Desi Destiny

"This is the last one. After this, I wash my hands."

Hira looked at her mother with exhaustion. Ten years of rishtas—accountants, doctors, engineers—and none of them had sparked anything.

"Fine. One more."

"He's nice," her mother insisted. "Farhan. Well-educated. Funny."

"They're always 'nice.'"

Farhan arrived. And was, actually, different.

He didn't talk about himself. He asked questions. He laughed at the absurdity of arranged meetings while participating fully.

"You don't want to be here either," Hira observed.

"My mother gave the same ultimatum." He grinned. "At least you're interesting."

"That's not how this usually goes."

"No. But maybe that's good."

They started meeting without family supervision—coffees that became dinners that became everything.

"I can't believe my mother was right," Hira admitted.

"Neither can I. Mine's insufferable about it." Farhan took her hand. "But I can't regret how we met. Because we met."

"That's dangerously romantic."

"I'm dangerously invested." His eyes held hers. "This was supposed to be a formality. Instead, it's everything."

At his flat, ten years of resistance melted.

"I was so afraid of this," Hira whispered. "Of wanting someone they chose."

"I'm choosing you too," Farhan reminded her. "This is mutual."

He made love to her like she was a destination he'd been traveling toward—finally, finally arrived.

"Meri jaan," he breathed. "Worth every terrible rishta before you."

"Same." She kissed him. "Don't tell our mothers."

"They're going to be unbearable," Hira said afterward.

"They're going to be right. That's worse." He laughed. "But I'll suffer their smugness if it means keeping you."

"Forever?"

"Hamesha." He held her close. "Let destiny win this one."

The wedding featured the smuggest mothers in London.

But also the happiest couple.

Sometimes destiny knew best.