mouth dropped open.

I changed the look on my face. That blankness. That heaviness. I smoothed it out like I always do. Replaced it with something inoffensive. Numb. Neutral.

“You didn’t tell me,” she repeated, softer now, eyes scanning my face. “You said you won’t marry. Especially not this young. You’re twenty three, Diya. You said early twenties were for working, for building something. You were so sure.”

I stayed quiet.

She exhaled hard, angry now. “Don’t tell me Dad forced you into this. I swear if he did, I don’t care what happens, I will talk to him—”

“Ananya,” I cut in. “He didn’t force me.”

He didn’t shout. He didn’t threaten. He just made it sound like there were no other options. He gave me two choices yes or yes.

“I agreed because I wanted to.”

She blinked.

“…What? Why?”

Because i didn't want us to be scared again, scared of anything and everything triggering him to burst out. Because I knew how Dad’s anger echoes. Because I wanted to keep everyone from falling apart.

But instead, I said it.

“Because… he’s hot.”

She was shocked.

I was shocked.

What the hell did i just say?

There was a full two seconds where she just stared. "WHAT?!” she shrieked, clutching her chest like I’d stabbed her with a scented candle.

“I mean— he’s… good looking,” I tried, immediately regretting every word I’d ever spoken.

“NO, no no no,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “There is a very clear difference between hot and good looking, and you said HOT. Now spill. Show me his picture.”

“I don’t have one.”

Her eyes widened even more. “You don’t— wait. Have you seen him in real life? Already? Is this a thing?! How long has this been going on?!”

“I—what? No!” I fumbled. “Dad showed me his picture.”

He hadn’t. But I said it anyway because it was easier than explaining I was saying yes to a complete stranger.

“Who is this man?” she whispered dramatically. “Who is this rare exception who made my sister agree to marriage just from a picture?”

I didn’t answer. Because I couldn’t. I didn’t know anything about the person I was getting tied to and to be honest it didn't even matter at this point.

“I’m only approving this because you said he’s hot,” she muttered, walking toward the door. “I want a full report card at the roka. If he turns out to be average, I’m dragging you back.”

She paused. “Also— I’m going to tell Aarav.”

“No, you’re not—”

But she was already gone.

And just like that, her laughter left the room.

And so did my smile.

🪔

I sat there, the echo of her footsteps fading down the hall, too light for how heavy I felt.

Roka.

Three days.

No name. No face. No voice.

I didn’t even know what I was walking toward. Just that I was walking. And I’d already said yes. And i couldn't take it back. I wouldn't.

The reason, at least for me, was clear.

Obvious, even.

But what about him?

He hadn’t met me. Hadn’t asked a single question. Why would a man agree to something like this? Was he that eager? That desperate?

And then it came— the thought I hadn’t allowed until now.

Maybe… he’s wondering the same thing.

Maybe to him, I’m just a name scribbled in a discussion. Just another checkbox in a conversation he didn’t want to have.

Maybe we both said yes for the wrong reasons. Or no reason at all.

The hospital walls had started to blur into memory. The day had crawled by. Then the night. Then another stretch of daylight, quite and weightless, as if time itself had stopped keeping count.

The urgency had softened. Monitors blinked steadily. Footsteps were slower. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air like old grief.

Dadu had made it through the night. Just barely. The worst seemed to be over, but the fragility still clung to him like an aftershock. Every breath he took now felt borrowed. And his grandson was holding on to each one like a man who had nearly drowned and wasn’t ready to let go of the shore just yet.

Vedant sat by Dadu’s bedside, the pale morning light casting long shadows across the floor. In his hands was a steel bowl, half filled with warm dal, a spoon resting against its edge. He brought the spoon up carefully, steady hands hiding tired eyes.

Dadu stared at it. Then at him.

Vedant huffed a silent chuckle. “You want flavours? Then get better soon. I'll get you whatever you ask for”

Dadu raised a brow "Even your mother's rajma chawal?" Vedant smiled, a real genuine smile. "Even that."

Dadu opened his mouth slowly and let the spoon in, his hands too weak to hold anything yet. Vedant watched, gaze fixed, not just to feed, but to be sure. That he could swallow. That his chest wouldn’t hitch again. That his heartbeat didn’t stumble.

Mondays were usually a strom for Vedant. Markets in motion. Clients calling. Meetings colliding. But he didn’t step into his usual world of glass walls, conferences, and relentless responsibility. Because today, none of it mattered.

At dawn, he’d called Arnav.

“I won’t be coming in,” Vedant said quietly.

“Should I reschedule the board meeting for next week?” Arnav asked, knowing better than to push.

“Shift it. Push everything. Handle what you can.”

