Luv (Un)Arranged (Luv Shuv #3)

Chapter 4

4

Song: Sawaar Loon

- Monali Thakur

Kriti

B eing a teacher was my lifelong dream. Ever since I was a kid, I would pick up my old books and play pretend teacher. I’d buy a red pen, wear Maa’s saree, sit at my desk, and put fake remarks, checks, and grades in my old notebooks. Once Rati and Kartik started their school, I’d drag them to be my pretend students, making them do their very real homework, call me "Kriti teacher," and even dole out punishments like sit-ups, the silent game, and being a chicken for ten minutes.

For the past five years, I have been living my dream. Not only was I a teacher of my favorite subjects, but I was also the class teacher, aka the homeroom teacher, of a ninth-grade class.

The best part of being a class teacher was my sense of accomplishment and pride when my students scored well, topped the class, or won in school sports. Also, when my kids felt they could come to me with any problem, they believed that I wanted the best for them, and we formed lifelong bonds.

But the worst part of being a class teacher was parent-teacher meetings.

Like the one I was in right now.

They were a different kind of hell when the parents of one of my top students were hell-bent on stopping her education this year. This wasn’t a surprise for me. Every year, I encountered two to three parents who wanted their daughters to quit studying after ninth grade to help their fathers at the farm or learn household chores. My job was to convince them to let their daughters finish tenth grade, the first milestone for every Indian student. My ultimate goal was to convince them to let their daughters complete their undergraduate education. But for parents who were adamant about pulling their daughters out of school, tenth grade was sometimes the most I could achieve.

“Teacherji, Rani has no use for studying anymore. We need her to learn more chores and farming so she can help her husband and in-laws. She needs to keep them happy,” Rani’s mother, Pramila, said.

Rani stood between her parents, staring at the floor. Her shoulders hunched, quietly losing her hopes for her future.

“Pramilaji, Rani is a brilliant student. Her grades in mathematics and science are exceptional. I understand that a woman should keep her husband and in-laws happy.” I rolled my eyes internally but continued, “But if she finishes her tenth and twelfth grades, her life will be so much more secure. What if something were to happen to her future husband or family? What if they refuse to support Rani? Without any education, she would be helpless. If she finishes her twelfth grade or even a college degree, she will be able to support herself.”

At that, her father said, “Look, Teacherji, if Rani knows how to work a farm, how to work a household, she would be a better help to her in-laws and a better support to her husband. If she is a perfect daughter-in-law, there is no way they would refuse to support her. In fact, they would rely on Rani for everything.”

Such parents made my blood boil. How could they refuse to see the value of education? Why were they so scared of an unmarried daughter but had no problem supporting an unmarried son?

Steeling myself, I bolstered my authoritative teacher gaze and looked at them. “Rani is your daughter first. Raise her and support her as your daughter, not a daughter-in-law to some unknown people. Please, I request you, let her finish her schooling. You never know what kind of a husband she would have. One never knows. Give her the ability to leave him if and when she needs. Make her capable enough not to just support herself but to also support you and her future family. Don’t you want that for her?”

I never enjoyed telling parents how to raise their children, especially in front of the children. But sometimes, the kids, the girls, needed to know they were worthy and deserved to be treated better.

Silence. That blessed silence when the parents had no logical argument to counter with. They were considering giving their daughter a chance. They just needed that little push.

“Do you have any sons, Pramilaji?” I asked. I never addressed fathers directly—they always took everything as a challenge.

Pramilaji shook her head. “No. Just five daughters.”

I knew it. That was usually the pattern. “Rani is the oldest?” I asked.

The father said, “Second oldest.”

So if my assumption wasn’t wrong, the oldest was already taken out of school and married at a very early age.

Rani didn’t look up as her parents talked. But her hands tightened into fists.

I could feel her anger.

I looked at her parents. “That can be tough. Having to marry off all the daughters. Dowry for all of them. I can understand your situation. But consider this: What if your brilliant daughter finishes her education? What if she earns enough to support her siblings? To support you? And when she marries, she will be capable of supporting her in-laws too. In fact, she might earn her own dowry. And if she finds a good family, a good husband, he wouldn’t ask for a dowry.”

Rani’s father’s eyes shone with unshed tears. He joined his hands and said, “Don’t give us or my daughter false hopes and dreams, Teacherji.”

“These are not just hopes. This could be a very real life for your daughter if you let her finish her education. Don’t worry about the education of all your daughters at once. The younger ones are already studying for free. Soon, Rani will help you with the education of your other daughters. Just have faith in your daughter.”

