Life has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them.

Manik’s POV,

I woke up to the sound of muted voices and the faint clinking of dishes downstairs. For a brief moment, I considered rolling back under the covers and pretending the day didn’t exist. But I knew better. Today wasn’t just another day. Today, I was being dragged into a setup I wanted nothing to do with.

Groaning, I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the bathroom. The icy water splashing on my face did little to wake me up or shake off the growing sense of unease. By the time I got dressed and made my way downstairs for breakfast, the heaviness in my chest had only gotten worse.

Mom and Dad were already seated at the dining table, their conversation light and cheerful. Too cheerful for my liking. The moment I sat down, Dad looked at me with a small smile.

“Manik, make sure you’re ready by 11. We have to leave on time,” he said, setting his coffee mug down.

I rolled my eyes, stabbing at my toast with the butter knife. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve only told me a hundred times since yesterday.”

Mom shot me a warning look. “Don’t start with that attitude first thing in the morning. This is an important day, Manik. You’re meeting a lovely girl, and I want you to behave.”

I let out a dry chuckle, leaning back in my chair. “Lovely girl? Mom, I don’t even know her name. Or what she looks like. Or anything about her. And I’m already being forced into this meeting.”

Mom reached for the fruit bowl, picking a few grapes and placing them on her plate. “Her name is—”

I held up a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “Don’t. I don’t want to know. I’m not interested, Mom. Let’s not pretend this is something I’m looking forward to.”

She sighed heavily, her disappointment palpable. Dad, however, seemed unbothered by my outburst. He simply gave me his signature no-nonsense look. “Whether you’re interested or not isn’t the point, Manik. This is about responsibility. You’re old enough to settle down, and it’s time you started thinking about your future. This meeting is just a first step.”

I clenched my jaw, holding back the retort bubbling in my throat. Instead, I gave a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll be ready by 11.”

Dad nodded in satisfaction, and Mom gave me a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. I pushed my chair back and stood up, my appetite thoroughly gone. “I’ll be in my room.”

As I made my way upstairs, my mind started spiraling. The thought of sitting across from some random girl, being evaluated like a product on display, made my stomach churn. My palms were already starting to sweat, and my hands felt cold.

I closed the door to my room and leaned against it, letting out a frustrated sigh. My thoughts were a chaotic mess. Why is this even happening?

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. The idea of spending an entire lunch with strangers, forced to smile and pretend I cared, felt unbearable. And what if the girl said yes? What if her family was all for it? That would be a whole new disaster.

No. I couldn’t let it get that far.

I clenched my fists, trying to calm the storm in my head. “Okay, Manik,” I muttered to myself. “Here’s what you’ll do. You’ll meet the girl, be polite, but make it clear you’re not interested. If you’re lucky, she’ll feel the same way and reject you. Problem solved.”

The plan sounded simple enough in theory, but deep down, I knew things rarely went as planned when my parents were involved. Still, it was the best shot I had at getting out of this mess.

I got up and headed to the closet, pulling out a black t-shirt, a black jacket and a pair of black trousers. I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. My hands were trembling slightly, and my mind kept running through a million worst-case scenarios.

I took a deep breath, straightening my jacket. It’s just one meeting. This will be a piece of cake.

Grabbing my watch from the nightstand, I fastened it around my wrist and glanced at the time. 10:55. Perfect.

I headed downstairs, finding Mom and Dad waiting in the living room. Mom looked up and smiled warmly. “There’s my handsome son. You look perfect.”

I forced a smile, shoving my hands into my pockets to hide their trembling. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Dad raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, gesturing toward the door instead. “Come on. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Mom linked her arm with mine, her excitement practically radiating off her. “Manik, I know you’re not thrilled about this, but just... keep an open mind, okay? Talk to the girl, ask her questions, and try to get to know her. You might be surprised.”

I chuckled dryly. “Sure, Mom. I’ll ask her questions like, ‘What’s your favorite way to reject an arranged marriage?’”

She shot me a disapproving look but didn’t say anything. Dad, on the other hand, shook his head with a small sigh.

