Chapter 8: chapter 8

Vihaan stepped into his penthouse apartment, the soft click of the door echoing in the vast emptiness. The city lights twinkled outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the room in a cold, sterile glow. He loosened his tie and dropped it carelessly on the dining table, followed by his laptop bag. The day had been long, filled with meetings and numbers, yet the real exhaustion came from a conversation he had been trying to shake all evening.

Marriage. The word felt foreign, almost absurd, when applied to him. Vihaan Malhotra didn’t have time for frivolities like love or relationships. He had built himself from the ground up, a self-made success story, and his life operated with clockwork precision. There was no space for distractions.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he swirled it absently. He didn’t drink often, but tonight called for it. His father’s words from earlier in the day replayed in his mind: “You’re 29, Vihaan. It’s time to settle down. You’re not getting any younger, and this isn’t just about you—it’s about family, about fulfilling a promise.”

A promise. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. His father, Dev Malhotra, might have been a man of honor, but Vihaan wasn’t interested in paying for promises he hadn’t made.

The knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. He frowned, glancing at the clock. Nearly midnight. Who could it be at this hour?

He opened the door to find his father standing there, looking as determined as ever, holding a small white envelope. Vihaan’s shoulders tensed.

“Dad,” he said flatly, stepping aside to let him in. “It’s late.”

Dev ignored his tone and strode inside, his shoes clicking against the polished floor. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.”

Vihaan shut the door with a sigh, already anticipating where this conversation was headed. “Let me guess. You’ve come to convince me again?”

“No,” Dev said, setting the envelope down on the coffee table. “I’ve come to show you this.”

Vihaan’s eyes flicked to the envelope, then back to his father. “What’s that?”

“Aarohi’s picture,” Dev replied calmly, as if the answer were obvious.

Vihaan’s jaw tightened. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“And I’m telling you to just look at it,” Dev countered, his tone firm. “You owe me that much.”

Vihaan crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t owe you anything, Dad. You’re the one who made this promise, not me. I don’t know her, I don’t care to know her, and I’m not going to marry her. End of story.”

Dev’s expression didn’t falter. “You’re being stubborn.”

“No,” Vihaan said, his voice sharp, “I’m being practical. You want me to marry someone I’ve never met, someone I have no connection to, just because it suits your idea of what’s right for me. That’s not how I live my life.”

Dev sighed, his frustration evident. “Vihaan, this isn’t just about you. Aarohi is a good girl, from a respectable family. She’s not some stranger; she’s the daughter of my closest friend. You might not see it now, but this match is good for you. For both of you.”

Vihaan laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. “Good for me? You think dragging me into an arranged marriage with someone I’ve never even met is good for me?”

“Yes,” Dev said simply, standing his ground. “Because you need someone who can ground you, someone who can remind you that there’s more to life than work and control.”

The words hit a nerve, but Vihaan didn’t let it show. He gestured toward the door. “You’ve said your piece, Dad. You can leave now.”

Dev didn’t move. Instead, he reached for the envelope, holding it out toward Vihaan. “Just take it. Look at her picture. That’s all I’m asking.”

Vihaan’s gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. “I don’t need to look at it, because it doesn’t matter. I’m not marrying her, Dad. End of discussion.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension in the room was palpable, an invisible line drawn between father and son.

Finally, Dev set the envelope back down on the table and stood up. “I’m leaving this here,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less resolute. “You can choose to ignore it, Vihaan, but you can’t ignore the truth forever. This is happening, whether you like it or not.”

Vihaan didn’t respond. He stood in silence as his father walked to the door, pausing just before stepping out.

“You think you’re in control, but life doesn’t work that way,” Dev said, turning to face him one last time. “Control is an illusion, Vihaan. The sooner you learn that, the better.”

With that, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Vihaan stared at the envelope on the coffee table, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. He hated how his father’s words lingered, poking at the edges of his carefully constructed world. But he refused to give in.

After a moment, he grabbed the envelope and shoved it into a drawer, slamming it shut with more force than necessary. Out of sight, out of mind.

But as he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, sleep eluded him. No matter how much he tried to push it away, the thought of Aarohi—of the picture he refused to see—clung to him like a shadow.

And for the first time in years, Vihaan Malhotra felt a flicker of doubt.