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The day was familiar, yet it felt like something was about to change. The sun peeked through the curtains, casting soft golden light across the room. But amidst the peaceful stillness, a voice pierced the silence.

"Nikhitha, enka entha sepu podukuntv! Get up, it's already 9 am!"

("Nikhitha, how long are you going to sleep? Get up, it's already 9 am!")

The words were filled with urgency, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps as her mother entered the room.

Nikhitha groaned, turning to the other side of her bed, desperately trying to avoid the reality of the day. There was no escaping it today was the day her life would change forever. The wedding proposal meeting-pelli choppulu-was arranged, and she had no choice but to attend.

(Pelli choppulu is the traditional matchmaking meeting.)

She was used to her mother's nagging, the constant push for her to settle down. But today felt different. It wasn't the usual fuss about finding the right man. This time, the decision was already made.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach.

"Mom, I don't need a man to complete me," Nikhitha muttered, still not fully awake.

But her mother was relentless, already at the door.

"Aaa, I know, Bangaram. You always say that, but you need someone to share your life with. Now, get ready!"

Nikhitha sighed, wishing she could just escape to her quiet, logical world. But today, she was forced to step into the unknown.

The idea of an arranged marriage had never sat well with her. After all, who believed in love at first sight? Who believed that a marriage could be built on anything other than mutual respect and understanding? It seemed impossible, even absurd.

But that didn't matter now. The arrangement was final. Her family had made the decision, and now she had no choice but to meet this stranger this man, Prithviraj.

With a resigned sigh, Nikhitha pulled herself out of bed. Today was the start of something new, something that would force her to rethink everything she thought she knew about life, love, and fate.

Her mother stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, already impatient.

"I already kept the saree for you and the jewelry. Wear it, okay?"

Nikhitha sat up in bed, rubbing her forehead in frustration. The last thing she wanted to do was wear a saree and jewelry for this meeting. She had no desire to play the part of the traditional daughter today.

"Amma, as for the saree, it's okay. But the jewelry... I can't, Amma."

Her voice was low, almost pleading, though she knew her mother wouldn't take no for an answer.

Her mother gave her a dramatic sigh, eyes rolling toward the ceiling in silent prayer. "Bangaram, what is this obsession with not wearing jewelry? It's just for a day, please. Look presentable."

Nikhitha sighed, defeated, knowing that arguing would get her nowhere. It wasn't about the jewelry it was about feeling like herself, not some version of who others wanted her to be. But today, she had to follow the rules, no matter how much she resented them.

"Fine, Amma. I'll wear the saree, but no jewelry," Nikhitha finally relented, throwing herself back onto the bed.

Kalpana narrowed her eyes, not fully satisfied.

"Undu, mee nanna ki cheptha."
(Wait, I'll tell your father then.)

Nikhitha raised a brow and muttered, half-challenging, "Okay, go and tell him. But I'm not going to wear heavy jewelry."

Kalpana threw her hands up but didn't argue further. She turned with a dramatic flair of her dupatta and walked off, already planning her next move in this emotional chess game.

Nikhitha lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. The weight of the decision was starting to feel heavier. She wasn't ready to face whatever this meeting would bring, but she had no choice.

She was about to meet the man her family had chosen for her someone she had never spoken to, never even heard of until today.

Meanwhile, across town in a quieter, more disciplined household, Prithviraj was already dressed, seated on the edge of the sofa, sipping his morning coffee. His shirt was neatly ironed, watch in place, and hair combed immaculately.

Everything about him screamed calm except his thoughts.

His mother, Sulochana, hovered near the kitchen, peeking into the living room every two minutes like a director watching an actor forget his lines.

"Prithvi, are you sure that shirt is okay? Maybe the light blue one would look softer... more boy-next-door types," she called out, half-seriously.

He looked up from his cup with a neutral expression. "Amma, I'm meeting her family, not going for a modeling audition."

Sulochana huffed and came to stand in front of him, brushing nonexistent lint from his collar.

"Still... first impressions matter. That girl may be modern, but she's still from a good Christian family. We should look respectful. Decent. Like our values."

