Aashvi's POV

I spotted my mother the moment I stepped into the café.

She was sitting in the far corner, posture straight, fingers wrapped delicately around a cup of chai she had probably been nursing for a while. A half-eaten biscuit sat on the saucer, untouched, like she had taken one bite and then forgotten all about it. That was her. Always lost in her thoughts, always calculating something in her head.

And yet, the second she looked up and saw me, her lips pursed in that familiar, assessing way.

She didn't say hello. Didn't ask how I was.

Instead—

"The dress is nice," she said, eyes skimming over me. "But your hair... you should've worn it down. That bun makes your face look rounder."

I bit back a sigh and slid into my seat without responding.

That was Naina Singh.

It didn't matter how famous I was. That I was a bestselling romance author, that I had millions of followers, that I made more money in a month than most people did in a year.

None of it mattered.

Because the only thing my mother had ever truly cared about was how presentable I was. How perfectly polished I appeared. How well I fit into the image of the woman she had always envisioned me to be.

And I never quite measured up.

I had spent my childhood hearing the same comments—lose weight, sit properly, don't be so loud, wear this, not that, straighten your hair, don't smile too much, but also don't look too serious.

Now, at twenty-six, nothing had changed.

But I didn't react.

I had long since learned that reacting to my mother was a losing game.

Instead, I simply picked up the menu, pretending I hadn't heard her.

She didn't push. She had bigger things to discuss.

And soon enough, she slid a sleek, ivory business card across the table toward me.

I stared at it without touching it.

Mahira Mehta
Matchmaking Concierge.

A slow exhale left my lips.

"You can't be serious."

"I am," my mother said smoothly.

I let out a humorless laugh. "What happened to ladkiyan apni zindagi khud banati hai? Or was that only valid as long as I chose a career you approved of?"

Her lips pressed together, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. "Don't start, Aashvi."

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Then what is this?" I gestured at the card. "You, of all people, hiring a matchmaker? You won't even take an auto without checking if the meter's rigged, and you're telling me you paid her?"

"This is an investment," she said simply.

I huffed. "An investment?"

"Yes."

Something about the way she said it made my stomach tighten.

I picked up the card, turning it between my fingers. I already knew who Mahira Mehta was.

Everyone did.

She wasn't just a matchmaker—she was the matchmaker. The kind who didn't advertise, who didn't work with just anyone. She curated alliances like a high-stakes chess game, handpicking only the most eligible of the elite. She truly was an investment - but not for people like us.

And I knew exactly how much of a big deal she was—because of Kabir.

"My parents are working with her for my sister's rishta," he had said once, over a drink at one of his after-parties. "She's intense. Super selective. Only takes on clients she believes are the right fit for certain families. Even we weren't an easy yes."

I had raised a brow. "And you think I'd ever fit into a world like that?"

He had smirked. "Not in a million years."

And he wasn't wrong.

I had laughed about it then, brushing it off like a joke.

But now, staring at that business card, I wasn't laughing.

"How much?" My voice was quieter this time.

My mother's fingers tapped against her cup.

"Mumma!"

She sighed, looking away for the briefest second. "It doesn't matter."

"The hell it doesn't."

She picked at the edge of the saucer. "It wasn't much."

I knew that tone. It was the same one she used when she said she was fine after skipping dinner because money was tight. The same one she used when she said she'd figure it out after I found out our school fees were overdue.

My stomach sank.

"How much?" I asked again.

She hesitated, then sighed. "Thirty lakhs."

The air left my lungs.

I blinked. Once. Twice. My ears were ringing.

She looked away, suddenly very interested in the café's menu card.

"You spent thirty lakhs?" My voice came out strangled.

She didn't answer.

Of course, she didn't.

Because there was nothing she could say to justify this.

This wasn't my money. I didn't need her money. I had built a life for myself, had worked my way up to a place where I was financially independent. My books sold. My name carried weight.

But this—this was her savings. The money she had smartly secured over the years, the cushion she had built for herself. And my mother was not the kind of woman to let go of that safety net easily.

I exhaled sharply. "Why?"

She straightened her shoulders. "Because without it, you wouldn't have even made it onto the list."

I frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

She held my gaze, something sharp and knowing flickering in her eyes.

"You think families like those are waiting for someone like you?" Her voice was deceptively calm. "A self-made, independent woman who makes her own money? A branded whore who's been linked to half the men in the industry, who's had rumors about her dating life splashed across social media? Do you think those people want their sons marrying an influencer, a woman whose name has been in gossip articles for all the wrong reasons?"

My stomach twisted.
She was spitting facts and hearing it from her kind of felt like a stab to my deep seated insecurities.

"Are you really that delusional?"

She sent me spiralling into my hole of thoughts. I had so many questions. The concept of shoving me into a family like that isn't just unrealistic, it's wrong. The class divide is insane. I have seen these people up and close and I can vouch for the fact that they are some of the most fucked up people you'll ever meet.

"Don't you think one of the major pillars of any marriage is love?" I threw my first question but before I could phrase my next one, she was ready with her answer.

"Aashvi, just hear me out. Your father was not someone I wanted to marry. He was my need,"

When she said this, my heart dropped. It's not like I didn't know this tale but that felt too blunt. No matter how he is, that's my father she's talking about.

"My mother had just passed away and if I stayed even a month longer in that childhood home of mine, something really bad could have happened to me. I have never lied to you about the fact that I was, in fact, in love with someone else but that marriage couldn't happen - the pain of which faded with time but never truly disappeared."

I thought this was going to be one of her preachy lectures but she was onto something with this story.

"Your father was an amazing man, wealthy, handsome, kind, generous and probably everything a woman would ever want and naturally, I fell in love with him too," she took a sip of her chai before continuing.

