Aekansh Kaul was the apple of his parents' eye, always the perfect son in their view, though he was just exceptionally good at hiding his flaws. Despite his composed exterior, he longed for companionship. But dating never quite worked for him. The emotional rollercoaster of “I want to have your babies” to “What’s your favorite color?” repeated thrice left him jaded. Maybe he was just unlucky in love. Or, as his mother claimed, he simply didn’t know how to pick the right person.

His parents had no rigid expectations for a daughter-in-law; they were happy to accept anyone Aekansh chose. But once he turned 30, his mother panicked. Soon, word spread through the neighborhood. Aunties, relatives, even distant acquaintances of the Kaul family were on a mission to find Aekansh a bride.

Cut to you, a 26-year-old banker, clumsy, chaotic, and the only child of your parents. You were content being single after a few painful dating experiences and had no interest in marriage. The thought of being tied to one person for life felt like a trap. But, as expected, your Indian parents didn’t quite share the sentiment, cue sarcastic eye-roll. So when your father heard about Aekansh, he contacted his father, and a meeting was arranged.

You protested. You cried. You even pretended to run away. None of it worked.

So there you were, sitting in a café with an iced tea, dreading the arrival of this so-called “perfect boy.” And then he walked in, clean, sharp, in a business suit, clearly straight from work. Too clean for your liking. You greeted him politely, and the painfully boring conversation began. Aekansh was decent, probably better than most. But you didn’t want this. Still, in the end, you said yes. Or rather, your parents said yes for you.

You hated the idea of the marriage. You hated him. The first few weeks were painfully awkward, pretending to be happy newlyweds for the world. Then came the dreaded comment, “You don’t need to work, beta, your husband earns enough,” said his aunt. It stung. But before you could say anything, Aekansh took a stand for you. It was the first time you saw a glimpse of the man behind the polished mask.

You started making small efforts, initiating conversations, asking questions. Slowly, a warmth crept in. Not quite love, but a growing familiarity.

Then one day, during a family discussion about finances, his father suggested you contribute to Aekansh’s younger brother’s education. “Why should she pay for a manchild?” Aekansh replied coldly. That sparked a full-blown argument. Years of buried resentment rose to the surface as he lashed out, not just at the suggestion, but at everything his father had done wrong in the past.

His mother silently motioned for you to take him to your room. You did. He was worked up, pacing, coiled like a spring ready to snap. You walked up to him, placed a gentle hand on his arm, and pulled him into a hug. You ran your fingers through his hair, grounding him. It took ten minutes, but he finally calmed down.

When he returned to the living room, everyone was stunned by how composed he was. And when asked what had changed, he glanced at you and said, softly, “Because of my wife.”

He wasn’t a shy man. But in that moment, he was.