I was confused. Deeply confused.
When I first saw his Instagram account, it felt like the universe was playing tricks on me. The same guy I had once joked about — calling him “2 bacchon ka papa” — now looked… different.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA7CpTAVnmO
No. Not different — smart, handsome, and honestly, very attractive.
His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair perfectly styled. There was a calm, confident charm in his face. I stared at the screen for a while, my brain struggling to match his real appearance with the blurry profile picture I had seen earlier.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5zi2X3zXUw
I mentally took my words back. Completely.
Just then, my mom came to me and said, “We’re going to meet the boy. Wear something simple and nice.”
Simple? That one word felt like a challenge.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTT016XWBC0
I didn’t even own a plain, simple dress.
Panicked, I called my best friend and asked her if she had any long, simple kurtas I could borrow. She came over with a few options, and I began trying them on one after another. After some serious trial room drama in my bedroom — changing, rejecting, twirling, checking from all angles — we finally agreed on one kurta.
But just as I was getting ready, something struck my heart — hard.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmMR8Y1FlI5
KGF 2 was releasing that very day.
I had waited for weeks, planned everything, even thought of booking a One-Day-One-Show ticket. It was the movie I didn’t want to miss. But now, thanks to this “rishta meeting,” my plan was officially canceled.
And guess what?
My big brother went to see it alone. Without me.
I was fuming. At that moment, I think I hated him more than I hated missing the movie. It felt unfair — I was the one sacrificing, adjusting, preparing to meet a stranger — and he got to enjoy popcorn, action, and Rocky Bhai in theatres.
Anyway, we reached the restaurant. I walked in with my parents and my aunty, nerves dancing in my stomach. The setting was casual but nice — not too fancy, but formal enough to make me feel uncomfortable in borrowed clothes.
Before I could fully adjust myself, my aunty leaned in and whispered,12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpzmh5oTFf4
“Zyada mat hasna uske saamne, theek hai?”12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqzMK74lmub
(Don’t laugh too much in front of him, okay?)
I nodded like an obedient child.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjmNg2q3fEs
That was the first rule I broke.
Because as soon as I sat down, I started laughing — giggling at my aunty's comments, chuckling at small things. Not out of disrespect, but because it was my way of hiding the tension.
A few minutes later, he walked in.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvq3YuuvaBz
With his friend.
My heart skipped a beat — not because of love or attraction — but because the moment had arrived. The guy I had stalked on Instagram, the guy whose beard I admired, was standing right in front of me.
And yet… there was no conversation.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5HwV9p2tY2
We didn’t speak a single word to each other.
Maybe the setup wasn’t right, or maybe both of us were caught in the awkward rhythm of arranged marriage meetings. I kept laughing, he kept quiet. He seemed calm, observant — and yes, handsome — but we didn’t connect. Not even eye contact.
And then, he did something that annoyed me.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0wixr1NAKv
He served his own food, didn’t offer anyone else, didn’t even look around.
It wasn’t rude exactly — but it was… off.
My mood changed. The excitement of the Insta-stalking phase faded. I felt disconnected, unimpressed, uninterested.
I didn’t know what I wanted from that meeting, but I knew this wasn’t it.
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