Priya's family home was not an apartment, but a proper, old-Chennai house—spacious, with high ceilings that held the lingering, sacred scent of sandalwood incense. The air was cool and still, thick with unspoken judgment. Arjun felt it the moment they stepped across the threshold, his family moving with a polite, collective stiffness behind him.
Priya's parents sat side-by-side on a carved rosewood sofa, their posture erect, their expressions a careful mask of courtesy. Her father, Mr. Iyer, was a man of quiet authority, his eyes sharp behind rimless glasses. Her mother, Mrs. Iyer, had a gentle face that currently held no gentleness, only deep, searching scrutiny. Priya's younger brother, Karthik, leaned against a bookshelf crammed with academic trophies and engineering journals, his arms crossed, his gaze openly skeptical.
Priya stood near the doorway, a still point in the tension. She met Arjun's eyes for a fleeting second—a look that was both an apology and a challenge. Here we go.
His mother, in her finest silk saree, offered a practiced smile. "Such a beautiful home. So much shanti," she said, the peace she referenced feeling galaxies away.
"Thank you. Please, sit," Mr. Iyer said, his voice measured.
The ritual of tea and almond biscuits began, a delicate dance of porcelain and silence. It was Priya's father who broke it, setting his cup down with a precise click.
"So, Arjun," he began, turning his full attention on him. "Priya tells us you've agreed to marry her. That's… quite a decisive step. For both of you."
Arjun's father cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. It was unexpected for us as well, but we trust our son's judgment. He has always been a thoughtful boy."
"Thoughtful," Mr. Iyer repeated, not unkindly, but with pointed emphasis. "A thoughtful man plans. Priya also mentioned you were, until very recently, employed?"
"I was let go yesterday, sir. Annual restructuring," Arjun said, forcing his voice to remain even. He saw Karthik's lips tighten almost imperceptibly.
"I see." Mr. Iyer leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze unwavering. "Let me be direct, Arjun. Priya has dedicated her life to public service. She has a demanding career, one that requires immense focus and stability. As her father, my question is simple: in your current situation, how do you plan to support her? Or, for that matter, yourself?"
The room held its breath. Arjun felt his mother's anxious energy beside him. He looked not at Mr. Iyer, but at Priya. She was watching him, her face calm, giving nothing away.
"Sir," Arjun began, turning back. "I won't lie or make empty promises. I don't have a job right now. But I have skills—I've worked in IT, I understand systems, I'm adaptable. I will find my footing. As for supporting Priya…" He paused, choosing his words with care. "I don't believe she needs supporting in the way you mean. She is, as you said, dedicated and capable. She's stronger than most people I've known. My role isn't to hold her back or be a weight for her to carry. It's to stand beside her. To be a partner, not a provider."
A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—passed through Mr. Iyer's eyes. Mrs. Iyer, who had been studying the pattern on her saree, looked up at Arjun with a new, quieter intensity.
It was Karthik who broke the fragile moment. He pushed off the bookshelf, his tone dripping with condescension. "You're from Delhi, right? North Indian. How do you think you'll fit in here? Chennai isn't just a city on a map. It's a culture, a language, a way of life. Priya's career, her entire life, is rooted here. What if you can't adjust? What if you get tired of being 'the husband of the IAS officer'?"
The title hung in the air, explosive and new.
Arjun's head snapped toward Priya. IAS officer? His family stiffened in unison, a shockwave passing through them. His father's eyes widened. His mother's hand flew to her chest. Ria just stared, open-mouthed.
Priya closed her eyes briefly, a slight sigh escaping her. She hadn't told them.
Arjun's mother recovered first, her maternal instincts overriding her shock. She placed a gentle but firm hand on the sofa between them, addressing Karthik. "My son was raised with respect for all cultures. He is not a stranger to adapting. And love, beta, finds a way. It builds its own home."
But the revelation had changed the battlefield. The question was no longer about a job. It was about scale, about prestige, about a chasm they hadn't known existed.