“Understood, sir.”

That was all. No clipped tone. No frustration. Just calm, practiced detachment.

He hadn’t looked at his phone since.

Yesterday blurred into fragments. He hadn’t left Dadu’s side. Not when the machines screamed. Not when his mother’s hands shook in prayer. Not when silence pressed into his spine like a blade. Only once had he left, around 8 p.m. when atharv quietly stepped into the room.

“Bhai…”

Atharv’s voice broke the silence, low and steady. He didn’t approach right away, just stood by the door, watching his brother sit, unmoving, in the dim light of the hospital room.

“You need to go home.”

Vedant didn’t answer. His gaze hadn’t shifted from the bed— from Dadu, asleep but stable, the monitor’s soft beeping the only sound keeping time.

“You’ve been here since it happened,” Atharv said quietly. “Thirty hours. You didn't eat, didn't sleep.”

Still nothing.

“He’s okay now,” Atharv added, stepping closer. “The worst has passed. He had his meal. His vitals are holding. The doctors said home care might be possible soon. But right now, he needs rest. And so do you.”

Vedant’s hands were clasped together, knuckles pale. He wasn’t listening. Or maybe he was– he just couldn’t allow himself to hear it.

Atharv came to stand beside him, his voice getting softer “He's better now... and he'll rest easier knowing you've rested too.”

That made Vedant blink.

“I’ll stay,” Atharv continued. “I’ll sit right here. I won’t move. If anything changes, I’ll call. You know I will.”

Vedant finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, face drawn. The kind of exhaustion that went deeper than the body.

“I'll be back in an hour."

Atharv didn’t waver. “Rest a bit and then come back."

A beat passed. Heavy. And then Vedant stood, slow and reluctant. He adjusted the blanket one last time, smoothed it out even though it didn’t need fixing. Then he nodded— not at atharv but as if trying to convince himself it was okay to leave.

He walked out the door without a word.

But before he disappeared down the corridor, Atharv’s hand found his shoulder.

A single press. That was all. And sometimes… that was everything.

🪔

The sky had opened sometime between the hospital and home.

Vedant hadn’t noticed until he stepped out of the car— cool droplets on his skin, soft and uninvited. The kind of rain that didn’t roar, just lingered. Quiet, like something grieving alongside you.

The bathroom tiles steamed as hot water rolled down his back, but nothing in Vedant moved. He stood under the shower like it could wash away the weight of the past thirty hours— the machines, the prayers, the silence, and everything in between.

When he stepped out, the world outside his window was still wet. Rain slipping down the glass in slender lines, steady and unbothered.

He changed into t-shirt and sweatpants. Then he lay down. The ceiling offered no answers, just a pale, blank stretch that mirrored his chest. Still. Too still.

His hand slipped into his pocket. Fingers closed around it instinctively– small, familiar, impossibly present.

He hadn’t even noticed when it had become a habit, this quiet reach for something that didn’t belong to him but had, somehow, grounded him more than anything else. A simple shape, gold and gentle, pressed into his palm like a memory he hadn’t lived.

He didn’t know who she was. Didn’t know how it ended up in that elevator or why he hadn’t turned it in.

All he knew was that in moments when the world blurred— hospital corridors, waiting rooms, prayers muttered into antiseptic air, it had been there. Still. Steady.

A borrowed calm.

And tonight, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he held onto it just a little tighter.

The chain slipped through his fingers as his thoughts slipped elsewhere—

Back to that moment. When he had walked out of Dadu’s hospital room the night before, the family had swarmed him in the hallway.

His mother was the first to speak, her voice no louder than a breath. “How is he?” Eyes brimming but dry. Like she’d run out of tears hours ago. His father stood beside her, arms folded, face unreadable– waiting, like everyone else.

Vedant didn’t speak right away. Just gave a faint nod. Small, but steady.  That said He’s here. Alive.

That was all they needed to hear.

Then he looked at his father, gaze even, voice low.

“I’ll do it.”

A pause. Then—

“I will marry... her."

A stillness followed— brief, heavy.

Then his chachu let out a soft exhale and stepped forward, placing a hand on Vedant’s back. Not congratulating. Just grounding.

The rest happened quietly. A few exchanged glances. A nod. A phone call. No joy. No questions. Just quiet urgency, like everyone had been waiting for this one decision to fall into place.

Like relief, edged with worry. The proposal went out that same day.

Not because anyone was ready— But because time, it seemed, was no longer a luxury any of them could afford.

🪔

The bowl of daal sat empty now, pushed to the corner of the tray, its contents endured more than enjoyed...

Vedant sat beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, fingers laced, gaze steady. No longer holding vigil. Just… being there.

