ANIRUDH

I walked into the meeting room, still reeling from the unexpected encounter with the scooty girl.

The conversation around me buzzed, but my mind was elsewhere.

Her eyes-sharp, blazing, full of life.

Her nose-small and slightly upturned, crinkling adorably when she was angry.

Her lips-naturally pink, pursed in irritation.

Her voice-sweet, yet laced with sarcasm and attitude.

There was something about her... something different. She wasn't like the people I usually dealt with. She wasn't intimidated by my presence, my wealth, or my status. She had scolded me as if I were just another reckless driver on the streets, not Anirudh Singhania, the CEO of one of the most powerful companies in Mumbai.

Her words echoed in my mind.

"Ye muft ke paise baantne ke badle me agar sorry bolna sikh loge to acha hoga." (If you learn to say sorry instead of throwing free money around, it would be better.)

A small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips.

"Mr. Singhania?"

I barely registered the voice calling me.

"MR. SINGHANIA!"

This time, the voice was sharp and commanding, snapping me out of my trance.

I blinked rapidly, realizing that the entire room had gone silent. Several pairs of eyes were fixed on me.

I cleared my throat, trying to act composed. "Ye-Yes?" I stammered, something that rarely happened to me.

Mr. Singh, one of our senior board members, narrowed his eyes at me. "Are you alright? You seem... distracted."

I straightened in my seat. "Yes, yes, of course. Please continue."

But Mr. Singh just smirked knowingly. "The presentation is already over, Anirudh."

My jaw tightened slightly. "Oh. Right. Yes."

A few chuckles echoed in the room. I resisted the urge to sigh.

"Thank you, Mr. Singh. Good job, everyone. We'll discuss the next steps in our follow-up meeting." I dismissed them quickly, eager to escape the questioning stares.

As soon as the room cleared, I leaned back in my chair, pressing my fingers against my temple. What the hell was wrong with me?

I never lost focus during meetings. Ever.

But today...

I exhaled sharply. Damn that scooty girl.

Just then, my phone rang. I grabbed it, expecting a work-related call, but my stomach dropped slightly when I saw the name flashing on the screen.

Maa.

I hesitated for a second before answering. "Hello?"

Before I could say anything else, her firm voice cut through the line. "Anirudh, where are you?"

I ran a hand down my face. "At the office, obviously. Where else would I be?"

"Office time me call kyun kiya, yahi kehne wale ho na?" (You were about to ask why I called during office hours, right?) she said, already predicting my response.

I sighed. "Maa-"

"I called because we are going to the girl's house today to finalize the marriage. I need you home in 30 minutes."

A wave of irritation surged through me. I had completely forgotten about this.

"Maa, I don't think-"

"No arguments, Anirudh," she snapped, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. "I expect you to be here on time. Do not make us wait."

And just like that, she hung up.

I stared at my phone, exhaling slowly.

Great. Just great.

Of all days, today had to be the day they decided to finalize my arranged marriage.

I never wanted this. I had never been interested in this setup. But in my family, what I wanted had never really mattered.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. My mind flashed back to the scooty girl, the fire in her eyes, the way she had returned my money without hesitation, the way she had stood her ground against me.

A thought struck me suddenly.

What if the girl my mother had chosen was nothing like her?

What if she was timid? Soft-spoken? The kind who wouldn't even dare to question me, let alone scold me in the middle of a busy street?

I sighed. I was screwed.

Just then, a notification popped up on my phone-a message from my mother with the location pinned.

I stared at it for a moment before finally grabbing my coat and exiting my cabin.

As I walked towards the elevator, a strange unease settled in my chest.

This was my life. A life where my choices were already made for me.

I got into my car, plugged in the location, and began driving through the crowded streets of Mumbai.

The GPS guided me away from the city's high-rise buildings and into the quieter suburbs. As I drove, my thoughts kept drifting back to her.

To the scooty girl.

To her words.

To the way she had looked at me like I was just an ordinary man who needed to be put in his place.

I shook my head. Damn it, Anirudh. Focus.

I had a more pressing issue to deal with right now.

The GPS finally announced my arrival, and I pulled up in front of a modest house. It was a simple, two-story home with a small garden in the front. A far cry from the extravagant mansions I was used to.

I parked the car, turned off the engine, and exhaled.

Here we go.

Steeling myself for what was about to come, I stepped out of the car and walked toward the house, my thoughts still tangled in confusion.

