Unmatched

✨Terms and Conditions✨

Shanaya turned her head slightly, just enough for only me to see her glare.

Everyone slowly began to relax again. Smiles returned. Tea cups clinked. Conversations resumed.

Crisis... dodged.

Mostly.

Shanaya's father patted my shoulder. "Very mature of you, beta. I'm glad you both are taking it seriously."

"Oh, absolutely," I replied, fully aware of Shanaya's death glare radiating beside me.

My mother was still eyeing me like I'd just declared I wanted to move in with my college roommate instead. But she managed a tight smile. "Just don't take too long. Panditji said the muhurat is very soon."

"Right," I said, smiling, even as Shanaya gave me a nudge with her elbow that was definitely not affectionate.

The meeting wrapped up with the usual rounds of sweets and awkward laughter. But the second we stepped outside, I knew the real storm was coming.

SHANAYA'S POV:

The moment we crossed the threshold of the house, I spun around so fast that Rishi had to stop mid-step to avoid colliding with me.

"What the hell was that?" I hissed, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him aside, away from the adults still lingering inside.

"I saved our asses," he said, far too calmly for someone who'd just hijacked an arranged marriage meeting.

"You agreed to the rishta!"

"No," he corrected, "I said I was okay with it. But with a condition. A very clever, escape-hatch-shaped condition."

I folded my arms. "Escape hatch? You think this is a game of Monopoly where we're trying to avoid jail?"

"Better than being stuck in it for life," he shot back.

I opened my mouth to yell—really yell—but something stopped me.

Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't entirely wrong.

Or maybe it was the way he looked at me. Like he knew this was insane, but it was the best we had.

"What exactly is your plan?" I muttered. "You have a plan, right?"

Rishi leaned against the nearest wall like we were in a college hallway, not standing outside after hijacking a rishta meeting.

"Kind of," he said, annoyingly casual.

"Kind of?" I blinked at him. "That's not a plan, that's a suggestion box."

He chuckled. "Relax. All we have to do is go on a few fake dates, gather enough evidence to show our families how utterly incompatible we are, and voila — no wedding."

I crossed my arms. "So your master plan is to... sabotage us?"

He shrugged. "Basically."

I stared at him, half tempted to slap the smug off his face and half impressed that someone could be this bold while plotting a fake-breakup.

"And what if they still push for the wedding?" I asked, raising a brow. "You do realize Indian families don't back off just because their kids 'aren't feeling it.' They'll throw in another pandit, another pooja, maybe even a destination wedding to distract us."

He grinned. "Then we up the game. Make our 'dates' as awkward as possible. I'll show up late, you can fake a dramatic crying scene in public—maybe call me a narcissist. Let's make them want to call this off."