The house was filled with the comforting scent of sandalwood incense, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed chai. It was a quiet evening, the kind that usually brought warmth, but tonight, there was an unspoken tension in the air.

Shreya sat beside her father in the living room, watching him sift through an old wooden box filled with yellowed photographs and letters. He did this often these days, as if flipping through memories could slow down time.

She reached for a photograph, its edges curling with age. A younger version of her father stood beside a man in a white coat, both smiling at the camera.

“Who’s this?” she asked, tilting the picture toward him.

Her father took a deep breath, his fingers lingering over the image. “Dr. Anand Mehta,” he said with a small smile. “My closest friend from medical school.”

Shreya blinked, recognizing the name instantly. “Abhimanyu’s father?”

He nodded, setting aside his reading glasses. “Yes. We were inseparable back then. He was the one who always knew he wanted to be a doctor. I, on the other hand, took the pharmaceutical route. Life took us in different directions, but we always kept in touch.”

Shreya turned the photograph in her hands, this time noticing a young boy in the background. He looked tall for his age, serious, and had sharp eyes that seemed to hold a quiet intensity even back then.

“That’s Abhimanyu,” her father said, following her gaze. “He was about ten years old. Anand used to say his son would grow up to be a great surgeon, and he was right.”

Shreya glanced up. “You’ve always known them?”

Her father leaned back, nodding. “Yes. But we lost touch for a few years. When your mother fell sick, it was Anand who helped us find the best oncologists. And when I called for help, it was Abhimanyu who picked up.”

There was something softer in his tone now, something unspoken. “Shreya, he’s been helping us more than you realize.”

A lump formed in her throat. Abhimanyu wasn’t just a name her parents had found through relatives or matchmakers. He was the son of her father’s closest friend, a man who had already stepped in to help her family when they needed it the most.

For the first time, the idea of him didn’t feel completely foreign.

Later that evening, as she sat on the balcony with her arms wrapped around her knees, her phone buzzed.

Kabir: Can we talk?

She hesitated before replying. Meet me at Brewhouse.

The café was quieter than usual, the evening rush just beginning to settle. Kabir was already at their usual table, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

She slid into the seat across from him. “You okay?”

He let out a dry laugh. “That’s a loaded question.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The silence between them felt heavier than ever.

Finally, she exhaled. “My father wants me to marry Abhimanyu.”

Kabir’s grip on his cup tightened. He had expected this. Hell, his parents had hinted at it for years, his golden brother, the perfect son, the perfect doctor.

“And what do you want?” he asked, his voice softer now.

Shreya traced the rim of her mug, staring down at the fading coffee rings on the table. “I want us, Kabir. But I also want my mother to be at peace before she…” Her voice faltered, and she looked away.

Kabir reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “I’ll fix this. Just give me some time.”

She pulled away gently. “That’s the thing, Kabir. Time isn’t in my hands anymore.”

The words hung in the air, final and unyielding. Kabir had always assumed she would wait. That no matter how long it took, she would be there, standing at the end of his struggle.

But tonight, for the first time, he saw it—the doubt in her eyes, the weight of reality pressing down on her shoulders.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if love would be enough.

The next morning, Shreya found herself sitting across from her father at the dining table. His reading glasses rested on the tip of his nose, a newspaper folded neatly beside his cup of tea.

“I spoke to Anand yesterday,” he said, not looking up.

Shreya froze mid-sip. “Baba…”

“They aren’t rushing anything,” he continued, stirring sugar into his tea. “They want you and Abhimanyu to meet first. Just to talk. No pressure.”

Shreya placed her cup down carefully. “And if I say no?”

Her father finally met her gaze, his face calm yet firm. “Then we’ll find someone else. But there will be someone, beta. Your mother and I won’t let you be alone.”

Alone.

She thought of Kabir. Of all the years she had believed in their love, fought for them. And now, here she was, being led toward a future she never imagined.

A future that carried the name of Abhimanyu Mehta—a man she had only known in passing but who was now about to become an irreversible part of her life.

She didn’t know what scared her more, the idea of meeting him or the fact that, for the first time, she didn’t immediately reject it.