Prithviraj raised an eyebrow, amused. "I always look decent. And respectful."

From the dining table, his elder brother Surya Teja chuckled mid-bite.
"More like decent, dull, and dangerously boring. Bro, smile a little today, or they'll think we forced you into this pellichoppulu."

"Didn't you?" Prithvi deadpanned, sipping again.

Surya grinned, but Sulochana gasped in mock offense.
"Prithvi! You agreed to see the girl. At least show some enthusiasm."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Prithvi replied calmly. "That's enough enthusiasm for one day."

Behind the quiet sarcasm, though, something did stir inside him. He had seen countless matches through family, LinkedIn-level biodata, and awkward coffee meetings. None ever made it past the second conversation.

But today... it was different.

Because when his father had mentioned her name yesterday-Dasari Nikhitha-something about it had felt oddly familiar.

Where had he heard it before?

He pushed the thought aside as Sulochana began fussing with the gift box they were taking along. His father, Ramachandra Rao, entered quietly with a book in hand, and nodded at Prithvi. That was their version of a pep talk.

Prithvi stood, straightened his shoulders, and grabbed the car keys.

He had no expectations. No dreams of romance. He believed in timing, not miracles.

The Dasari household was louder than usual.

Silver bowls clinked in the kitchen as Kalpana orchestrated the snack arrangements like she was preparing for a state visit. The aroma of filter coffee, cashew pakodi, and fresh banana chips wafted through the air, wrapping itself around murmurs of relatives, muffled fan sounds, and the quiet tension that always came with pelli choppulu.

Nikhitha stood upstairs in front of her full-length mirror, adjusting the pallu of her pale teal saree elegant with its faint gold embroidery, just enough to be formal, but far from flashy. Minimal, just how she liked it. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of small pearl studs, a subtle rebellion against her mother's insistence on full bridal bling.

Her thick dark hair was tied into a loose braid, softening her sharp, composed features. She looked graceful. Poised.

But her mind was far from calm.

"Why am I doing this? This is so staged. Like I'm some product on display. All this... for someone I don't even know?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, staring at her own reflection with mild exasperation. This wasn't nerves it was restraint. Anger, held back. Independence, wrapped in silk and social obligation.

Downstairs, Kalpana fussed over the last plate of snacks like it was the final piece of a chessboard. Her husband, Raghav, sat in his usual corner chair, quiet and steady, letting the storm pass around him like a man who'd mastered the art of selective hearing.

And then... the bell rang.

A full pause.

Kalpana straightened her dupatta instantly. "Sarath! Open the door! Valla family vachesaru."

("The family is here.")

Sarath, her elder son, adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and opened the door with the grace of a seasoned host.

And there he was.

Kethireddy Prithviraj.

Tall. Poised. Clad in a pastel teal shirt tucked neatly into well-fitted trousers. He had the kind of presence that didn't shout for attention but still held it. His expression was unreadable, calm like the first page of a closed book. And his eyes dark, focused, and quietly observant scanned the room with subtle precision.

He wasn't here to impress. He was here because duty asked him to be.

Behind him, his parents stepped in Sulochana with her perfectly pleated saree and subtle scrutiny in her eyes, and Ramachandra Rao, with a half-smile and the composed silence of a man who preferred to watch more than speak.

"Please, come inside," Sarath welcomed them, his voice polite but firm.

Warm greetings followed. Hands folded. Tea served. Compliments exchanged.

It was the usual over-polite conversation about the weather, careers, mutual acquaintances, and traffic. A theater where everyone knew their roles, even if no one wanted the spotlight.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Kalpana stormed into Nikhitha's room, clutching her dupatta like she was about to lead a procession.

"Come, come!. And smile a little, please! Don't look like someone's forcing you!"

"They are." Nikhitha didn't even blink as she spoke.

Kalpana waved it off. "Adenti? Eppatiki ilaane untava? Just act like you're normal, ok?"
She grabbed her daughter's wrist with just enough pressure to convey urgency, guiding her out like she was presenting a sculpture at an auction.

