The Unwanted Proposal

Days turned into months, and months into years, yet she remained unwavering in her decision—she would not remarry. She had carved out a life for herself and her daughter, and though it was not always easy, it was hers. She had built her world with her own hands, filled it with stability, love, and the quiet determination that had carried her through the darkest times.

But her parents saw things differently. As they grew older, their concern for her only deepened. "What will happen to you after we’re gone?" her mother often asked, her voice laced with worry. "Who will be there for you when you need someone?"

She never had a proper answer for them. She had her daughter, and that was enough for her. But to her parents, it wasn’t enough. They worried about her being alone, about her carrying all burdens of life without a companion. They feared that once they were gone, she would have no one to turn to.

She reassured them every time, saying, "I am strong enough to take care of myself and my daughter. I don’t need a man to complete my life." Yet, their concerns never waned.

One evening, when she returned from work, she found her mother waiting for her with an unreadable expression. "Sit down," she said softly.

Unease settled in her chest, but she obeyed. Across from her sat an unfamiliar man—middle-aged, well-dressed, and carrying a small folder in his hands. She didn’t need to ask to know who he was.

"This is Mr. Patel," her mother introduced. "He’s a wedding broker. He has brought details of a match we think would be suitable for you."

Her heart clenched, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Mother, we’ve talked about this," she said, her voice firm. "I don’t want to get married again."

Her mother sighed, placing a gentle hand on hers. "Just listen, my child. If you still refuse, we won’t force you."

She knew that was a lie. They had been trying for years, gently at first, but now their persistence had turned into something more desperate. She sighed and crossed her arms. "Fine. I’ll listen, but don’t expect anything more."

The broker opened his folder and pulled out a photograph of a man. "His name is Abinav Malhotra," he began. "He’s 38 years old, a businessman, and a single father. His wife passed away during childbirth five years ago, leaving behind their son. Like you, he was not interested in remarrying, but his family has been insisting, just as yours has."

She glanced at the photo briefly. He was a man with sharp features, a serious expression, and a pair of deep, weary eyes. The kind of eyes that had seen too much, just like hers.

"He understands loss, just as you do," the broker continued. "He isn’t looking for love—just companionship, stability, and a mother figure for his son. This is not about romance; it’s about building a family for the children."

The words sent a chill down her spine. It was logical, reasonable. A marriage of convenience. Yet, the thought of stepping into another man’s life, sharing her home, her daughter, her very existence with someone else felt suffocating.

"I don’t know," she admitted, closing her eyes for a moment. "I don’t think I can do this."

Her mother’s voice was gentle but insistent. "At least meet him. You’re both in the same situation. He has no interest in a wife the way you have no interest in a husband. Perhaps, this could work for both of you."

She hesitated. Would meeting him really be so harmful? She had spent years dodging proposals, rejecting suitors, insisting she was fine alone. But was she? Her daughter had begun asking questions about why she didn’t have a father like the other kids at school. Was she depriving her of something important?

The broker left after setting up the meeting. It was scheduled for the following Sunday at a quiet café. As the day approached, she found herself feeling restless. What was she even going to say to him?

When she arrived at the café, she spotted him immediately. Arnav Malhotra sat at the farthest table, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sipping his tea as he checked his watch. He looked up as she approached, standing politely as she took her seat.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, he spoke. "Let me be honest—I was forced to come here just as much as you were."

She let out a small laugh, a genuine one, easing some of the tension. "At least we’re on the same page about that."

He nodded. "I don’t believe in love anymore. My wife was everything to me, and after she passed, I knew I could never replace her. My son... he’s the only reason I even considered this. He needs a mother, and I need a partner in raising him. I assume your family convinced you for similar reasons."

She hesitated before nodding. "Yes. My daughter is my world. I don’t need anything beyond her, but my parents think otherwise. They believe I need someone to share my burdens with."

He studied her for a long moment before speaking again. "I won’t lie—I have no expectations from this. But I do know that raising a child alone is hard. Maybe... maybe we can help each other."

She exhaled slowly, absorbing his words. There was no pretense, no hidden agenda. He wasn’t trying to woo her, wasn’t promising love or happiness. He was simply offering an agreement, a way to make life easier for them both.

Could she do this? Could she let someone into her carefully constructed life?

She looked at him again—at the tired lines on his face, at the quiet pain he carried. He wasn’t asking for love, just as she wasn’t offering it. Maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of arrangement that could work.

"Let’s take it slow," she said finally. "If we do this, I want to be sure—for both our children's sake."

He gave a small nod. "That’s all I ask."

And with that, the first step was taken, into a future she had never imagined for herself.

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