At that, like a well-timed machine, Rani looked up at her parents, her eyes pleading. “Please let me study, Baba.” And she proved her brilliance.

Finally, the parents crumpled. “Okay, beta. But we will take one year at a time. If you don’t score well in school, then no more school for you.”

Well, they didn’t entirely crumple. But I didn’t need to worry about Rani. She was the topper of the class. And the joy on Rani’s face right now was the only reason I needed this to work. She clutched my hands, tears running down her cheeks. “Thank you, Kriti teacher. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now go tell the news to your friends.”

After she ran off, I asked the parents to fill out the customary forms and bid them goodbye. Days like this kept me going. If I could help even a few girls from being forced to drop out, I would gladly work this job forever.

Since Rani’s parents were the last to leave, I looked at my empty classroom and took a breather. I drank some water and opened my phone. There was a notification of a message.

Aakar: Hey, all good on your end with your parents?

A smile instantly spread across my face when I saw his message. I had received it about two hours ago but hadn’t had the time to open it in the middle of discussing grades and performance with parents.

I thought back to when I’d asked Maa to give me time to think. She’d balked at first, then started ranting about how Aakar was the best rishta proposal I’d ever received. She claimed she wouldn’t be able to find someone better, so we needed to be quick and say yes to the guy before he got snatched up by someone else.

It had been a long and tedious discussion, but in the end, she’d given up arguing and granted me two weeks to decide whether I wanted a second meeting.

Me: Hey.

Me: Well, I told her you were good. But I needed some time before I agreed to a second meeting. I was given two weeks. What about you?

Aakar: Told Maa I’d think about it. That should last me a few weeks.

Me: Great! Hopefully, my maa stays patient.

Aakar: How is your day going?

Me: Just stopped a girl’s parents from pulling her out of school. Phew. You?

Before I could overthink it, I hit send. After packing all my things into my big purse, I headed toward the staff room, nodding to other teachers and students along the way.

The school day was almost over. The primary and secondary level students finished school at 12:30 p.m., whereas the higher secondary level students were dismissed at 1 p.m. Since I taught the former levels, I always had to wait half an hour for Rati and Kartik to finish so we could go home together.

When I reached the staff room, most of the teachers who didn’t have any lectures to take in the last period had already left, including Meera. I quickly packed a few homework assignments I needed to check and sat in my chair to wait for Rati and Kartik.

My phone beeped with an incoming message, and my face stretched into an involuntary smile.

Aakar: Wow. You’ve had quite a day. I’m glad everything worked out. My day was certainly not as interesting.

Me: So tell me about your uninteresting day.

I cleaned up my desk a little, arranging the homework assignments and classwork in separate piles by grades. Right then, my phone pinged with a new message.

Quickly, I opened it and roared with laughter. Aakar wrote these paragraphs instead of sending short sentences in quick succession.

Aakar: Sat in three meetings discussing emerging market trends and a potential partnership with a new client. Followed up with a few inventories that have been delayed. Did two interviews for the new assistant manager we need to hire.

Me: Wow. That sounds incredibly boring and exhausting.

Aakar: Lol. You have no idea.

Me: How many people do you employ?

Aakar: About 50.

Me: Wow. That’s impressive.

Aakar: Thank you! Enough about my boring day. Since you’re living your dream job, tell me about your dream vacation.

Me: I haven’t given it too much thought.

Me: But I would love to go spend a few days at a beach someday.

Aakar: So you’d choose a beach if given the choice between beaches and mountains?

Me: Ha. Definitely.

Me: The sound of the crashing waves, the feel of the cool water and the sand at my feet, the smell of the ocean.

Me: What about you? Beaches or mountains?

Aakar: Mountains. Definitely.

I burst out laughing.

Me: What? Why?

Aakar: I love driving. The long, winding roads. How the views of the horizon change at every curve, the crisp air at a higher elevation, the feeling that you’re on top of the world.

Me: Stop it. I’m not changing my answer.

Aakar: I didn’t ask you to. But I’m sure you’ll fall in love with mountains once you come to one with me.

Me: You haven’t come to the beach with me before. Pretty sure you’d forget all about your precious mountains.

Just the thought of sitting in the car with Aakar while driving along the long, winding roads had me blushing down to my toes.

I got up and made my way to the school parking lot, knowing that the last bell was about to ring. I was almost at our two-wheeler when it rang. I quickened my pace before the hoard of running students stampeded me. It was like we were their jailers, and they were being let free after years of torture.