(What's this? Will you always be like this? Just act like you're normal, okay?)

Nikhitha walked down the stairs slowly, carefully, her expression unreadable. Her eyes didn't scan the crowd they landed straight on him.

There was no recognition. Not yet. Just the quiet moment when two strangers lock eyes... and something shifts.

She stood in front of them and folded her hands gently.
"Namaste, aunty... uncle."

Her voice was soft, polite, and distant enough to make it clear this wasn't excitement-it was obligation.

Prithviraj looked up.

His eyes met hers for the first time in a decade. Something tugged in his memory-but it was hazy. Like a faded dream.

She looked... familiar.

That face. That sharp calmness. That same quiet resistance.

College? No. Bus? Maybe? Did we...? No. Just a passing memory, maybe. But why does she feel known?

He nodded back politely.
"Namaste."

And so, it began.

The girl who believed in logic.
The boy who believed in fate.
Two strangers who once sat just a few feet apart-never speaking, never knowing.

Now, fate sat them across from each other, sipping chai, and silently wondering:

Have we met before...? Or are we just meant to, now?

Nikhitha was already lost in thought.

I've seen him before... I know I have. But where?

Before she could dwell further, Kalpana subtly nudged her husband with her elbow.
Raghav straightened up and cleared his throat, wearing an awkward, fatherly smile.

"We can talk here... but let them also talk for a while."
He turned to the couple.

"Meeru iddharu... upstairs ki velli konchem matladukondi. Just to get to know each other."
(You both... go upstairs and talk for a while.)

Sulochana nodded, already approving.
"Avunu, avunu... maatladadam mukhyam. They need to feel comfortable."
(Yes, yes... talking is important.)

Nikhitha almost sighed out loud.

Oh perfect. Now I get to awkwardly bond with a stranger I may or may not marry... in my own room. Great.

Prithviraj, ever the gentleman, stood up with his usual composed grace.
"Shall we?" he asked, voice calm and steady.

Nikhitha gave a slight nod and rose, her posture stiff but controlled. She walked ahead without a word, her saree flowing softly with each step. Prithvi followed quietly, the eyes of both families trailing behind them like burning spotlights on a stage neither of them had auditioned for.

As they ascended the stairs, the silence between them was palpable. The only sound was the soft rhythm of her anklets-chilaka chilaka-light but loud enough in the heavy quiet.

She reached her room, pushed the door open, and stepped aside without speaking, allowing him to enter first. Her body language made it clear boundaries were firmly in place. No forced pleasantries. No sugarcoating.

He didn't smile either. He simply walked in, observant but respectful.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

Not tense. Not awkward. Just... cautious.

Nikhitha leaned slightly against the window ledge, arms folded, her eyes steady and sharp.

"So... tell me, Prithviraj garu," she began dryly, "Do you usually attend interviews without reading the job description?"

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Then surprisingly a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Only when the company looks intimidating... and interesting at the same time."

Her brow lifted, unimpressed but mildly amused.
"Flirting during arranged marriage meetings? That's bold."

"I'm not flirting," he replied, voice calm. "I'm being honest. I don't believe in pretense."

A beat passed between them heavy with mutual evaluation.

"And you?" he added, head tilting slightly. "Do you always greet potential grooms like you're facing a firing squad?"

Her lips twitched just barely.

"Only when I feel like I'm being ambushed."

This time, his smile deepened. Genuine. Not practiced.

There was something real about her-no sweetness for the sake of approval. Just sharp wit and a quiet refusal to perform.

After a pause, he spoke again.
"I have a feeling I've seen you before," he said, studying her more closely.
"You studied in VIT College, right?"

Nikhitha's brows lifted in surprise.
"Yes... I did. Wait-" she narrowed her eyes, pointing slightly at him, "You too?"

He nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I think we took the same college bus. Route No. 6?"

"What?! Are you serious?" she blinked, stunned.
"Bus lo choosava nannu?"
(You saw me on the bus?)

"I did," he said simply. "You always sat by the window. Headphones on. Lost in your own world."