One part of me was prepared to meet my so-called 'future wife.'

The other part?

It was still stuck on the scooty girl.

ROOP

I sat beside Taiji, my mind still struggling to process the sudden announcement of my marriage proposal. My fingers trembled as she took my hand in hers, her grip warm but firm.

"Dekho beta, bahut acha rishta hai," she began, her voice soft yet persuasive. "Ladka bhi bahut sundar hai aur acha khasa kama leta hai. Ye rishta haath se nahi jaana chahiye. Samjhi?"
(Look, beta, this is a very good match. The boy is handsome and earns well. We shouldn't let this opportunity slip away. Understand?)

I stared down at my hands, my lips pressing into a thin line. How was I supposed to explain that I didn't care about his looks or his wealth? That I wanted something beyond a "good match"-something like love, freedom, a choice?

"Agar ye rishta aaj haath se gaya, to tum jaanti ho kya hoga," my grandmother warned, her voice carrying a sharp edge.
(If this proposal slips away today, you know what will happen.)

I swallowed hard. I knew exactly what she meant.

If I rejected this match, they would marry me off to a drunkard, a man who would destroy the last pieces of dignity I had left. A fate worse than death.

I was trapped.

Taiji gave my hand a gentle squeeze as if she could sense the storm raging inside me. I looked up at her, hoping-praying-that she would say something, anything, to stop this. But she didn't. She never would.

"Jao, acche se tayyar hoke neeche aao," Tauji said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
(Go, get ready and come downstairs.)

I nodded mechanically, feeling like a puppet being controlled by invisible strings.

I walked to my room, my footsteps heavy, my heart even heavier.

I sat in front of the dressing table, staring at my reflection. The girl looking back at me wasn't me. She was a stranger. A girl who had forgotten how to dream.

Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.

"Why me? Why always me?" I whispered, my voice cracking.

What had I done to deserve this? Why was I always the one forced to sacrifice?

"Don't I have the right to choose the man I want to spend my life with?" I asked the empty room, knowing I would never get an answer.

A sudden knock on the door made me jolt.

"Jaldi tayyar ho, ladke wale aa gaye hain," Dadi's stern voice came from the other side.
(Hurry up, get ready, the groom's family has arrived.)

I quickly wiped away my tears.

"Ji, Dadi. Abhi aayi," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady.
(Yes, Dadi. Coming.)

Taking a deep breath, I opened my closet and pulled out my favorite outfit-a light blue top with palazzo pants. If I had to be a prisoner, at least I would dress like myself one last time.

I let my hair down, applied a little kajal to my eyes, and swiped some lipstick over my lips. A pair of matching bangles and simple jhumkas completed my look.

I didn't know what I was trying to prove. Maybe I just wanted to feel like I had control over something-anything.

But the moment I stepped into the living room, all control slipped from my grasp.

All eyes turned toward me as I entered. The air was thick with expectation.

I glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar faces.

A woman sat on the couch-probably his mother. Beside her was a man, likely his father. Next to Taiji sat a young girl, most likely his sister.

And then my eyes darted to the one person I was supposed to meet.

Where was he?

What is his name?

Before I could dwell on that thought, his mother stood up and walked toward me. She cupped my face in her hands, her touch unexpectedly warm.

"Bahut pyari bachi hai," she said, her eyes filled with kindness.
(Such a beautiful girl.)

I froze.

No one had called me beautiful since my parents died when I was fourteen.

I felt something tighten in my chest, but before I could process the emotions rushing through me, she spoke again.

"Agar tum meri bahu banogi to meri khush kismati hogi, beta," she said with genuine warmth.
(If you become my daughter-in-law, it will be my good fortune, beta.)

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Just then, his father cleared his throat.

"Arey, pehle dono bache aapas mein baat toh kar lein, phir woh decide karenge unko shaadi karni hai ya nahi," he said, his tone gentle.
(Let the two of them talk first, then they can decide if they want to get married or not.)

For the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he wasn't like my family. Maybe he believed in choices.

But before I could latch onto that hope, a sudden knock on the door stole my attention.

Taiji got up to answer it.

"Aao beta, andar aao," she said in a welcoming tone.
(Come in, child, come in.)

I turned to see who it was, and my heart stopped.

No. It can't be.

The man who had crashed his car into my scooty was standing there, looking effortlessly dashing in a dark blue suit.

Our eyes locked.

A silent storm passed between us.

