Invisible String

chapter 10.a : Shik Shak Shock

Word count: 1219
Samaira's POV:
As I stepped into the chaos of my home, I made my way upstairs to my room, only to be halted by my father's unexpected announcement. "Be ready tomorrow. One of my friends is coming with his son to meet me and you," he informed me.

"Huh, why me?" I asked, my confusion masked by a calm exterior, though inside, my heart began to race. I knew this day would come eventually. Without a boyfriend, it was inevitable that my parents would start considering arranged marriage prospects for me. But I hadn't expected it to happen so soon. At just 23, I was still trying to establish myself in my career.

"Look, Samaira, they're just meeting you to get to know each other better. It was bound to happen sooner or later," my dad explained, his words carrying a hint of reassurance. He was right, of course. I couldn't avoid this forever. No doubt my heart was wary but it’s not like I had to get married right now or to this guy at all of course I had a say in this so what’s the harm in just meeting?

Nodding in resignation, I headed towards my room, feeling a heavy weight settle over me. Flopping onto my bed with a sigh, I sent a quick apology text to Naina for my overreaction at the date. Exhausted from the day's events, I drifted off to sleep, too drained to even think about the potential prince charming who would reveal himself tomorrow.

Morning arrived sooner than expected, and I found myself bustling around the kitchen, preparing samosas for the impending guests. It might be cliché, but nobody could resist the samosas made by yours truly. I had been in the kitchen since the tender age of 7, a true foodie through and through. For me, cooking was not just a chore; it was a passion, a source of joy that never failed to lift my spirits. Spending another two hours in the kitchen, I whipped up a feast fit for royalty, with a little help from the workers, of course.

"Are you only going to show them your cooking skills? Dress up as well. They'll be here soon," my mom reminded me, and I glanced at the clock, seeing it strike 1 PM. Right, they would be arriving any minute now. Despite my family's somewhat traditional mindset, they were my biggest supporters in whatever I chose to pursue.

For me, feminism was about having the freedom to choose my own path in life. Whether I wanted to spend my days in the kitchen or lead a multinational corporation as CEO, the choice was mine, and my parents stood by me unwaveringly.

Rushing to change into a simple yet elegant white Anarkali, I aimed for a look that was neither too flashy nor too plain. With a quick touch of blush and mascara, I felt satisfied with my appearance and headed downstairs, the faint sounds of formality echoing in the air as I approached the drawing room.

My dad stood there with my mom, welcoming another family, and I couldn't help but feel irritated by the whole situation. Nevertheless, I approached the tall man standing with what I assumed were his parents, his back turned towards me.

"Oh, she is here," my dad announced, and I noticed the guy's ears perk up at the sound of my anklets. His back profile looked oddly inviting, and for a moment, my thoughts wandered to rather inappropriate territory which was even more inappropriate because of his and my parents. Quickly shaking off those distracting thoughts, I focused on the task at hand and looked up as he turned around.

However, what I saw caught me completely off guard, and I couldn't help but let out a surprised, slightly loud exclamation, "YOU HERE AGAIN?"

An awkward silence hung in the air, permeating the room until Kabir's mother attempted to lighten the mood. "I feel like they do not need an introduction," she chuckled awkwardly, her attempt falling flat.
"We surely don't, Mom," Kabir replied with a smirk, his demeanour unapologetically confident. This man was absolutely psychotic to the point of sending a marriage proposal to my house.

"What was going on?" I couldn't help but wonder to myself as my dad introduced the guests. "Beta, this is Mr. Rudra Rajvansh, my college friend, and his wife, Vaidehi Rajvansh, along with their son, Kabir," my dad said, sensing the tension in the air.
But any hope for a relaxed atmosphere was shattered when Mr. Rajvansh made an attempt to lighten the mood. "Ay, stop being so formal, dude. You're acting as if I'm some kind of president. Treat me like a friend, please," he quipped to my father, injecting a bit of levity into the situation.

Thankfully, my mom swiftly intervened, announcing that the food was served, effectively diverting attention from the uncomfortable moment. My dad began walking with Mr. Rajvansh, the two appearing quite close. Passing Kabir a glare, I walked ahead of him and took my place next to my dad at the dining table.

The servers efficiently went about their tasks, serving the meal, and we all began to eat, the tension in the room momentarily eased by the distraction of food and conversation.

"You know, Kabir, Samaira made all this food," my mom chimed in, attempting to impress him. But impress him? If I could, I'd punch his handsome face right now.
His gaze met mine as he acknowledged the food. "Accha bana hai (It’s good)," he commented, his tone casual. As if I needed his validation, I rolled my eyes at him and continued eating, refusing to let a man ruin my precious meal.

The lunch progressed with my dad and Mr. Rajvansh catching up and reminiscing about their college days. It provided a welcome distraction, allowing me to momentarily forget about the fact that I had almost been betrothed to Kabir.

As I headed towards my room after lunch to retrieve my phone, which I had left upstairs, I felt a sudden pull as I reached the door. Before I could even scream, a hand swiftly covered my mouth, and I froze as I realized it was Kabir. He released his grip on my mouth, but before I could react, he locked the door, trapping me inside. The audacity of this man!

"Look, Kabir, I'm really not interested in this marriage. Let me leave," I pleaded, attempting to unlock the door. "Not until you hear me out," Kabir insisted, gripping my wrist tightly. "Stop touching me! You really are badtameez (shameless)," I snapped, trying to free my wrist from his grasp.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself turned around, my back pressed against the door, his hand dangerously close to my face while the other rested on my waist, pulling me closer to him. I was too flabbergasted to even utter a word, shocked by this man's audacity.

"Should I tell you what shameless actually means?" he taunted, his smirk never leaving his face. At times, I wondered if that was his resting expression—a perpetual smirk.
Feeling his fingers pinch at my waist, I leaned back, closing my eyes and pleading, "Okay, okay, I'll hear you out. Just don't do anything, please."