"Isha koi property nahi hai jise 'manage' kiya jaye."

(Isha is not a property that has to be ‘managed’.)

He turned to Isha, his expression softening instantly.

"Isha, kya tumhe lagta hai tumhara kaam sirf ek shauk ya hobby hai?"

(Isha, do you think your work is merely a hobby or pastime?)

Isha looked up, her breath hitching. The room was watching. Her father's face was turning red with fury, and Varun was scowling. But in Shiv's eyes, there was a soft encouragement. There was only an open door.

"No."

She whispered, her voice gaining strength.

"It's my life."

"Good."

Shiv said. He looked back at her family, his gaze turning back to ice.

"Because in my house, Isha's career will be treated with the same respect as mine. If anyone here thinks I am doing her a favour by marrying her, you're wrong. I am the one who has to earn the right to be her partner."

Shiv's mother stood up and walked to Isha, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Chalo baccha, bohot shopping ho gayi. Let's go get some actual food. I want to hear about that Terminal project without all this noise."

(Come on dear, we’ve done enough shopping.)

As they walked out, leaving the Mehras stunned into a rare, beautiful silence, Isha felt a dizzying sensation. For the first time, someone hadn't just spoken for her, they had cleared the stage so she could speak for herself.

She glanced at Shiv. He was walking slightly behind her, ensuring the path was clear.

Is he real? she wondered, the doubt still flickering, but for the first time, it was being overshadowed by a tiny, terrifying spark of hope.

Shiv had asked Isha out on a date. Wanting to get to know each other better, he's said.

The doubt in Isha's mind was a persistent itch she couldn't scratch. No one is this perfect, she told herself as she got ready for their dinner. He's just playing the long game. Once the ring is on, the mask will fall.

She decided that tonight, she would be the one to rip it off. She wouldn't be the agreeable bride. She would be difficult, demanding, and dismissive, the three things her father always said would make a man lose his temper.

Shiv had picked a quiet, elegant rooftop restaurant. When he arrived to pick her up, he was as punctual and polite as ever, but Isha was ready.

As they sat down, she didn't look at the menu. She looked at him with a practiced coldness.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm in a terrible mood. I had a disastrous day at the site, and I really don't feel like making small talk."

Shiv didn't flinch. He didn't tell her to smile or remind her that she should be grateful he was taking her out. He simply signalled the waiter.

"Then let's skip the small talk. Sometimes the best way to end a bad day is with good food and silence."

Isha felt a twitch of annoyance. Why isn't he annoyed? She leaned forward and said.

"Actually...I want to talk about the future. I have no intention of changing my lifestyle. I work late, I'm messy, and I don't cook. Mujhe kitchen ka K bhi nahi pata, Shiv. If you're expecting a wife who serves hot rotis at 8 PM, you've picked the wrong woman."

(I don’t even know the K of kitchen.)

She waited for the lecture. She waited for him to say that adjustments were necessary for a happy marriage.

Shiv took a sip of his water, his expression thoughtful.

"Well, that's a relief. Because my cooking is limited to burnt toast and instant noodles. We'll probably be the best clients our local delivery apps have ever had."

He looked at her, a genuine glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Was that supposed to be a deal-breaker, Isha?"

She gritted her teeth. Time to go harder.

"And I spend a lot of money."

She lied, her voice turning sharper.

"I like luxury. I'll probably drain the accounts within a year on frivolous things. My father says I'm an expensive liability. Tumhe lagta hai tum mujhe handle kar paoge?"

(You think you’ll be able to handle me?)

The word 'handle' was bait. She wanted him to claim authority. Shiv's smile faded, but not into anger. It turned into something deeper, something firm.

"Isha, stop. Main koi manager nahi hoon, aur tum koi project nahi ho. If you want to spend your money, which you earn yourself, by the way, that's your business. Why are you trying so hard to make me dislike you?"

(I am not a manager, and neither are you a project.)

The directness of his question left her breathless. She felt the walls she'd built start to tremble.

"I'm not."

She snapped, her voice cracking.

"I'm just being difficult. That's what my brother calls it. That's why my father says no one would want me if they actually knew me. I'm just giving you a preview before you get stuck with the real me."

She waited for him to snap back, to tell her she was being overdramatic. Instead, Shiv reached across the table. He didn't grab her hand, he simply placed his own near hers, an invitation she could choose to refuse or accept.

"I've seen the real you."

He said softly.

"I saw her stand up for her designs at the council. I saw her look at her family with so much pain it broke my heart. And I see her right now, terrified that if she doesn't push me away first, I'll be the one to hurt her later."

He looked her straight in the eye, his gaze a promise of safety.

"Isha, mujhse darna band karo. You can be as difficult as you want. You can be messy, you can be loud, you can hate the kitchen. None of that changes the fact that I'm on your team. I'm not here to cage you, I'm here to build a home where you don't have to keep your guard up."

(Isha, stop fearing me.)

The silence that followed wasn't heavy like the one in the Mehra house. It was light. Isha looked at his hand, then at his face. For the first time, she didn't see an owner. She saw a partner.

But as they drove home, the old Isha, the one who had been gaslit for thirty years, refused to fully surrender.

He's too good at this, she thought, her heart racing. He knew exactly what to say. It's like he knows how to win over a broken woman.