The morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Deewan mansion, casting soft golden reflections on the polished marble floors. The dining hall — wide, high-ceilinged, and tastefully decorated in shades of cream and gold — smelled faintly of fresh lilies and roasted coffee. A long oak dining table sat at the center, surrounded by hand-carved chairs. Everything in the room spoke of wealth, refinement, and discipline.

It was nearly 8 a.m., and as usual, the family gathered for breakfast.

At the head of the table sat Ajay Deewan, the patriarch — a man in his early sixties, still sharp-eyed, well-groomed, and commanding without needing to raise his voice. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, and he wore a crisp white kurta-pajama with a gold-stitched shawl. With just a look, he could silence the room. He wasn’t the kind of father who believed in showing affection openly, but his children had always known — he valued loyalty, discipline, and reputation above all.

Anita Deewan, his wife, sat beside him — elegant, graceful, her posture straight even as she poured herself tea. Her saree, a rich maroon silk, shimmered gently as she moved. Though her presence was softer than her husband’s, she was no less influential. She noticed everything — a missing spoon, a delayed servant, a lowered gaze — and remembered it all. Her love for her family was quiet but deep-rooted.

“Where is Kunal?” Ajay’s voice was calm, but edged with expectation as he folded the newspaper.

Before anyone could answer, Karthik, the eldest son, spoke up. “He came home very late last night, Papa. He’s probably still asleep.”

Karthik was the most responsible among the brothers — in his early-thirties, always dressed in tailored formals even at breakfast. He had inherited his father’s business sense and his mother’s sense of dignity. With a mild but firm tone, he continued, “I told him last week he needs to stop going out so much. The media notices these things.”

Beside him sat his wife, Kishi, poised, beautiful, and the perfect hostess. Her light blue saree matched her calm demeanor. She placed a slice of toast on her daughter’s plate before speaking. “He’s still young, Karthik. Let him breathe. Not everyone matures at the same pace.”

Their daughter, Kavya, barely seven, nibbled her toast while swinging her legs under the chair. She glanced between the adults, understanding little but sensing the tension.

A silence settled for a moment before a soft clink of silverware broke it — the sound came from the far end of the table.

Raghav, the middle son, sat quietly, stirring his tea without drinking it. His hair was slightly disheveled, dark circles under his eyes faintly visible. He wore a plain black T-shirt and grey joggers — unlike the others, he didn’t bother dressing up for breakfast. He hadn’t spoken a word since sitting down.

Anita turned to him gently. “Raghav beta, you haven’t touched your food. Would you like something else?”

Raghav didn’t lift his head. “No, Ma. I’m fine.”

His voice was deep, calm, almost hollow — like someone who had spoken to himself far too long. He barely looked at anyone anymore. Ever since the girl he loved betrayed him, he’d changed. Once the most brilliant business strategist in the family, now he was the shadow of the man he used to be — quiet, distant, withdrawn.

Karthik sighed. “You should start coming back to the office, Raghav. Even twice a week. It’ll help.”

“I’ll think about it,” Raghav said flatly, without emotion.

Ajay’s gaze didn’t miss the shift in tone, but he didn’t press further. Everyone knew — Raghav was still healing, and though Ajay was a strict man, he wasn’t cruel. He simply nodded, picking up his tea.

Just then, the butler stepped forward and softly announced, “Sir, breakfast is served in full. Would you like me to call Kunal?”

Ajay looked at the clock. “No. Let him sleep. He should remember on his own.”

Kishi smiled politely and shifted the conversation. “So, the girl’s family will be meeting us soon. From what I hear, they seem very respectful.”

Ajay nodded, folding his newspaper. “Rajeev Shukla is a man of values. Middle class, but grounded. His daughter is said to be well-behaved and simple. That’s what matters. Kunal doesn’t need a trophy wife — he needs someone who can handle responsibility.”

Raghav’s eyes flicked up for the first time at the mention of marriage — a trace of something unreadable passing through his expression. But he said nothing.

Anita added thoughtfully, “A simple, kind girl could bring some peace into this house. Maybe even help Kunal grow up.”

The table fell silent again.

A clock ticked somewhere in the hallway. Outside the window, the birds chirped freely, unaware of the storm quietly brewing inside the mansion.

Because soon, a new name would enter their lives.

Ashi Shukla — and with her, a change no one was prepared for.

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The day had arrived — the one that would set the course of Ashi’s life into motion.

The Shukla home, modest but warm, was glowing that afternoon with nervous energy. The walls, adorned with family photos and simple floral hangings, seemed to hold their breath as Suman darted between the kitchen and drawing room, adjusting every curtain, fluffing every cushion, checking the snacks for the fifth time.

“Ashi, come down, beta!” she called, adjusting her saree pallu nervously. “They will be here any moment.”

Ashi stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at the scene. Her yellow-coloured saree flowed like soft petals around her frame, her hair loosely tied back with a few strands gently falling over her forehead. Her palms were cold. Her eyes searched for comfort in the familiar furniture, the paintings her father once hung proudly on the wall, and the faint aroma of halwa coming from the kitchen.

She wasn’t ready. But this wasn’t about being ready.

