"Yes. How did you...?"

"I follow the council's project updates. The roof design is brilliant. Most architects would have played it safe, but you pushed the structural limits."

He smiled, and it was genuine, unlike the snobby smirk of her brother.

"It's rare to see someone prioritize aesthetics without compromising on the urban footprint."

For a moment, the wall of fear around Isha's heart cracked. They talked for an hour, not about dowries or family alliances, but about sustainable materials, the chaos of the city, and even a shared love for old Kishore Kumar songs.

"Waise, I have to ask."

(By the way, I have to ask.)

Shiv said, his tone turning serious.

"You've been very quiet about the wedding. My parents told me you were 'excited,' but your eyes say you'd rather be anywhere but here."

Isha froze. This was the trap. If she told the truth, would he tell her father?

"Aisa kuch nhi hai, Shiv."

(There’s nothing like that, Shiv.)

Shiv set his cup down.

"Mujhse jhoot mat bolo, Isha. If you're being forced into this, I want you to know that I'm not your enemy. I don't want a bride who was traded to me like a piece of land. I want a partner. If you want me to call this off, I'll take the blame. I'll tell them I didn't like you."

(Don’t lie to me, Isha.)

Isha looked at him, stunned. Nobody had ever offered to take the blame for her. Nobody had ever offered her an exit.

"Why would you do that?"

She whispered.

"Because you deserve to be more than a deal."

He replied simply.

"And because I think you're far more interesting than your family gives you credit for."

By the time they walked to the parking lot, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Shiv held the umbrella over her, making sure not a single drop touched her silk sleeve, while his own shoulder got drenched. He saw her into her car with a polite nod and a promise to talk soon.

As Isha drove away, the warmth in her chest began to cool, replaced by a familiar chill. She looked at herself in the rearview mirror, the smudged kohl, the tired eyes.

He's too perfect, she thought, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

A voice in the back of her mind, the one that sounded like her father, began to whisper. People aren't this good. She thought about how her father always used kindness as a weapon before a big demand.

Maybe Shiv was just a better actor. Maybe he knew that she was a rebel and this was his way of disarming her, of making her walk into the cage willingly.

"It's a trap."

She muttered to the empty car.

"Sab dikhava hai. He's just wrapping the chains in velvet so I don't feel them tightening."

(It’s all for show.)

She wanted to believe the man in the cafe existed, but in Isha's world, every forest, no matter how green, eventually turned out to be a mirage.

The air in the private showroom of the boutique was thick with the scent of jasmine and the nauseating perfume of pretension. Both families were gathered for the trousseau finalization.

Isha sat on a velvet stool, surrounded by heaps of heavy gold embroidery. She felt like a mannequin. Across from her, Shiv sat with his parents, the elder Bhatnagars, who had been surprisingly quiet, observing the spectacle with calm, unreadable expressions.

"I hope you don't mind her tired look, Mrs. Bhatnagar."

Padmini said, gesturing toward Isha with a forced laugh.

"She insists on going to that dusty construction site every day. Humne toh kaha tha ke ab kaam chhor do, ghar pe dhyan do, par ye thodi ziddi hai."

(We told her to leave work and focus on home, but she is too stubborn.)

Shiv's mother, a woman with kind eyes and a simple cotton saree, tilted her head.

"Why should she leave her work? She's an architect, isn't she?"

Varun, Isha's brother, chimed in as he checked his watch.

"Architect sounds fancy, but honestly, it's mostly just her being a glorified clerk for the government projects. It's not like it's a real business like ours or yours, Shiv. Iska kaam toh bas ek shauk hai. We just let her play office so she stays occupied."

(Her work is just an hobby.)

Isha looked down at the silk in her lap, her face burning. This was the ritual, diminishing her value so the favour of the marriage seemed greater.

"Exactly."

Alok added, sipping his tea.

"We've told her this thing too, Isha is lucky to be entering such a prestigious family. Humne toh isse hamesha samjhaya hai ke betiyon ka asli ghar unka sasural hota hai, career toh bas baaton ki baatein hain."

(We have always taught her that daughter’s true home is her marital home, career and everything comes second.)

Isha waited for the blow. She waited for Shiv to nod, to agree that her life's work was a hobby, to join the brotherhood of men who decided her worth.

Instead, the sound of a teacup meeting a saucer cut through the room like a hammer.

"I'm curious, Mr. Mehra."

Shiv said. His voice wasn't loud, but the sheer weight of it silenced the room.

"Why do you keep referring to the design of the Delhi Metro expansion as a hobby?"

Alok blinked, confused.

"Well, I just meant-"

"Because I spent my morning reading the structural audit report for the new terminal."

Shiv continued, looking directly at Alok, then at Varun.

"The lead consultant's name on that report isn't yours, Varun. It's Isha's. In my world, we don't call that playing office. We call that being a visionary."

Shiv's father cleared his throat, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

"Actually, Alok ji, one of the reasons we were so keen on this union was Isha herself. A woman who can balance such immense responsibility with grace... Aisi beti naseeb walon ko milti hai."

(Only lucky ones get a daughter like her.)

Padmini tried to save the script.

"Oh, of course! We are proud! It's just... she's a bit difficult to manage-"

"Manage?"

Shiv interrupted. He stood up and walked over to where Isha sat. He didn't touch her, respecting her space, but he stood beside her like a shield.