Chapter 3: A Mother's Expectations

I watch as Aarav Rathore disappears through the exit, not bothering to say a single word to me.

Fine by me.

The engagement is over. I have survived it. That’s all that matters.

As the last of the guests leave, I finally exhale, my body relaxing for the first time tonight. I turn to head upstairs, eager to escape to my room. But before I can take a step, a sharp voice stops me.

"Meenu."

I close my eyes for a second before turning around.

Kavya Malhotra.

My mother.

She walks toward me with slow, measured steps, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Dressed in an elegant saree, every detail of her appearance screams of wealth and power. But her eyes? Her eyes are filled with disappointment.

She stops in front of me, scanning me from head to toe. I know what she’s thinking. Why didn’t I wear the lehenga? Why didn’t I act like the perfect, obedient daughter?

"You should have worn what I chose for you," she says, her voice cool.

I keep my expression neutral. "I didn’t feel comfortable in it."

Her lips press into a thin line. "Comfort?" she repeats, as if the word itself is offensive. "Since when do you care about comfort, Meenu? This isn’t about you. This is about your future."

I don’t respond. What’s the point? The old Meenu would have tried to explain, maybe even apologized—but I have no interest in playing that role.

Seeing my silence, she exhales sharply, frustration flickering in her eyes. "Aarav barely looked at you all night," she mutters, almost to herself. Then her gaze snaps back to me, sharp and unyielding. "You need to do better."

Here it comes.

"Meenu, listen to me carefully." She steps closer, lowering her voice. "Aarav Rathore is not a man you can afford to lose. Do you understand? You need to make him see your worth. Make him desire you."

I resist the urge to laugh.

Desire me?

Aarav hates Meenu. He never wanted her. He never will.

And I?

I have no interest in making a cold-hearted villain like him desire me.

But my mother doesn’t care about what I want. She never has.

"You were too quiet today," she continues. "You should have been by his side, talking to him, making him feel special. Instead, you stood there like a stranger. What were you thinking?"

That I don’t want to be destroyed, I want to say.

That I don’t want to be humiliated, ignored, or broken like Meenu was in the novel.

But I can’t say that. So I say nothing.

She sighs, rubbing her temple. "You will visit him tomorrow," she declares. "Take something for him—a gift, maybe. Make an effort, Meenu. If you want to be his wife, you have to—"

"I don’t want to force him," I interrupt, my voice quieter than I intend.

She stills. "Excuse me?"

I clench my hands. "If Aarav doesn’t want me, then what’s the point of trying?"

Her expression turns ice-cold. "The point," she says slowly, "is that this engagement is not just about you. It is about us. About our family's status. About securing the future we have built."

She takes a step closer, lowering her voice further.

"You are a Malhotra. You do not give up. You do not walk away."

I meet her gaze, my chest tightening.

I don’t answer.

Because deep down, I already know—she will never let me walk away from this engagement.