As I waited for Rati and Kartik to appear, my phone pinged again.

Aakar: We’ll just have to see about that.

Me: Tea or coffee? Preferred beverage?

Aakar: Is that even a question?

I chuckled, knowing that the majority of Indians had tea in the morning.

Me: Coffee, then?

Aakar: Haha. Funny. You do not want to see me before I’ve had my chai.

Me: Noted ;)

Right then, Kartik jumped in front of me, almost causing me to drop my phone. I lightly slapped his back in reprimand. “You almost made me drop my phone.”

“Didi, shift back. I’m going to drive today.”

I scoffed. “Not before you turn eighteen. You can practice later around the house. But no way are you carrying me and Rati all the way home. Now, get back.”

I quickly typed a message to Aakar.

Me: On my way home. Driving. Ttyl.

Rati placed her schoolbag at the front of the vehicle. She got behind me, and Kartik took a seat behind her. In no time, we were on our way home. We always traveled in triples. It used to be easier when the twins were younger, but the past two months had me thinking about buying a car. But Maa, being Maa, had refused because she wanted me to invest in gold for my marriage. Her words were, “Once you’re married, your siblings can use the two-wheeler. None of us need a car.”

By the time we got home and freshened up, Pappa was home from his office for his lunch break. He was a government civil engineer in a good officer position and enjoyed plenty of benefits, including the luxury of coming home for lunch. Maa had already eaten before the rest of us came home.

Once we were all seated at the table, Maa served us while Rati and Kartik talked about their day and the loads of homework they had. Both of them were studious, and this year, being their twelfth grade, they were taking their studies very seriously.

I recounted today’s school incident as I devoured the aloo gobi , rotli , dal with mango pickle, and buttermilk on the side. I opened the rotli container to get one more rotli when Maa clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Kriti, you’ve already had three rotli. Do you really want to have more? If you keep eating like this, no man would want to marry you.”

I slammed the container shut. This was becoming an everyday headache. I used to love my mother. But as I grew into a “marriage age,” my relationship with her seemed to have deteriorated.

“Could you get me some water?” Pappa asked Maa.

Maa nodded and went into the kitchen. Quickly, Pappa handed me one of his rotli, which was the one with extra ghee. He gave me a sly wink that lightened my sour mood. I quickly devoured half of it before Maa returned.

But of course, Maa figured it out because she turned to Pappa and said, “You keep spoiling her like this, and it will be on you if she doesn’t get married.”

I kept my head down and ignored her rambling until I’d finished every bit of my lunch. I didn’t care if I was fat by marriage standards. So what if my clothes came from the large and sometimes extra-large rack? I loved my body. I was healthy, my curves were plenty sexy, and my body kept me functioning just fine. In fact, I was up on my feet all day. I helped out Maa when she needed, helped the twins in their studies when I could, paid for their coaching classes, and exercised every day. I was happy with what I had.

If a man was to marry me for just my body, I didn’t want that man.

I was perfectly capable of staying single for the rest of my life rather than living a life of misery and judgment.

Once finished with lunch, I cleared the dining table and washed all the dirty dishes. I didn’t utter a word to anyone except for a smile for Pappa when he left to return to work.

I got to my room and picked up one of my favorite romance novels for some mental relief. After reading a few pages without the hero or heroine succeeding in lifting my spirits, I checked my phone.

Aakar: Okay. Talk soon.

And I must have been truly out of my mind because I just had to ask him.

Me: Tell me something, Aakar. Why does every man in these arranged marriages need a slim and trim wife?

Aakar

I was in the factory basement where we stored all our textile samples when my phone pinged with a notification. Hoping it would be Kriti because I had been irrationally waiting for her message since I last texted, I quickly opened the message app.

And my feet stopped moving.

Kriti: Tell me something, Aakar. Why does every man in these arranged marriages need a slim and trim wife?

Where did that come from? Did something happen? Did someone say something to her? What the fuck.

Kriti wasn’t “slim and trim,” as she put it, but she was fucking gorgeous. She had curves that had me reeling the first time I saw her. Every dip, every curve of her body, made it so fucking difficult for me to sleep at night. If I wasn’t thinking about her messages, about our conversations, I was thinking of her . Her body .

I dreamed about the filthiest things that I wanted to do to her. I woke up unsatisfied and frustrated and hungry . How could she be shamed for a body that had me constantly burning with need?

That wouldn’t do at all.

I rushed back to my office and closed the door behind me. I turned on the air conditioner because either it was too hot right now or this message had me boiling with rage.

