**Chapter 2: Pressure Cooker**
The days leading up to the wedding were a blur of noise, colors, and chaos. Relatives swarmed the house, the smell of marigold and mehndi lingering in every corner. Laughter echoed through the halls, but none of it reached Aanya.
She sat in her room, the door half-closed, watching the shadows of dancing lights flicker on her walls. The world celebrated. She mourned.
"Aanya, beta, come help with the decorations," her bua called from the corridor.
She didn't move.
Her mother appeared moments later, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "Stop sulking. People are noticing."
"I don't care."
"Well, you should. This is your wedding. Have some shame."
"Why, Ma?" Aanya snapped. "You didn't listen to me. You ignored every word I said. So what's the point of pretending now?"
Her mother's nostrils flared. "You think you know better? We're doing this for your future."
"My future doesn't need a husband."
Her mother's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You'll understand one day. When all your friends are married and settled and you're still running behind degrees and offices."
Aanya looked away. "I'd rather run than be stuck in a cage."
Before her mother could retort, a sharp voice called out from the living room. "Bhabhi, where's the extra fairy lights?"
Saved by the chaos. Her mother stormed out.
Aanya leaned back and closed her eyes, the headache pressing hard at her temples.
***
Arjun hadn't called once. Not since that cold, distant conversation at the engagement.
She'd tried once more to talk to him—sent him a text two nights ago:
**"You still sure about this? I'm not. I never was."**
He saw it.
Didn't reply.
His silence was louder than any answer.
She opened her laptop again, scrolling through MBA programs, trying to remind herself who she was. Her finger hovered over the "Apply" button for a B-school in Singapore. Her dream. Her escape.
"Do it," she whispered to herself.
She clicked. Filled out the form. Submitted it.
Her heart thudded hard.
It felt like rebellion.
And it felt good.
***
That night, her father came to her room—an unusual visit. He rarely got involved in her emotional battles with her mother.
"You okay?" he asked gently, sitting on the edge of her bed.
She didn't respond.
He exhaled. "I know this isn't what you wanted. But… sometimes things work out differently than we plan. Maybe better."
She looked at him. "Or maybe worse."
He smiled faintly. "He's a good boy, Aanya. He respects elders. He works hard. Never had a scandal, no past relationships."
"I don't care about his resume," she said.
"I'm not asking you to love him today. But give it a chance. A few months. If it still doesn't work, we'll talk. I promise."
Aanya felt her throat tighten. "You'll support me if I want out?"
He hesitated. "We'll talk," he repeated, softer this time.
She turned away. She knew what that meant. 'We'll talk' was code for 'You'll forget.'
***
The wedding day arrived with a hundred camera flashes and a thousand expectations.
Aanya sat under the canopy of flowers, eyes fixed on the fire crackling in front of her. Arjun sat beside her, his presence imposing, quiet.
He looked like a groom from a magazine—impeccably dressed, sharp, unreadable.
She refused to look at him.
Each mantra felt like another link in the chain.
The moment the mangalsutra touched her neck, a chill ran down her spine. The sindoor followed. Her fists clenched in her lap.
His hand brushed hers for the first time as they stood up.
Her skin recoiled.
***
Later that night, at the reception, they stood side by side as a stream of guests came and went, offering blessings, sweets, and thinly-veiled comments.
"He's so handsome, haan?" one auntie whispered to Aanya. "Take good care of him. Girls will be lining up behind your back."
"She's lucky," another said. "Not every girl lands an IIT groom with no ex-girlfriends. A diamond, really."
Aanya forced a smile that felt like splinters in her cheeks.
She barely noticed Arjun's hand on her lower back, the way he subtly pulled her closer whenever someone leaned in too much. He barely spoke, but he stayed close. Always close.
Too close.
***
When they finally reached their new home in Bangalore, it was past midnight. Aanya had barely spoken a word on the drive from the airport. Arjun, too, had stayed silent, eyes fixed on the road.
Their flat was modern, minimal, and eerily quiet.
He carried her suitcase in, set it down in the guest room without asking.
"You can take this one," he said.
She looked at him, surprised.
"You thought I'd force us to sleep together?" he asked, voice calm but unreadable.
She said nothing.
"I might be a lot of things, Aanya. But I'm not that man."
She stared at him for a second longer, then walked into the room, shutting the door softly behind her.
For the first time since the chaos began, she felt… nothing.
Not relief. Not fear. Just a dull, heavy numbness.
***
She woke the next morning to find a note slipped under her door.
*"Breakfast is on the counter. I'll be back by noon. Call if you need anything."*
—Arjun
She picked it up, stared at the handwriting.
Clean. Precise.
Like everything else about him.
She tossed it aside.
Later that afternoon, she heard the front door open. His footsteps padded across the wooden floor.
Aanya stayed in her room.
Seconds later, a soft knock.
"I got your documents for the MBA application notarized," he said through the door. "You'll find them on the table."
Her eyes widened.
She rushed out. "How did you know I applied?"
He looked up from the table, unreadable. "You left the tab open."
"That's… that's private."
He nodded. "I know."
"Why did you do it?"
"Because it matters to you."
She swallowed. "You think this will make me like you?"
His expression didn't change. "I'm not asking you to like me. I'm asking you to live with me. That's all, for now."
He turned and walked away.
And for the first time, Aanya didn't know how to respond.
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**[End of Chapter 2]**