He looked equally stunned, his brows furrowing in disbelief.

It was him.

Oh God. I want to hide myself.

His mother looked between us and asked, "Tum dono ek doosre ko jaante ho?"
(Do you both know each other?)

I opened my mouth to deny it, but he spoke first.

"N-No," he said, hesitating for a fraction of a second. "How do I know her, Maa?"

His mother chuckled and nudged him. "Then Introduce yourself, beta."

He turned to me and extended his hand. His confidence had returned, his signature smirk in place.

"Hi. I'm Anirudh. Anirudh Singhania."

My breath hitched.

So this was him.

I placed my hand in his, feeling a spark of electricity at the contact. "Roop Malhotra," I replied, keeping my voice steady.

Anirudh sat down beside his mother, and an awkward silence stretched between us.

His father cleared his throat. "Dono bache pehle aapas mein baat kar lein. Aapko koi dikkt toh nahi?"
(Let the two of them talk first. Do you have any issues?)

"Nahi, nahi, humein koi dikkt nahi," Tauji said immediately, his false smile intact. "Roop beta, Anirudh ko garden mein le jao."
(No, no issues. Roop, take Anirudh to the garden.)

I nodded and led the way.

The moment we reached the garden, I turned to him, my voice low yet desperate.

"Look, I can't deny this proposal, otherwise my family will fix my marriage with a drunkard."

His eyes darkened with something I couldn't place-anger? Pity?

"So, you will marry me because you have no other option?"

I exhaled, my shoulders sagging. "Yes. But after marriage, if you don't want me in your room, I can move out or sleep on the couch. I won't touch-"

He cut me off, his voice quiet but firm. "Roop, I know you don't like me, and you don't want this marriage. It's okay. I'll talk to your family. I won't force you into this."

I felt panic rise in my chest.

"No! Please... Don't talk to them. You are my only option."

Anirudh stared at me, his sharp gaze studying my face as if searching for something-hesitation, doubt, regret.

I didn't look away.

I had nothing to hide. Nothing to lose.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Roop, shaadi kisi majboori mein nahi ki jati."
(Marriage isn't something that should happen out of compulsion.)

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. "Yahi toh farq hai tumhari aur meri zindagi mein, Anirudh. Tumhare paas choice hai, mere paas nahi."
(That's the difference between your life and mine, Anirudh. You have a choice. I don't.)

His expression darkened.

"Main tumhari family se baat karunga-"

"Nahi!" I cut him off, my voice sharp with desperation. "You won't understand. You've never seen helplessness, Anirudh. You don't know that when a girl has no options, she only looks for survival."

A strange silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken pain.

Anirudh sighed and leaned back against the bench, his fingers tapping against his knee. "You're telling me you'd marry any stranger just because you have no other way out?"

I stiffened. "You're not a stranger."

His lips quirked up, almost amused. "Until a day ago, I was."

I clenched my fists. "I don't care who you are. I just need to accept this match, or the other option will destroy me."

Anirudh fell silent, his gaze steady on me. The playfulness in his eyes faded, replaced by something more intense, more thoughtful.

Finally, he asked, "And what if I tell you that I don't want to marry you either?"

My breath hitched.

I hadn't thought about that.

A sudden lump formed in my throat.

Of course, he wouldn't want to marry me. Why would he? He was rich, powerful, and successful. He probably had women lining up for him. This marriage wasn't an obligation for him-it was an inconvenience.

I forced myself to keep my voice steady. "Then that makes both of us helpless."

His jaw tightened. "I'm not helpless."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Do you really think someone can force you into marriage?"

He didn't answer.

"Mujhse alag ho, Anirudh," I continued, my voice laced with bitterness. "You and I are different. I have no name, no money, no freedom. You have everything. You can walk away. No one will stop you."

His eyes softened, but there was something unreadable in them.

After a long pause, he murmured, "Can I ask you something?"

I nodded hesitantly.

He leaned forward, his voice gentler than before. "If you had a choice, would you still marry me?"

His question struck something deep within me.

Would I?

If this weren't about desperation, if my life weren't a mess, if I had the freedom to say no-would I still choose Anirudh Singhania?

My throat dried.

I didn't know the answer.

So I gave him the only one I could.

"But I don't have a choice."

Anirudh's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes-an emotion I couldn't name.

He nodded slowly and stood up. "Alright, Roop. If you need just one option, then I'll be that option."