Priya finally spoke. She didn't raise her voice, but it filled the room, clear and unequivocal. She stood, and in that simple movement, she was no longer just their daughter in their living room. She was the officer.
"Appa, Amma, Karthik," she said, her gaze sweeping over them. "I didn't clear the UPSC, I didn't become an IAS officer at twenty-six, to let others decide my life for me. Not even you. I chose Arjun. I chose him because he is intelligent. Because he is kind in a way that isn't weak. Because when he looks at me, he sees me—Priya—not my title, not my salary, not what I can do for his status. He sees the person. And that is what I need."
She turned her fierce, beautiful eyes on Arjun, including him in her declaration. "If you're asking whether I've thought this through, the answer is yes. If you're asking whether I'm ready for the challenges—the gossip, the politics, the comparisons—the answer is still yes. Because I will not be facing them alone. Arjun will be with me."
Her parents exchanged a long, silent look. There was undeniable pride there, but it was warring with a deep, visceral fear for their daughter's future. Mr. Iyer sighed, the sound heavy with resignation and love.
"Priya," he said, his voice softer now, frayed at the edges. "We have always supported your choices. Even when they terrified us. But this… this is different. It's your life, permanently intertwined with another's." He looked at Arjun, then back at his daughter. "We will not stand in your way. You have our blessings—as your elders, as your parents, we will always bless you. But remember this: we will not support you in this beyond that blessing. No financial help, no political leverage, no interference. If things go wrong… if you ever regret this choice… you can always come home. This house, our hearts, will always be your home."
"I will make sure," Priya said, her voice thick with emotion but unbroken, "that there never comes a time when I need to come back."
The meeting, its purpose grimly fulfilled, moved to its next phase. A pandit was summoned, a venerable old man with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. Kundalis were produced, charts filled with celestial Sanskrit. The families watched as he peered, calculated, murmured.
Finally, he looked up, his expression grave. "For a union this year, there is only one truly auspicious window. The best date is three days from now. Muhurat is perfect, alignment is supportive. After that…" He shook his head. "The next good date is not for another thirteen months. And if you wait, the charts show severe complications—graha dosha, conflict, instability. Even danger in the union."
A stunned silence descended. Three days.
Arjun felt a bizarre laugh bubble up in his chest. The arbitrariness of it, the cosmic pressure, was absurd. He met Priya's gaze and saw the same defiant amusement there.
"Well," he said, a slow smirk touching his lips, breaking the solemnity. "Guess the universe wants us to be husband and wife now… or never."
Priya smiled back, a real, radiant smile that lit up the tense room. "We'll be one. No matter what the stars say, that's my choice." Then her expression sobered, her eyes searching his. "And once I make a choice, I don't give it up." She took a step closer, her voice dropping, for him alone, yet heard by all. "You won't go back on your words, right? I'm putting my trust—and my life—in your hands."
Arjun shook his head, his own voice soft but clear in the hushed room. "Your trust, Priya, I accept. It's an honour. But your life?" He held her gaze. "No. That's yours. We're not here to sacrifice anything. We're here to make something. Together."
The decision, propelled by astrology and sheer stubborn will, was made. The pandit began a low chant, marking the official start of the preparations. As the families rose, buzzing with sudden, frantic purpose, Arjun's father pulled him aside.
"You heard him, beta," his father said, his voice low and urgent. "Three days. You have three days to prove to them—and more importantly, to yourself—that you are ready for this. An IAS officer… Collector of this district, no less." The weight of the unspoken title, the sheer magnitude of her reality, finally settled between them.
"I know, Papa," Arjun said, his mind already racing ahead of the wedding rituals, to the life that would begin the moment they ended. Three days. To build a foundation for a lifetime.
As they stepped out into the evening heat, the deal was sealed not with cheers, but with a solemn, shared understanding. The path was chosen. The gate had swung shut behind them.
And just like that, the die was cast—no turning back, no second thoughts. Only forward.