Not in memory. Not in worry.

But in presence.

Beside the man whose quiet strength had shaped his own, who can read him like an open book.

Vedant sat on the same chair, watching Dadu drift in and out of sleep. When the nurses came in for rounds, he stepped back. Watched the vitals. Listened to the updates.

“He’s stable now,” the doctor said, nodding. “Weak, yes. But holding well. We’ll discharge him tomorrow. He’ll need care. Medication. But we can shift observation to the home environment.”

Vedant felt the knot in his chest loosen. Not disappear— just enough to breathe better.

Later that evening, his mother found him in the waiting lounge, quiet, still, a half empty cup of tea cooling beside him.

She sat down without a word at first. Then, gently, “Pandit ji called.”

He didn’t look up. She continued.

“He said the stars are favourable… three days from now.”

A pause. Then, softer, “We’ll begin the preparations for the roka.”

He exhaled slowly. Not out of protest. Just to make space inside himself for what came next.

And then he nodded.

No questions. No resistance.

Three days.

Enough to shift the ground beneath him. Not enough to change the choice he’d already made.

He still didn’t know her name. He had never seen her face. But he had said yes. Not out of hope. Not out of desire.

But because the man who had shaped his world asked him to.

And for that, he didn’t need to believe in the stars.

He only needed to believe in him.

🪔

The next morning unfolded gently, woven into soft hospital sheets and the hush of pale sunlight filtering through half drawn blinds.

Dadu was awake. Propped up higher than yesterday. A little stronger. Though fatigue still clung to him like a second skin, refusing to fully let go.

The discharge papers were ready. Medications neatly listed, instructions repeated twice. Just to be sure.

The family gathered with the kind of relief that didn’t need words.

Atharv stood near the door, quietly thanking the senior resident who’d overseen Dadu’s case. His eyes were a little less tense. His shoulders, finally at ease.

Vedant stood beside the hospital bed, methodical as ever. Packing Dadu’s bag with quiet precision– checking for every prescription, stowing away the files, tucking in the shawl Dadu always liked for car rides.

The arrangements had already been made.

Private ambulance. A nurse for daily visits. Equipment set up back home before sunrise. Every detail accounted for, as if Vedant could will the world into order with enough control.

By noon, the car pulled into the driveway. Dadu was wheeled in, slow but steady, a blanket over his knees, eyes scanning the house like it had aged while he was gone.

The wheels of the wheelchair had barely rolled past the threshold when a delighted squeal rang through the hall.

“Dadu!”

Misha toddled across the living room carpet, arms flailing slightly for balance, her steps unsteady but determined. Her little anklets jingled with every hurried wobble as she made her way to him– clumsy, giggling, breathless with joy. She couldn’t climb into his lap, so she did the only thing she could: threw her arms around his leg and clung tight, pressing her cheek against his knee like it was the safest place in the world.

Dadu let out a quiet, choked laugh, his fingers trembling slightly as they reached down to stroke her hair.

She looked up, wide eyed, grinning with her four teeth.

And just like that— the house felt alive again.

Vedant never left his side.

He stayed in the chair beside Dadu’s bed, cross checking dosages, timing meals, adjusting pillows with a care that came from muscle memory, not obligation.

This wasn’t about duty. This was about love.

And in three days, the choice he never meant to make would begin to take shape.

Roka.

A future carved not from love, not from longing, not from his own will— But from the quiet hope in someone else's eyes.

Vedant had never believed in marriage.

Not the kind he’d grown up watching.

It looked like duty without gentleness, presence without connection.

He didn’t want to repeat that.

Didn’t want to become that.

But when Dadu had looked at him,

Eyes clouded with age, with fear, with the ache of knowing time was running out... Vedant couldn’t bring himself to say no.

So he didn’t.

He still didn’t know the girl.

Didn’t know what life would look like after this.

But he knew what was asked of him.

And he’d already stepped into it.

And somewhere in the hush of that acceptance,

Dadu’s voice echoed—

"She reminds me of someone I once knew. Someone who used to believe in softness... someone who used to be you."

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Hi delulus, hope you're doing well! 🌷

How did this chapter feel to you? Was the pace working for you?

I know it’s a slow burn (😭), but that’s intentional. I really want the emotions to sink in before we dive into the big moments.

Next chapter: the roka! 💍💕

If you enjoyed this one, don’t forget to vote ⭐

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the story so far, drop a comment and tell me what you feel about this story! 👀💬

For aesthetic edits, sneak peeks, and spicy spoilers, follow me on Instagram ✨

📷 @authorem_

Thank you so much for reading, always.

With love,

– M 💌