As we walked out to the car, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of girl would even agree to this setup. Would she be as reluctant as I was? Or would she be one of those overly polite, eager-to-please types?

I leaned back in my seat as the car pulled out of the driveway, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing. Whatever happened, I just hoped it would be quick and painless.

But deep down, I had a sinking feeling that this meeting was going to change everything. Whether I was ready for it or not.

The car slowed as the grand gates of the Murthy Mansion loomed ahead, its intricate design as imposing as the situation I was walking into. My heart thumped louder with every passing second. My palms were cold, and for someone who prided himself on control, I felt anything but. This needs to be over quickly, I told myself for the hundredth time.

As the car came to a stop, Dad turned to me, his eyes filled with a silent warning to behave. I nodded without a word. Mom gave me a reassuring smile, but it did little to calm my nerves. I stepped out of the car, smoothing down my jacket, and the warm Mumbai sun hit my face.

A man in his late forties approached us, his walk brisk and confident. “Mr. Malhotra, welcome,” he greeted, his voice deep and authoritative. This had to be Mr. Manish Murthy.

“Thank you, Mr. Murthy,” Dad replied with a polite smile.

Manish Uncle turned to me, his eyes scrutinizing. I bent slightly to touch his feet. “Bless you, young man,” he said, clearly pleased with the gesture.

We walked inside, and the mansion was just as grand as I’d expected. Modern yet traditional, with every detail meticulously planned. Just like a Murthy would have it.

A woman appeared next, dressed in a beautiful saree, her presence exuding warmth. She must be Mrs. Swarna Murthy. I bent again, touching her feet. “Bless you, beta. Welcome.”

“Thank you, Aunty,” I said politely, straightening up.

Another couple soon joined us. The man introduced himself as Rudraksh Murthy, while the woman, who looked young and graceful, introduced herself as Prisha, she was polite and asked me to address her as Bhabhi. I shook hands with both of them, maintaining the formalities, though my mind was still racing.

Everyone settled in the living room, the atmosphere casual but laced with an undertone of expectation. Dad and Uncle began discussing business, diving into numbers and market trends. I chimed in where necessary, keeping my answers crisp and professional. Rudraksh joined the conversation, asking me about Malhotra Industries, my vision for its future, and my approach to challenges.

It was like a corporate interview rather than a family meeting, but I didn’t mind. This was my comfort zone. The personal aspect, though, loomed in the back of my mind like a storm cloud.

Prisha Bhabhi disappeared for a while and returned with a tray of snacks and tea. She moved around serving everyone. She gave me a warm smile as she placed my tea before me.

“Thank you,” I said, nodding slightly.

“You’re welcome,” she replied softly.
Swarna Aunty leaned toward Prisha Bhabhi and whispered something. Prisha Bhabhi nodded, set the tray down, and walked toward the stairs.

“We should call Nandini now,” Swarna said, her voice light with anticipation.

The name didn’t register at first, as Dad asked me something about a recent merger, and I replied automatically. But as the conversation in the room continued, I found myself distracted by the thought of this girl I was about to meet. My mind whirled with assumptions, questions, and the growing unease of how this encounter would unfold.

And then I heard it. The faint tick-tick-tick of heels against the marble floor.

I turned my head toward the sound, and the world seemed to slow down. The conversation faded into a dull hum as my eyes focused on the figure approaching from the hallway.

The girl stepped into view, her form silhouetted by the soft sunlight streaming through the large windows. As she came closer, her face became clear.

And I froze.

My breath hitched, my chest tightened, and my heart felt like it had stopped mid-beat.

It can’t be.

But it was.

My mind raced as I tried to make sense of this twist. Of all the girls in Mumbai, it had to be her.

“Nandini?” The name escaped my lips before I even realized it.

She looked equally shocked, her eyes widening as they locked with mine. Her composed expression faltered for a split second, and then it was back—her signature poker face.

I shot to my feet, unable to contain my disbelief. “Miss Murthy?” My voice was louder than I intended, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

I struggled to find my words, still trying to process the situation. Nandini, of all people. Nandini, my secretary.

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to me, confusion and curiosity etched on every face.

Manik’s POV ends.

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Kiara ❤️❤️