"The whole concept of one love, eternal love is bullshit. It only exists in the movies. So yes, for some time, I made peace with the fact that maybe love wasn't for me and maybe this marriage will sustain because of love. And you know what your father did next? He took me for granted. Not for a while but for the rest of his goddamn existence and do you know why he did that? Because he knew I loved him and I would never leave him,"

"But-"

"I'm not done yet," she calmly stated before wrapping up.

"Love took me nowhere. If at all it did something for me was to leave me with unending hope, expectations and disappointments. Not once, not twice but for as long as I can remember,"

This was the moment I wanted to just hug her tight but my mother wasn't big on affection.

For a moment, it felt like all the bullying I had endured growing up was just a young woman, scared and alone, in a world that repeatedly failed her, trying to polish me in her own twisted ways because she didn't know any better. I mean, she wasn't even safe in her own house and the men she loved always let her down.

"Now you tell me, do you really want to make a choice based off love? Given your reputation, who even will marry you?"

And she's back.

"Some sleazy second generation wealthy step son of a new money father who probably cheats on his second wife as well,"

"What if I tell you I don't want to marry at all!" I tried to reason again.

"Oh please. There's only one thing I've absolutely loved about you - your ambition. Yes I did want you to make your own money because nobody wants to marry a stupid woman. Remember how you used to crush on that Rajasthani Prince? That sparkle in your eyes, I can never forget it." She said it with so much love that I wondered if she only ever cared about the men I was crushing over and not the part where I used to go around saying I'll make so much money that she wouldn't have to worry about a thing.

"And now you are finally beautiful enough to secure a match with so much fuck-you money that you probably wouldn't have to lift a finger for the rest of your life. Please don't ruin it for yourself. You can be what I could only dream of,"

I suddenly felt cheap. I don't know why.

Ideally, I shouldn't be feeling that way because I had left behind the concept of marriage years in the past. I had seen zero successful marriages growing up but somewhere I still believed in a fairytales and the idea of being rescued and loved and what not until someone crushed my heart like it was nothing.

Even today, everyone married around me is either miserable, depressed or on the verge of killing their spouse.

I set the business card down and let out a sharp breath. "Get a refund."

My mother blinked. "What?"

I leveled her with a look. "Get a refund, Mom. This is insane. You're telling me you spent thirty lakhs just to get me on a list? A list I don't even want to be on?"

She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Nothing I ever say makes any sense to you," she muttered before she stated,
"It's not that simple."

I narrowed my eyes. "It's money, Mom. There's always a way to get it back."

"No, there isn't," she said flatly. "Not with her."

I could feel my jaw tighten. "Of course there is. You haven't signed a contract, right? You haven't gone through the whole process yet. Just tell her you've changed your mind."

My mother shook her head, fingers tapping against her cup, her expression eerily calm.

"It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" My voice edged into frustration.

"Because this isn't some online shopping return policy, Aashvi," she snapped. "It's Mahira Mehta. You don't get on her list, change your mind, and get your money back like it's a gym membership. It doesn't work that way."

I stared at her.

The irritation in my chest swelled.

"So what, you just... threw thirty lakhs into a black hole?" I bit out. "And now we just accept that it's gone?"

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her shoulders tightening. "I invested in you."

I let out a bitter laugh. "That's one way to put it."

Her gaze hardened. "It's the only way to put it. You have no idea how much I had to fight for this. You weren't supposed to be here, Aashvi. Your name? Your reputation? Our family reputation? One background check and we were out. I had to push. I had to make calls. I had to convince her that despite everything—despite your career, despite the gossip, despite your father—you were still worth considering."

I gritted my teeth. "And you think that's a good thing? That it's something I should be grateful for?"

She gave me a long, measured look. "I think you should at least see what she has to say before you throw a tantrum."

My fingers clenched around the edge of the table.

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her exactly what I thought about this so-called investment. I wanted to tell her that she and I were not the same people. Our stories were different, our lives, our circumstances everything was different.

But before I could, the energy in the room shifted.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic.
It was a profound hushed presence.

And then, she walked in.

Mahira Mehta.

I knew it was her before I even saw her properly.

There was something about the way the café reacted to her. A ripple in the air, the way conversations dimmed ever so slightly, the way people subtly turned to glance at her as she passed.

She was tall, poised, draped in an elegant ivory sari that looked like it had been handwoven for royalty. Not a single hair out of place, diamonds glinting subtly at her ears, her expression unreadable but commanding.

She wasn't just powerful. She owned the space around her.

I finally understood why my mother said this was an investment because this woman wasn't just going to find me a husband.

She was about to change my life.

And I had no idea whether that terrified me or intrigued me.

_____________________________

Oh. Oh. You thought this was just another mother-daughter argument? That this was just about marriage? Sweethearts, this is about so much more.

Let's talk about the real questions here:
    •    How did Aashvi even make it onto Mahira's list without ever meeting her?
    •    What exactly did Naina Singh have to do to make this happen?
    •    And most importantly... why does it feel like this isn't just about marriage—but something bigger, something calculated?

Because let's be real—Mahira Mehta doesn't work with just anyone.

And the fact that she walked in at that exact moment? Oh, this isn't luck. This isn't fate.

This is design.
Aashvi's life is no longer just her own. And she has no idea what she's just stepped into.

Also, believe me, these are not some filler chapters. I know it's a romance but I want to give our side characters some base as well. I want to create a solid base for all the future conflicts so you don't feel confused. It's a slow burn and also a long story so we're not in a rush. Just be patient and we'll soon be having mostly Agastya Aashvi scenes.

Drop your theories in the comments, share with your friends, and you have full freedom to practically SCREAM in my comments if you ever feel the need to. You have no idea what's coming next.