Episode 2

Two days later, the phone call came. Asha Malhotra herself, her voice brimming with polite enthusiasm, extended the invitation for the formal meeting. “We would be delighted to host you for dinner tomorrow evening, to discuss the… future.” The message was clear: the Malhotras were ready to proceed.

Isha’s stomach churned with a mixture of dread and a faint, stubborn hope. This was it. The moment of decision. She spent the entire day before the meeting in a state of nervous agitation, picking at her food, unable to focus on her embroidery. Her mother, sensing her unease, tried to reassure her. “It’s natural to be nervous, beta. This is a big step.”

The next evening, the Malhotra residence felt different. Less like a bustling gathering, more like a formal court. The drawing-room, where they were ushered, was quiet, almost solemn. The air was thick with unspoken expectations. Both families were present: Aarav’s parents, his younger brother Devansh, and his paternal uncle and aunt. On Isha’s side, her parents and her maternal uncle and aunt.

Aarav was already seated when they entered, his posture ramrod straight on a velvet armchair. He wore a dark blue kurta, which only accentuated the depth of his eyes. He offered a polite nod as Isha entered, but his gaze quickly shifted away, settling on some distant point beyond the window.

The initial pleasantries were exchanged, a delicate dance of respectful greetings and inquiries about health and travel. Then, Aarav’s father, Rajeev Malhotra, a man with a kind face and a commanding presence, cleared his throat.

“Sharma-ji, Savitri-ji,” he began, his voice warm and steady. “We are very happy with Isha. She is a lovely girl, and we believe she would be a wonderful addition to our family.”

Isha’s parents beamed, offering humble thanks. Her father, in turn, praised Aarav’s character and the Malhotra family’s reputation. The conversation flowed, polite and measured, revolving around family values, traditions, and the auspiciousness of the match. It was all very proper, very traditional.

But Isha’s attention was solely on Aarav. She watched him, desperate for a sign, a flicker of engagement, anything that would suggest he was a willing participant in this momentous discussion about his own life. He sat perfectly still, his hands clasped in front of him, his gaze often distant. When his father mentioned his business acumen, Aarav offered a brief, almost imperceptible nod. When his mother spoke of his quiet nature, he didn’t react.

He spoke only when directly addressed, and his answers were always brief, concise, and almost clinical.

“Aarav, do you have any questions for Isha or her family?” Rajeev Malhotra asked, his voice gentle, a subtle nudge.

Aarav turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting Isha’s for a fleeting moment. Her heart pounded, hoping, praying for a question, a comment, anything that would open a dialogue.

“No, Papa,” he said, his voice even, devoid of emotion. “I have no questions.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and cold. Isha felt a chill run down her spine. No questions? Not about her, not about her dreams, her life, her expectations? It was as if she were a commodity, an item to be approved or rejected, not a person with thoughts and feelings. A wave of disappointment, sharp and bitter, washed over her.

She tried to rationalize it. Maybe he was just shy, as her mother suggested. Maybe he was simply a man of few words, preferring actions to grand pronouncements. Maybe he trusted his parents’ judgment completely. But the rationalizations felt thin, fragile against the stark reality of his indifference.

Asha Malhotra, perhaps sensing the subtle shift in the atmosphere, quickly interjected. “Aarav is a very private person, Isha. He keeps his thoughts to himself, but he is very considerate.” She offered Isha a reassuring smile, but it felt forced, a desperate attempt to bridge a gap that only seemed to widen.

The conversation continued, the elders discussing the wedding dates, the rituals, the arrangements. Isha tried to contribute, offering polite answers when asked about her preferences for the ceremony. She spoke of her desire for a simple, traditional wedding, her voice soft but clear. She glanced at Aarav, hoping he would acknowledge her words, but he remained impassive, his gaze fixed on the ornate carpet.

Devansh, however, caught her eye from across the room. He offered her a small, sympathetic smile, a silent acknowledgment of the awkwardness. It was a small gesture, but it brought a moment of unexpected comfort to Isha. At least someone saw her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rajeev Malhotra spoke the words that sealed their fate. “Then, with the blessings of both families, we agree to this alliance.”

A collective sigh of relief and joy swept through the room from the family members. Her parents exchanged happy glances. Asha Malhotra beamed, her eyes shining with satisfaction. Sweets were brought out, and congratulations were exchanged.

Isha felt a strange mix of emotions. Joy for her parents, who looked so relieved and happy. A sense of inevitability. And a profound, aching sadness. She was about to be married to a man who hadn’t spoken a single personal word to her, who hadn’t even looked at her with anything more than a polite, distant acknowledgment.

As the families celebrated, Aarav quietly excused himself, stating he had an urgent call to take. He disappeared into another room, leaving Isha feeling utterly alone in the midst of the joyous chaos.

Later, as they were leaving, Asha Malhotra embraced Isha warmly. “Welcome to the family, beta. We are so happy.”

Isha managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Aunty.”

In the car, her mother was already planning. “We need to start preparing the trousseau. And the invitations…”

Her father, sensing her quietness, placed a hand on her arm. “Are you happy, beta?”

Isha looked out the window, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and crimson. She thought of Aarav’s silent, unreadable face. She thought of the vast, unspoken distance between them.

“Yes, Papa,” she lied, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m happy.”

But deep inside, a tiny, defiant voice whispered, I will make him see me. I will make him speak. I will make him love me. It was a desperate hope, a fragile promise she made to herself, a silent vow to break through the walls of the silent bridegroom. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but Isha had a quiet strength, a resilience born of her simple upbringing, and she was determined to find the man behind the impenetrable silence. The journey, she knew, had just begun.

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