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(Rithvik's POV)
I stepped out of the car and took a moment to stretch my legs, my mind racing faster than my heart could catch up. The driveway was long, but the bungalow that stood at the end of it was exactly what you'd expect from a family that had lived a comfortable, respectable life—not overly grand, but definitely not too modest either. It had a certain charm, a mix of modernity with classic elements, like something you'd find in an old family album.
The front of the house was adorned with a mix of ivy creeping up the walls and warm, welcoming lights around the windows. The lawn was well-kept, the grass green and thick under the soft glow of the streetlamp.
The nameplate beside the front door caught my eye. Vinay Dixit.
The name had a ring to it, one that sparked a strange familiarity. I frowned, trying to piece it together. Then, as if a memory clicked into place, I remembered my mother telling me on the way here—The prospective bride's father, Vinay Dixit, is a retired professor. Her mother's a housewife, and the older brother, Aditya Dixit, works as a corporate lawyer.
Aditya Dixit. The name seemed to linger in my mind for a second, like I'd heard it somewhere before. But I pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter. What mattered was the girl who lived here—Sayra Dixit.
She was the one my family had been pushing me toward. My future bride. And yet, I still wasn't sure if I could picture her as anything more than a stranger. An arranged marriage, like some archaic tradition, but no one seemed to care about my reluctance.
I glanced up at the house again and took a deep breath.
As I stood there, lost in my thoughts, my mother's voice brought me back to the present. "Rithvik, come on. Stop standing there like a statue. Enter the house already!"
I nodded absentmindedly, brushing off the odd tension that had settled in my chest. "Yeah, yeah, coming."
The moment the front door opened, I was hit with a warmth that had little to do with the summer air. It was the kind of welcome that came from a house full of love and a lot of nervous energy.
A woman—Sayra's mother, I assumed—stood at the door with the widest, brightest smile. She looked exactly how a mother was supposed to look on a day like this—excited, proud, a little dramatic.
"Namaste!" she greeted all of us, her hands folded sweetly. "I'm Priya Dixit, Sayra's mumma. Please, please come in!"
My mom, stepped forward first, her elegance impossible to miss even in her excitement. "Hello, Priya ji. I'm Sanjana Rajvansh—this grumpy man's mother." She motioned to me with a teasing look, and Priya laughed.
"Grumpy? He looks so decent!"
"Looks can be very deceptive," my mom replied with a wink.
Everyone chuckled as we entered the house. My dad, immediately stepped beside my mom. "Don't listen to her. Our son is just... a little too mature for his age."
"Like a 47-year-old trapped in a 27-year-old body," mom added, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. "I don't know if I raised a son or an old man!"
"That explains where he gets it from," Priya aunty said with a mischievous smile. "His mother is a complete filmy queen!"
My mom gasped. "Excuse me, Priya ji! I am classically dramatic, not filmy."

YOU ARE READING
Destined To Love You
RomanceLove is unpredictable. It makes you dream, makes you believe in forever-until it shatters you. Sayra Dixit once believed in love. She believed in stolen glances, whispered confessions, and fairytales that ended in happily ever afters. But all those...