Anya adjusted the pleats of her simple, bottle-green anarkali, her heart thrumming a nervous rhythm against her ribs. The clatter of cutlery from the kitchen, the low murmur of her father’s voice on the phone, and the incessant chattering of her younger cousin, Siya, about her latest TikTok obsession, all faded into a dull background hum. Today was the day. The day she met Rohan Sharma.

Arranged marriage. The term itself felt archaic in her modern world, where her friends were swiping left and right on dating apps, or fiercely battling for promotions in their high-octane careers. Yet, here she was, at twenty-eight, a successful architect with her own independent life, about to be evaluated by a stranger's family. And to evaluate him back, of course. It was a mutual assessment, her mother always reassured her, but it rarely felt that way.