This was about fulfilling what her parents believed was best.

Rajeev Shukla stood near the door, looking every bit the traditional, composed man he was — crisp kurta-pajama, trimmed mustache, arms crossed as if bracing for judgment. His eyes occasionally drifted toward his daughter, softening for a second before hardening again. This was a big day, and he expected her to carry herself with grace.

Ashi’s heart was racing, but her face remained calm. Kind. Like always.

**

At exactly 4:00 PM, the sound of car doors shutting outside froze the air in the Shukla household.

“They’re here,” Rajeev said simply, standing straighter.

Suman rushed to adjust her hair in the mirror, whispering to herself. “God, please let everything go smoothly.”

Outside, three luxury cars lined the narrow lane, commanding attention from neighbors peeking through windows and behind their curtains. The first to step out was Ajay Deewan, followed by his wife Anita, Karthik and Kishi, and last — a casually dressed but clearly annoyed Kunal Deewan.

Raghav was missing — a detail that didn’t go unnoticed by Ajay.

As they walked toward the door, Ajay paused beside Kunal.

In a low voice, sharp but quiet, he said, “Remember, Kunal. This is not a nightclub or a racetrack. You’re here to meet the family of a girl who might become your wife. Sit straight. Speak with respect. And do not embarrass me.”

Kunal rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah, Dad.”

Ajay’s stare didn’t waver. “This is your last chance to act like a Deewan. Don’t make me regret bringing you.”

They entered the Shukla home like royalty — not with arrogance, but with a presence so dominant, it changed the air in the room.

Rajeev greeted them with folded hands. “Namaste, Mr. Deewan. Welcome to our home.”

Ajay smiled politely. “Namaste, Mr. Shukla. Thank you for inviting us.”

Suman stepped forward, her eyes glowing with hospitality. “Please, come in. I’ve prepared some snacks. I hope you’ll like them.”

Anita offered a soft smile. “We’ve heard you’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Shukla.”

Kishi looked around with curiosity, observing the warm decor, the fresh flowers, the slight nervousness in the air. She liked how personal the home felt.

Everyone settled in, and the silence that followed was the usual one — filled with polite expectations and quiet observations.

Ashi entered the room slowly, her eyes lowered, carrying a tray of tea.

Kunal, for the first time that day, actually looked up — and froze.

She wasn’t the kind of girl he usually flirted with or noticed at parties. There was something different. She wasn’t trying to impress. She wasn’t bold or flashy. Her eyes, though lowered, carried an old-world honesty, and the slight nervousness in her hands as she placed the tray down made her feel… real.

Ajay noticed his son’s silence — and was pleased.

“This is our youngest, Kunal,” he said, introducing him.

Kunal nodded, not too interested in formalities. “Hi.”

Ashi gave a gentle nod and a soft “Hello.”

Rajeev looked at his daughter, proud of her composure. “She’s a simple girl, but she knows her values. Took care of her studies well. Her mother taught her everything a girl needs to manage a home.”

Anita smiled warmly. “She’s lovely. And very soft-spoken.”

Suman beamed. “She always was. Never argued, never raised her voice.”

Karthik joined in. “That’s rare. Girls these days are very modern — sometimes forget the meaning of ‘family first’. But she seems grounded.”

Kishi looked at Ashi, noticing how she sat quietly beside her mother, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her dupatta. “She has a very calming presence,” Kishi said genuinely.

Ajay turned to Rajeev. “I believe families make marriages strong, Mr. Shukla. Not just individuals. And I see that your daughter comes from good soil.”

Kunal shifted uncomfortably, sensing the weight of this conversation.

He wasn’t in love. He didn’t even want to be here.

But he knew what his father expected — and at that moment, he realized that saying ‘no’ would mean more than defiance. It would mean war.

“Would you like to talk to her privately?” Suman offered gently.

Ajay looked at Kunal.

Kunal hesitated.

Everyone waited.

Then he sighed and nodded slightly. “Sure. Just for a few minutes.”

Ashi and Kunal stepped onto the small terrace, where the sound of traffic was replaced by the faint rustling of leaves.

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Then Kunal leaned against the railing and said flatly, “You don’t have to act so shy, you know. I’m not going to bite.”

Ashi smiled gently, not offended. “I’m not acting. I’m just… nervous. I didn’t expect this so soon.”

Kunal looked at her. “Do you even want to get married?”

Ashi looked up, surprised. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I trust my parents. If they think this is right, I’ll try to make it work.”

Kunal stared at her for a moment, expression unreadable. “You’re… different.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a bad thing?”

He shook his head. “No. Just… not what I’m used to.”

**

Inside, Ajay and Rajeev were already discussing the next steps.

“I believe if both families feel comfortable, we can move ahead with the engagement soon,” Ajay said with finality.

Rajeev nodded. “Of course. We’re honoured.”

As the Deewans stood to leave, Anita hugged Ashi lightly. “We hope to see you again soon, beta.”

Kishi gave her a reassuring smile. “You’re going to fit in beautifully.”

Ashi stood at the door, watching them go — her heart calm, yet uncertain. She didn't know what the future held. But somewhere, somehow, she felt the tide of her life was beginning to shift.

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