Since we were communicating through modern technology, I could see she was online, and she would’ve already gotten those blue tick marks informing her that I’d seen the message.

Before she could say anything else, I typed the first thing that came to my mind.

Me: Who told you that?

Kriti: Don’t act stupid. There’s a reason we have a section on weight and height in the biodata. I just didn’t put mine in because, clearly, it was too much for my mother.

I flinched. Yeah, I’d forgotten about that. Not wanting to spook her or appear as a creep, I decided to go with a more objective answer on what “men” must be thinking.

Me: I guess when you don’t really know anything about the other person, you sort of create an image of a wife from the media you consume around you. And these days, all the heroines in our movies are very slim and trim.

I prayed that this was a proper answer.

Kriti: This implies that the men see themselves as the hero. If you want Alia Bhatt or Deepika Padukone, you must be on the level of Ranbir Kapoor or Ranveer Singh. And I’ve never met such smoking hot men. Including you.

I burst into laughter. She was honest. And very mad right now. What I wouldn’t give to see her face.

Me: Lol. If I was that smoking hot, I wouldn’t be working in my family’s textile business. But give me a month, and I can grow a beard as good as Ranveer Singh

Kriti: Ha. I shouldn’t have been rude. Ignore me. I’m just a little mad.

She might be a little mad, but I was raging fucking mad. Nobody had a right to make her feel inadequate. And I wanted to know what caused her this insecurity. More like who made her question this. My fists were clenched so tight I had to pry my fingers open to be able to text her.

Me: And who told you to get slim and trim?

Kriti: Who else? Every girl’s best friend and her biggest enemy. My mother, of course.

I snorted. I’d heard my aunt asking my cousin Ria to eat less on occasion too. But Ria had the genes of her father. She never gained any weight. But I understood how mothers got a little crazy if their daughters weren’t married by twenty-five.

Me: You never asked me if I preferred slim and trim women.

Kriti: Didn’t want to know.

Me: What? Why?

Kriti: Mostly because I don’t care. I’ve seen myself. And I love my body.

This woman could make me smile and my cock rock hard with just three sentences and a no-fucks-to-give attitude.

Kriti: I just asked that question because I wanted to know if slimness is genuinely something that men care about, or have all the mothers and women created this stigma that only slim women are beautiful?

Kriti: And I wouldn’t have liked any of your answers.

Kriti: If you’d said you like slim women, I would have been a little mad and a little hurt.

Kriti: If you’d said you don’t like slim women, I would have felt like you’re just interested in me for my body.

She clearly had a lot of thoughts on the matter. I read and reread her messages. And yes, from her perspective, it made sense. And her confidence. I’ve seen myself. And I love my body. I read that line over and over again, need pumping through my veins to see her for myself.

And I loved that she loved her body. Nothing made me more attracted to her than her confidence.

Me: You’re amazing, you know that?

Kriti: That’s it? I typed so much. You just give me five words?

Kriti: And thank you.

Me: You do remember that I asked for your number, right? I had the best time talking to you then, and I’ve had the best time talking to you today. Even though you are a little scary when mad. And I’m glad you don’t care about my opinions on your body. It is your body after all.

Kriti: Exactly.

But why did I desperately want her to know that I really found her attractive? Would she appreciate a little flirting? Would she consider it too much too soon? I didn’t want her to get affected by her mother’s opinions again.

Me: But if you ever want to compliment my looks, you are always welcome to make me feel better.

Kriti: Lol. You know you’re good-looking.

Me: So do you. But I’m glad you find me good-looking. Thank you.

Kriti: You’re welcome.

Me: If you want me to return the compliment, just say the word. I’m ready.

Kriti: I’m not going to fish for compliments.

Me: You’re not. I’m pleading you to allow me to compliment you.

Kriti: Fine. I’ll take some.

Me: Not all?

Kriti: Save some for later.

Me: Fine. You’re fucking gorgeous, and I couldn’t stop looking at you the day we met.

No response for a few seconds. Did I take it too far?

Kriti: Thank you…

Kriti: Don’t you have any work?

I looked outside the glass wall of the office. The inventory was ongoing. I could make a few calls for shipment and invoices. I knew I was becoming an irreplaceable pillar of our company since I was involved in almost every tier of the work.

My father and uncles were entirely reliant on me and even asked me to hire more people to whom I could delegate more menial tasks that took up much of my time.

I had plenty of work lined up. But nothing that I actually wanted to do right now except chat with Kriti.