She stared at him, a flicker of memory beginning to surface like a ripple in still water.
Her voice dropped, almost accusing.

"Okay, you have to be kidding me. Don't tell me you were the guy who always sat to the left of me. One or two stops before mine?"

Prithviraj smirked slightly.
"Quite the impression, Nikhitha garu. So... you do remember me."

She scoffed lightly.
"Oh, please. It's just that I noticed... sometimes."
She crossed her arms again, but the corner of her mouth gave her away.

"You used to sit in the second row from the back. Always near the window, right?" she added after a beat.

Prithvi nodded. "And you sat near the front. Right side. Usually reading something."

She blinked.
They had never spoken. Not once.

But somehow... both had noticed.
Quietly. From a distance.

And now, years later, they stood face-to-face in her bedroom two strangers tied together by fate, yet connected by silent memories they hadn't even known they carried.

Both slightly uncomfortable. Both remembering.

A heavy silence settled between them-not awkward, but loaded. Unspoken things swirled in the air.

"So..." she said finally, folding her arms, "Do you believe in arranged marriages?"

He gave her a thoughtful look.
"No. But I believe in timing."

She wasn't expecting that.

For the first time that day... Nikhitha smiled.

A small one. Almost invisible.

But it was there.

The first one that day.

He noticed, of course. But didn't comment.

Instead, he added, voice quieter now, more honest:
"Sometimes... the right people meet at the wrong time. And sometimes, strangers meet when they're supposed to."

Nikhitha's gaze lingered on him. That calm confidence, that steady tone-it unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Because beneath her doubt, something about his words... made sense.

"That sounds dangerously close to believing in fate," she said, trying to maintain her sarcastic edge.

He gave a soft chuckle.
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just being open-minded today."

Silence returned, but it wasn't heavy anymore.

Just... thoughtful.

The silence that followed wasn't as heavy as before. It was thoughtful-charged with a quiet understanding neither of them had expected to find.

Nikhitha let out a small sigh and dropped onto the edge of her bed, the atmosphere in the room feeling lighter. "First of all, it's awkward you standing there. Sit, and we'll talk."

Prithvi glanced at the empty chair near her desk, then back at her, a quiet understanding passing between them. He sat down, settling in, his posture relaxed but still attentive.

"Okay," Nikhitha continued after a beat, "So now that we've established we went to the same college, took the same bus, and weirdly remember the same small details-" she shot him a wry look, "-I don't feel awkward anymore."

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then added with a playful smirk,
"So... let's talk. But before you ask me anything, let me warn you-I come with a manual."

Prithvi raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"A manual?"

"Yes," she nodded, mock-serious, "Because once I start talking about myself, you might want to run away. So let me begin the disaster tale."

He chuckled, his eyes softening. He settled deeper into the chair near her study table.
"I'm listening. Go ahead."

Nikhitha took a breath, her eyes not entirely meeting his. She exhaled slowly, the words coming in a rush.
"I'm opinionated. Loud when I'm passionate. Quiet when I'm hurt. I overthink everything, hate small talk, and I can't pretend to like someone if I don't."

Prithvi's expression didn't change, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as if he was beginning to see more layers to her than he had first realized.

She continued, her voice steady but guarded.
"I love books, hate societal pressure, and I cannot, for the life of me, smile politely when I'm uncomfortable. I also fight with my mom every time she asks me to wear gold jewelry."

A short pause.

"And I don't want to be someone's ideal daughter-in-law. I want to be seen for who I really am. Not just how I look in a saree over coffee and mirchi bajji."

Prithvi leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. His voice was low but firm when he spoke next.
"Good," he said softly, "because I'm not looking for a daughter-in-law. I'm looking for a partner."

Nikhitha stared at him, surprised by the simplicity of his words. There was no drama, no show. Just truth.

For the first time, the heaviness in the air seemed to lift. This wasn't just a meeting between two strangers. It was something different-something she hadn't expected but wasn't entirely sure how to respond to yet.

"Okay, fine. But let me complete the picture before you decide you want to run away," she said, her voice now a little lighter, almost teasing.

He raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Go ahead. I'm listening."

"I have anger issues," she said, her voice turning quieter. The words felt heavier, but she wasn't backing down. She hadn't planned to share this part, but it had slipped out.

Prithvi's gaze softened, and there was no judgment in his eyes-just understanding.
"I figured."

Nikhitha blinked, surprised.
"You figured?"

He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful.
"You don't have to say it. It's in the way you carry yourself. Tense, almost like you're always waiting for the next thing to explode."

She blinked, caught off guard by his perceptiveness.
"You don't hold back, do you?" she asked, voice quieter now.

"Only when I'm sure," he replied softly.

There was a brief silence between them, neither of them feeling the need to fill it with words.

Finally, Nikhitha broke the silence, her voice softer than before.
"It's not always easy, you know. Holding all of this inside. And people expect you to be someone you're not."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.
"I get it. But maybe you don't have to do it alone."

Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure what it was about the way he said it, but it sounded... real. For once, it felt like someone understood.

Her voice was quieter now.
"Maybe."

Nikhitha paused, her eyes not meeting his for a moment. She took a deep breath before continuing, her voice softer but honest.

"I was never really interested in this marriage in the first place," she said, the words feeling strangely freeing. "I never believed in love, not the way people talk about it. It always felt like a fairy tale, something too far-fetched."

She shifted slightly, her fingers brushing nervously against the edge of her saree. She was being open, more than she had been in a long time. It felt like the walls she'd built around herself were slowly starting to come down, piece by piece.

"And yeah, I'll be honest," she continued, her voice a little quieter now, almost reluctant. "I kind of had a crush on you during our first year. Not after you started talking with that one girl, obviously."

Prithviraj's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but there was no judgment in his expression, just a curious understanding.

"So, you were into me?" he asked, almost teasing, but his tone remained gentle.

Nikhitha chuckled, the lightness returning to the conversation. She shook her head, a hint of humor in her voice as she replied.

"Well, I wasn't exactly chasing you, Prithviraj. I was just... admiring from afar. You seemed like the kind of guy who had it all figured out. But then, I noticed how you started spending more time with her." Her eyes flickered for a brief moment, a shadow crossing her features.

"So I ignored it," she added quickly, trying to dismiss the thought. "Because, obviously, I had so many crushes back then. You were just one of them, and I never took any of them seriously."

Prithviraj watched her intently, absorbing her words. There was no teasing now-just understanding in the way his eyes softened.

"I see," he said, nodding slowly. "So I was just another name on the list." His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of something else-something almost unspoken.

Nikhitha shifted in her seat, her thoughts drifting for a moment. It was strange how talking about the past felt so much easier than talking about the present.

"Wait, come to think of it..." she said, her eyes narrowing slightly, "What about that girl... that you used to talk to? You were pretty close to her back then. So, now you came for pelli choppulu to see me?"

She couldn't help the curiosity in her voice, the question lingering in the air between them. Just as Prithviraj opened his mouth to answer, the sound of a voice from downstairs interrupted them, sharp and urgent.

"Come downstairs, children!" It was Kalpana, calling from below. "It's time to join everyone else."

Prithviraj turned slightly toward the door, his expression briefly faltering as the weight of the moment seemed to shift.

Nikhitha exhaled slowly, the moment broken-unfinished.

"Well, guess that's our cue," she muttered, standing up from the bed, a little disappointed that they couldn't finish what they had started.

Prithviraj gave a small, knowing smile, standing up as well. His eyes met hers briefly, as if silently acknowledging the tension that still hung between them.

"Guess so," he said softly, his gaze lingering just a little longer than necessary before he walked toward the door.

Nikhitha followed him down the stairs, her mind racing with unspoken words, and yet, strangely, she felt more unsettled than she had in a long time. She wasn't sure if she was relieved that the conversation had been interrupted or disappointed that they hadn't been able to finish.

As they made their way downstairs, the warmth of the room seemed to close in around them, the soft murmur of voices from the other room signaling the return to reality. But something between them had shifted-something subtle, but unmistakable.

The beginning of something unknown.