The drive to Aarav's family home felt longer than it actually was, not because of distance, but because of the silence sitting between them, heavy and anticipatory, as though both of them understood that once they stepped inside, nothing would remain as simple as it had been before.
Anaya watched the passing streetlights blur through the window, her fingers loosely intertwined with Aarav's, drawing quiet strength from the warmth of his hand, from the steadiness of his grip, from the unspoken promise that whatever happened tonight, they would face it together.
"Are you nervous?" he asked softly, his eyes still on the road.
"Yes," she admitted. "But I'm not unsure."
He glanced at her briefly, something resolute flickering in his expression. "That's enough."
The house stood tall and elegant, illuminated by warm lights that made it look inviting from the outside, though Anaya knew better than to mistake appearance for ease.
As they stepped inside, the air felt different — formal, measured, expectant.
Aarav's parents were already seated in the living room.
His father sat upright, composed, his gaze sharp and observant.
His mother looked calm, but her eyes carried quiet calculation.
"Sit," his father said, gesturing toward the sofa.
No warmth.
No hostility.
Just authority.
Anaya sat beside Aarav, aware of every movement, every breath, every glance directed at them.
"We heard," his father began evenly, "that you wish to discuss the extension of the contract."
The word landed like a deliberate test.
Aarav didn't hesitate.
"It's no longer a contract," he said firmly. "It hasn't been for some time."
A subtle shift passed through the room.
His mother's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"And what exactly has it become?" she asked.
Aarav's grip around Anaya's hand tightened almost imperceptibly.
"It has become my marriage," he replied. "A real one."
Silence followed.
But this silence wasn't gentle.
It was evaluating.
Judging.
Weighing.
His father leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "This arrangement was created for a purpose, Aarav. It was never meant to turn into sentiment."
"It did," Aarav replied calmly.
"And sentiment fades," his father said.
"Not always," Aarav answered.
Anaya felt her heartbeat echo in her ears, but she forced herself to remain steady, knowing that this wasn't just Aarav's moment — it was hers too.
"With respect," she said softly but clearly, drawing their attention, "this may have started as an arrangement, but what exists now is not convenience. It is choice."
His mother studied her carefully. "And you believe choice is stronger than practicality?"
"Yes," Anaya replied. "Because practicality may protect reputation… but choice protects happiness."
The room grew still.
Aarav's father's gaze shifted between them, assessing, calculating, perhaps even surprised.
"You understand," he said slowly, "that this complicates certain expectations. There were alliances discussed. Opportunities."
"I'm aware," Aarav replied. "But I'm not negotiating my marriage."
The firmness in his voice felt like a line drawn in quiet certainty.
His mother finally spoke again, her tone softer but no less sharp. "You are choosing difficulty."
"Yes," Aarav said.
Anaya felt his hand tighten again.
"Yes, we are," she corrected gently.
A long pause followed.
Then, unexpectedly, his father sighed — not dramatically, not angrily — but thoughtfully.
"You were always stubborn," he said to Aarav. "I did not expect it to manifest this way."
Aarav didn't smile. "It's not stubbornness."
"It's commitment," Anaya said softly.
His mother's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than before, as if reassessing something she hadn't anticipated.
Finally, his father spoke again.
"This is not what we planned," he said.
"I know," Aarav replied.
"But," his father continued slowly, "if this is your decision… then understand that it is yours to protect."
Anaya felt the tension in the room shift — not complete approval, not complete rejection — but acknowledgment.
It wasn't warmth.
But it wasn't opposition either.
As they stood to leave, his mother stopped Anaya gently.
"Marriage," she said quietly, "is not built on feelings alone."
"I know," Anaya replied. "That's why we're choosing it — not just feeling it."
For the first time, something almost resembling respect flickered in her eyes.
Back in the car, the silence felt different.
Lighter.
Not because everything had been solved.
But because they had stood firm.
Together.
"You were brave," Aarav said softly.
"So were you," she replied.
He glanced at her, something softer in his gaze now.
"No," he said quietly. "I was certain because you were beside me."
Her heart swelled.
As the city lights blurred past again, Anaya realized something important.
Love is not proven in private moments.
It is proven when the world questions it.
And tonight…
They had chosen each other in front of everyone.