Underlined terms will be explained at the end of the chapter for any non-desi readers. Feel free to ask me any questions if you are confused.

"Sibling One, FaceTime Audio. Answer it?"

The notification blinked on my screen as Siri announced it, a persistent reminder of my ever-growing list of responsibilities.

I sighed, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel as I sped toward the intersection. The light was about to change, and I wasn't about to let it catch me off guard. With a swift turn of the wheel, I managed to make the sharp right just in time, my car weaving between lanes like a dancer moving across a stage.

As I gained speed, my eyes flicked to the side mirror for a split second-just enough to catch the gleam of a traffic policeman pulling out his camera. The flash was unmistakable.

"Shit," I muttered, slapping my palm against the steering wheel in frustration. The officer had caught my number plate mid-turn, no doubt ready to send me a ticket I didn't have the energy to deal with. My head fell back against the headrest with a groan. The universe seemed determined to make my day worse.

The light ahead of me turned red just as I slowed to a stop. I let out another irritated huff, only for me to be jolted by a sharp honk as I slammed my head against the wheel.

The biker ahead twisted his body around to glare at me, his friend behind him mimicking the motion and throwing me a finger. I rolled my eyes. Really?

The first biker pointed to his eyes, then gestured at the red light. Yeah, I get it, I wanted to yell back, but I bit my tongue, resisting the urge. His exaggerated gestures only made me want to snap. Instead, I massaged my temples, the throbbing headache from a long day of work tightening like a vice.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, trying to steal a few seconds of peace before my phone blared to life again.

"Sibling Two, FaceTime Video. Answer it?"

If I were a cartoon, steam would've been pouring out of my ears. How could anyone be this dumb? I hadn't answered the audio call; what made them think I'd respond to a video call? Couldn't they wait until I was home? I was five minutes away-five minutes!

"Sibling Two, FaceTime Audio. Answer it?"

I groaned in exasperation.

"What?" I barked, not bothering to hide my frustration. My father's voice boomed through the car's speakers, instantly making me regret my tone.

"Rima."

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply as I composed myself. "Yes, Dad?"

In the background, I could hear my mother yelling at someone-likely my brother or sister. The sounds of the chaos at home bled through, the constant argument about who was supposed to do what. Typical.

"I'm on the way back," I said, keeping my voice steady, even though curiosity tugged at me. What was going on there? But I already knew the answer: any attempt to inquire would either get me wrapped up in the madness or make me even more irritable.

"Alright." My dad's voice softened just slightly before I heard the familiar click of him hanging up.

I sighed and focused on the road ahead. As I made another turn, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. The gates of my childhood home loomed ahead. The guard waved at me, the creak of the heavy iron gate echoing in the silence as it slowly opened.

To anyone else, the gated community might've looked like a maze-identical houses scattered in neat, seemingly endless rows. But to me, it was a place of predictability. A place I could navigate without thinking, a place I'd spent so many years trying to escape, yet here I was again.

I eased the car into the driveway of the fourth house on the sixth lane. A quick glance to my left, and there it was: the bold nameplate on the wall, its letters so familiar that they almost felt like an extension of myself.

Sanjay and Pallavi Thakur.

The moment I stepped out of the car, I felt it-something was off. My sister Bindu was waiting for me by the front door, her wide smile practically blinding in the 5:30 PM sun. Her shoulder-length hair swayed with every step she took toward me, the red highlights catching the light like they were made of fire. She was in some kind of mood today. I could tell. And she was definitely having a better day than me.

She was wearing a red kurti, one I hadn't seen in ages. It was the kind of outfit she pulled out only for special occasions-weddings, big family events, and... well, she never wore it for no reason. My mind raced, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Come on, we don't have time," she said, practically dragging me toward the house before I even had time to gather the mess of papers and case files I had hastily thrown onto the passenger seat. My day had been long, and I'd left work in such a rush I barely even remembered to lock the car. But she was already pulling me up the steps.

"Time for what?" I asked, my voice thick with reluctance, trying to keep up with her brisk pace. I glanced back over my shoulder and hit the lock button on the keys, though I was sure I'd deal with the rest of my things later.

We entered the house, and everything hit me at once. The usually calm space was now a blur of movement. Workers were darting around, wiping down surfaces, rearranging furniture, dusting corners, polishing anything that could catch the light. The hustle was so intense, I almost froze in the doorway. It was like the entire house was being transformed for something.

And my mother? She was in one of her finest sarees, looking every bit the part of the perfect matriarch, barking orders at people like she owned the place. My father, pacing back and forth with a phone pressed to his ear, was speaking in rapid, clipped tones, giving someone directions to the house. My brother, wearing a kurta, was inspecting a platter of sweets that was being laid out like it was a royal banquet.

Guests. But who? Whoever it was seemed to be important, and by the look of things, it wasn't just any guest. The frantic energy in the air made it clear. Whoever they were, they were at the center of this madness.

"Rima!" My mother's voice cut through the chaos, and I barely had time to process before she appeared in front of me, grabbing my arm. "Let's go. They'll be here in half an hour."

"Who? Relatives?" I asked, still trying to piece things together.

"To-be relatives," she said with such finality that I felt a strange chill run through me.

"To-be relatives?" My mind raced. I was about to ask more, but then my brother appeared behind us, his voice slightly panicked.

"Mom, where do we put these?" He gestured to a worker behind him, who was holding a small basket of fruit.

It took me a moment to connect the dots. I froze on the stairs, realization dawning on me like a slap in the face.