Me: Don’t you?

Kriti: attachment I do.

She sent me a picture of piles of notebooks and her younger siblings studying in the background. I took a picture of the view of the office and people working and sent it to her with a message.

Me: Same. Talk later?

Kriti: Yes. Bye.

I looked around my office. The thought of my impending task of verifying the accounts versus the inventories and cataloging the reports the employees prepared was already giving me a headache. I could only hope that Kriti’s day was going better than mine.

It was late when I got home, so I quietly entered the house. I removed my shoes at the entry, put them on the shoe rack, and went to the living room. I found Abhi, my younger brother by eight years, and his childhood best friend, Karan, watching football.

The moment he noticed me, he asked, “What took you so long?”

I dropped beside him on the sofa, Karan on his other side, and checked the teams playing and the scores. Without removing my eyes from the screen, I answered, “Got held up by some work. Everyone asleep?”

He hummed in agreement as he munched on popcorn.

The three of us watched the match for a while in silence when Abhi said, “Mom was talking. Wondering what you thought about the last girl you saw.”

I thought about Kriti and her last reply. I hummed and said, “Let’s see.”

Abhi scoffed, shared a look with Karan, and turned to me. “You’re just stalling, aren’t you? You don’t want to have an arranged marriage at all, right? Do you have a girlfriend or something?”

I frowned. “I mean, I know I started looking because of the promise I made to Maa after letting Akira run away to Sam, but it’s not all bad. Where else am I going to meet someone?”

Karan shrugged and piped in, “I don’t know. Ideally, in college. Maybe at work. Or friends’ friends.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, discarding all the possibilities.

“What about you?” I asked Abhi.

He turned to football, not meeting my eyes, acting all casual. “What about me?” he asked.

“Have any girlfriends?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Nope.”

I looked at Karan next, who was already smiling and shaking his head. “Nope.”

I nodded and remembered what Dad had asked me to ask Abhi. “Since it’s your last year of undergrad, do you have any plans for the future?”

Abhi looked at me, his stare blank. “Is that you asking or Pappa?”

I chuckled. “Whoever you want it to be. For now, just me.”

Abhi was currently pursuing a Bachelor of Business Administration (BBA), a course he easily convinced our dad to allow him to do.

Abhi nodded, shared another look with Karan, and said, “I was thinking I could do my MBA in Mumbai or something.”

I couldn’t help but sit straighter. “Are you serious? Do you not plan to join the business? And why Mumbai? Ahmedabad has good MBA colleges.”

Abhi didn’t meet my eyes, just grumbled as I tried to catch his words. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m still thinking.”

I pretended to relax and sit back because the idea of Abhi leaving the house was crippling. I loved my brother and sister. And I loved living together. Seeing them grow, being there for them when they needed me, and just having them around soothed something deep within me. With Akira in America, losing this one more connection had my heart racing. “Do you plan to start your MBA right away after graduation, or do you wanna have one or two years of work experience?”

Now that I hadn’t disregarded Abhi’s idea, he turned to me. “I don’t mind having some experience. You think I should start spending some hours at our office?”

A wave of relief flooded over me. Sharing some of the god-awful accounting responsibilities with Abhi would free up my time to work on something I enjoyed, and it had me doing a happy dance in my mind. “For sure. If you want to come to the office on your free days or for a few hours each day, I can show you some of our accounting stuff. I would love your help.”

“Really?” Abhi asked, eyes wide, disbelief on his face.

“Of course.”

“Cool. I’ll let you know.” Ending the conversation, he returned to watching his game.

Tired of the day and needing to chat some more with Kriti, I got up from the sofa. I wished the boys a good night, got a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and took it to my room. Yes, I had a personal room. Ria and Akira used to share a room, but since Akira went to New York, Ria, too, got a room to herself.

Once in my room, I quickly turned on the AC, locked my bedroom door, and went to the attached bathroom for a quick shower. Once I got into my bed, I picked up the phone.

Me: If you’re awake, good night. If you’re asleep, and you see this in the morning, good morning.

Kriti: Did you just get home from work?

Me: Oh, you’re awake. Yeah. Just got home. Had a lot of work.

Kriti: Had a lot of work, or is this your way of stalling your mom?

Me: Potato, Pah-ta-to.

Kriti: Lol. You don’t need to sacrifice rest and sleep for our getting-to-know-each-other scheme.

Me: Guess I’ll have to face her questions soon enough.

Kriti: Anyway. I’m off to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow?

Me: Ofc. Good night!

Kriti: Good night.