Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: Chai, Chemistry, and a Curveball

Emily Harper stood outside Brewed Awakening, a hipster coffee shop tucked between Pike Place Market's fish stalls and flower vendors. The Seattle rain had softened to a drizzle, but her stomach churned like a monsoon. She adjusted her scarf, glanced at her reflection in the shop's window—blonde hair slightly frizzy, green eyes wide with nerves—and muttered, "You're meeting a stranger to maybe marry him. Great life choices, Em."Her phone buzzed with a text from Jake: Don't chicken out! If he's a dud, I'll buy you tacos. She smirked, but her nerves didn't settle. Destiny Connect's 30-day marriage rule loomed like a deadline for one of her graphic design projects, except this one could end in a ring instead of a paycheck. And then there was the letter from her father, still unopened in her drawer, nagging at her. Why now, after 18 years of silence? She pushed the thought away. One crisis at a time.Inside, the coffee shop smelled of roasted beans and cinnamon, with fairy lights strung across exposed brick walls. Baristas called out orders like auctioneers, and Emily scanned the crowd for Arjun Mehra. His profile photo—warm brown eyes, shy smile, wearing a navy kurta—flashed in her mind. What if he was nothing like that in person? What if he was too charming, like her father had been before he bailed?A man stood from a corner table, waving hesitantly. Tall, with neatly combed hair and a maroon sweater over jeans, he looked… normal. Approachable. Cute, her brain unhelpfully supplied. She took a deep breath and walked over, clutching her sketchbook like a shield."Emily?" His voice was smooth, with a soft Indian accent that made her name sound like a melody. Up close, his eyes were even warmer, crinkling at the corners."Arjun?" She stuck out her hand, then cringed. Was that too formal? Did people in India shake hands? "Uh, hi. Nice to… not be catfished."He laughed, a rich sound that eased her nerves. "No catfish here. Just a guy hoping you like chai as much as coffee." He gestured to the table, where two steaming cups waited—one coffee, one chai. "I took a guess. Black coffee, right?"She raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Stalker-level research. I'm flattered." She slid into the chair, noticing his slight blush. Okay, he was charming. Dangerous.Arjun sat across from her, his fingers tapping the table. "I confess, I asked the app for one detail. It said you're a coffee addict. I figured Seattle's the right place for that.""Guilty," she said, sipping her coffee. It was perfect—bold, no sugar. "So, you're from Mumbai? That's… far. Why move here?""Work," he said, stirring his chai. The scent of cardamom and ginger wafted over, unfamiliar but inviting. "I'm a software engineer for a tech company here. But Mumbai's home—crowded, chaotic, full of life. Street food vendors, festivals, my family arguing over cricket matches." He smiled, but it faltered. "It's hard being so far from them."Emily nodded, sensing a weight behind his words. "I get that. My mom's my only family, really. She's a nurse, always working. It's just us." She stopped short, not wanting to mention her father. Not yet. "So, why the app? Blind marriage sounds intense."Arjun leaned back, his expression sheepish. "My mother. She's… persistent. Wants me married, preferably to a 'nice Indian girl' who cooks perfect dal." He chuckled. "But I wanted something different. Someone who'd challenge me, maybe share my love for cheesy Bollywood movies."Emily grinned. "Bollywood, huh? I've only seen, like, one. Lots of dancing in fields?"He clutched his heart, mock-offended. "Fields? Emily, you're wounding me. It's epic love stories, dramatic rain scenes, maybe a villain or two. I'll convert you.""Good luck," she teased, but her heart did a little flip. His enthusiasm was infectious, and the way he said her name—Em-uh-lee, with a soft lilt—made her cheeks warm. She wasn't here to fall for him in five minutes, though. "Okay, your turn. Why should I not run screaming from this marriage idea?"Arjun's eyes twinkled. "Because I'm an excellent chai maker, I'm loyal, and I won't make you watch cricket unless you beg. Your turn."She laughed, relaxing slightly. "I'm a killer graphic designer, I tell terrible puns, and I'm allergic to boring. But, uh, I'm not great at trusting people." The admission slipped out, and she bit her lip, hoping he wouldn't pry.He didn't. Instead, he nodded, like he understood. "Trust is hard. My family's big on it—too big, sometimes. My mother will probably fly here to inspect you like a Diwali sweet.""Diwali?" Emily tilted her head, scribbling the word in her sketchbook. "Is that, like, a holiday?""Festival of lights," he said, his face lighting up. "Lamps, fireworks, eating way too many ladoos—those are sweet balls, by the way. You'd love it. Mumbai glows."She sketched a quick lamp, her pencil dancing. "Sounds pretty. We don't have anything like that here, unless you count Fourth of July hot dogs." She paused, then blurted, "So, what's the deal with this app? My friend Jake says it's got a sketchy track record."Arjun's brow furrowed. "Sketchy? I hadn't heard that. My cousin Maya recommended it—she's a wedding planner, all about love and chaos. But my friend Vik texted me something weird yesterday. Said to be careful, like there's some secret."Emily's stomach twisted. Jake's warning echoed in her head: Epic mismatches. And then there was her own secret—the letter from her father, sitting like a bomb in her apartment. She pushed it down, focusing on Arjun. "Well, if we're both crazy enough to try this, maybe we're a match."He grinned, raising his chai. "To crazy matches?"She clinked her coffee cup against his. "To not regretting this tomorrow."The next hour flew by in a blur of laughter and stories. Arjun described Mumbai's monsoon-soaked streets, where vendors sold spicy pakoras under tarps, and Emily shared her love for sketching at Pike Place, capturing the chaos of flying fish and buskers. Their differences felt like puzzle pieces clicking—his calm patience balancing her sarcastic energy. But every time he asked about her family, she deflected, steering back to safer topics like his favorite Bollywood plot twist.As they stepped outside, the rain had stopped, leaving a misty glow over the market. Arjun offered his jacket, and she waved it off, American independence kicking in. "I'm fine. Seattle rain's my cardio."He chuckled. "Stubborn. I like it. So, another date? Or do you need to consult your sketchbook first?"She smirked, but before she could answer, her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Emily, it's Dad. I'm in Seattle. Can we talk? Her heart stopped, the world tilting. Her father, here? After 18 years? She shoved her phone in her pocket, hoping Arjun didn't notice her sudden pallor."Everything okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but curious."Yeah, just… spam," she lied, forcing a smile. "Another date sounds good. Maybe I'll try your chai next time."His eyes searched hers, like he sensed the lie but didn't push. "Deal. I'll bring the cardamom."As they parted ways—Arjun toward his apartment, Emily toward her car—her phone buzzed again. Another text from her father: I know it's been years. I just want a chance. Her hands shook as she stared at the words, the weight of her past crashing in. Across the street, a figure lingered near a market stall, watching her. Was it her imagination, or was someone following her?Meanwhile, Arjun checked his phone, finding a new message from Vik: Checked out your match. She's hiding something, man. Watch your back. His smile faded, doubt creeping in. Was Emily too good to be true?