"I'll come down and tell you," my mother said, not noticing my sudden stillness. "For now, just leave it on the dining table."

The words were barely out of her mouth before I blurted, "You're getting married?!"

My brother nearly choked on his spit. He looked at me like I'd just announced the apocalypse. He spluttered something incoherent before he disappeared around the corner, dragging the worker with him.

I stood frozen for a moment, my brain still trying to catch up. "Not him?" I whispered to myself. Then who?

My gaze shifted to Bindu, and for a split second, I thought, Is she really doing this? But no-she was only 23. Far too young.

"Mom," I said, trying to gather myself. "Don't you think Bindu's too young? She's only 23!" I blurted the words out without thinking, my heart pounding in my chest. But my mother just shook her head.

"It's not her either," she said, almost dismissively, her eyes darting toward Bindu as if that was the end of the conversation.

My mind spun, trying to figure out where this was going. "What do you mean, it's not her?" I asked, confused. "Then who else could it be?"

Before I could finish, the truth hit me like a freight train.

Me?

The word left my lips before I could stop it, and I yanked my hand from my mother's grip, my entire body going cold. "Me?"

I stopped on the stairs, completely paralyzed by the realization. My brain refused to process it, to accept it. This couldn't be happening.

My mother looked at me calmly, almost kindly. "Yes," she said. "But don't worry. It's not an engagement, not a wedding. They're just coming to see you."

I shook my head, my heart pounding, and the walls around me seemed to close in. "Mom, you know I don't want to-"

"I know," she cut me off with a sharp glance. "But we got the call an hour ago, and you ignored all our calls. Look, Rima, you're 27. You're not getting any younger, and you know how society works. It's better that we try and tell them we've done everything we can, that we haven't found anyone suitable. It's better than them thinking there's something wrong with you."

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. My throat went dry, and for a second, I couldn't even speak. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Was this what my life had come to? My mother, as always, pushing me into things I didn't want, didn't ask for, but-was it really that bad?

In that moment, everything felt wrong, like a cruel joke. This wasn't my choice. It wasn't my life to control. And yet, somewhere beneath the anger and the disbelief, there was a small flicker of doubt.

What if I just... gave in? What if, for once, I let someone else decide? Would that make everything easier?

But no. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

I tugged my hand free from my mother's grip, my mind racing. "I'm not ready for this. I don't want-"

"Rima." My mother's voice was firm. "Just get ready. They'll be here soon."

As she pushed me toward my room, I felt the world spinning, the weight of a thousand expectations bearing down on me. I wanted to fight. To scream. To refuse.

"Mom, you know Rahul-"

"Rahul is not coming back, Rima!" Her voice was sharp, and before I could process her words, her hands gripped my arms with such force that I felt the pressure all the way to my bones. She shook me, the frantic energy in her touch making me feel like I might break under it. My chest tightened, and a lump formed in my throat as my eyes filled with tears, blurring the world around me. I didn't need her to remind me. I already knew. Rahul was gone. He had been for years.

But my mother, she couldn't bear the thought of me dwelling on it. Not anymore.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice softening. She took a step back, and I could see the sheen of tears in her own eyes. Her hands trembled slightly as they moved to my face, gently cupping my cheek. "I don't want people pointing fingers at my daughter. I love you, Rima. We all do. Can you give this a chance? Please?"

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, and the pain of everything-the scandal, the loss, the whispers that followed us like shadows-seemed to crash down all at once. I blinked rapidly, willing myself to hold it together.

My mother wiped a tear that had slipped down my cheek, her small smile filled with both hope and sorrow. I nodded, barely able to form the words I knew she needed to hear.

"I'll do it, Mom. I'll do it for you," I whispered.

"That's my girl," she whispered back, relief flooding her voice as she pulled me into her embrace. I hugged her back, my arms shaking as I held on tightly. When she finally pulled away, her eyes were still damp, but there was a spark of determination in them.

"Here." She handed me a deep blue saree, its fabric rich and luxurious against my fingertips. A set of matching jewelry, gold and intricate, followed in her hands. "Wear this. I'll come to get you once you're ready. And don't you dare come down on your own."

I looked at the clothes in my hands, my heart sinking deeper. This was happening. I couldn't escape it anymore.

She walked toward the door, pushing the door stopper back into place with an absent gesture. "It's windy outside. Make sure the door doesn't close on you, okay?" she added. As if on cue, a gust of wind rushed through the open window, sending a flurry of papers fluttering across the room and almost dislodging the stopper. She quickly slammed it back into place with a practiced hand. "You know what happened yesterday. Make sure it stays open. Don't want any more trouble."

A light chuckle slipped from her lips, and I couldn't help but smile myself. It was hard to keep a straight face when she was so earnest. I still remembered how my brother had ended up crying like a baby after getting trapped in my room when the wind slammed the door shut yesterday. We had teased him for hours.

"Thanks, Mom," I murmured, my voice barely audible as my throat constricted. The tears were threatening again, and I didn't know how much more I could take.

She kissed my cheek softly, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of her love. "No, honey. Thank you," she said, giving me one last smile before she slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

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2516 words

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glossary for my non-desi readers

• kurti : a traditional two-piece (sometimes three-piece if there is a duppatta or scarf included) outfit worn by females

• kurta : a traditional two-piece (sometimes three-piece if there is a duppatta or scarf included) outfit worn by males

• saree : a traditional outfit wore by females, particularly older girls and women

• sweets : no, they are not toffees or chocolates; they are a wide variety of sweet eatables that are made in many different ways, for example - jalebi(s) {like the Jason derulo video jalebi baby}

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