I blinked, taken aback. "You-You'll marry me?"

He gave me a small, almost resigned smile. "You said you have no choice, right? Then from now on, neither of us has a choice."

I stared at him, unsure whether to feel relieved or terrified.

He was agreeing.

He was actually agreeing.

But at what cost?

And why did I feel like this was just the beginning of something much bigger than I had ever imagined?

I narrowed my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest. "Lekin shaadi ke baad main ek cheez pakki kar dungi, Anirudh Singhania."
(But after marriage, I will make sure of one thing, Anirudh Singhania.)

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Kya?"
(What?)

A slow smirk tugged at my lips as I took a step closer. "Scooty ka badla toh main jaroor lungi."
(I will definitely take revenge for my Scooty.)

His mouth parted slightly in surprise before he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You're really something else."

I tilted my head. "And you haven't even seen anything yet."

For the first time that evening, the air around us felt lighter. The weight of our circumstances still loomed over us, but in that moment, as we stood there in the dimly lit garden, something shifted.

I wasn't sure what it was.

But it was there.

And it wasn't going away anytime soon.

Anirudh leaned against the garden railing, his sharp eyes studying me with quiet curiosity. "Toh bataiye, aapke baare mein kuch."
(So, tell me something about yourself.)

I scoffed, shifting my weight onto one leg. "Shaadi fix ho rahi hai, tab yaad aaya mujhse baat karni chahiye?"
(Now that our marriage is being arranged, you finally remembered to talk to me?)

He let out a small chuckle, running a hand through his neatly styled hair. "It's the first time I've had a marriage proposal like this, so I think I deserve to know something about you, Roop Malhotra."

I looked away, a bitter smile on my lips. "What will you do after knowing about me, Mr. Singhania? Whatever you hear will just sound like another story."

His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "I can at least try, right?"

I sighed, walking over to the bench and sitting down. He followed, taking a seat beside me, though keeping a respectable distance.

I leaned back against the bench, crossing my arms. "That's not the whole story, Mr. Singhania."

Anirudh tilted his head slightly, waiting for me to continue.

I smirked. "I'm a professor. I teach literature."

His eyebrows raised slightly, impressed. "Interesting. I thought you were the type of girl who performed Scooty stunts, never imagined you as a professor."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, doing Scooty stunts is a talent too, Mr. Singhania."

He chuckled, his lips curving into a smile. "So, how did you get into teaching literature?"

I hesitated for a moment before answering. "My mother used to write poetry in her free times. My father would listen, and his eyes would shine in a way I never forgot. Poetry, stories, verses... they're not just words. They become a part of someone's life. That's why I fell in love with them."

Anirudh listened, his expression unreadable. "Impressive. Meeting you, I never would have guessed you were a professor."

I raised an eyebrow. "Kyuuun? Professor serious aur boring nahi ho sakti?"
(Why? Professors can't be serious and boring?)

He smirked. "No, you're just... different."

I narrowed my eyes. "Different how?"

He thought for a moment. "You talk too much."

I gasped dramatically. "What?! This is unfair. I'm a professor, my job is to talk!"

Anirudh laughed, shaking his head. "Fair point."

I folded my arms. "Alright, now you tell me. Who is Mr. Singhania?"

He leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes meeting mine. "Anirudh Singhania. Businessman, perfectionist, and a man of few words."

I scoffed. "You don't seem like a man of few words right now."

He smirked. "Well, sometimes you have to speak in front of a professor."

I rolled my eyes. "And?"

His smirk faded a little, and he looked away. "And what?"

I shrugged. "About your life. Family, hobbies, what you like, what you don't."

He hesitated for a moment. Then he exhaled. "There's nothing special. I handle Singhania Group's business. That's my whole life."

I frowned. "What do you mean? There's nothing else you like?"

He thought for a second. "I like cars. And long drives."

I nodded. "Okay, and?"

He looked at me for a moment before saying, "I never liked poetry, but after listening to someone today, maybe I'm starting to."

My breath hitched slightly at his words. But before I could react, he continued. "And yes, one more thing."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

A teasing smirk played on his lips. "I think I've started finding Scooty stunt girls interesting too."

I let out a groan, smacking my forehead. "If this marriage happens, I swear I'll take revenge for my Scooty!"

Anirudh let out a deep laugh, shaking his head. "I'll be waiting, Professor Malhotra."

And for the first time that day, I found myself smiling-genuinely.