Two strangers
The rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed through the hospital corridor as Dr. Rivan Malhotra walked toward the on-call room. The fluorescent lights above flickered slightly, casting a dull glow over the white walls. It was just another late night, another shift where exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.
Dressed in his white coat, sleeves casually rolled up, he scanned the patient charts in his hands. At 6’2” with sharp features and deep brown eyes, Rivan carried an air of quiet authority. His dark hair was slightly tousled from hours of work, yet there was something effortlessly put-together about him. Patients trusted him, colleagues respected him, but very few truly knew him.
“Doctor, you need a break,” Aisha’s voice interrupted his thoughts. She was one of the junior residents—cheerful and persistent. She handed him a cup of coffee with a teasing smile.
Rivan smirked, taking the cup. “Breaks are for people who don’t have fathers like Dr. Rajiv Malhotra.”
Aisha chuckled. “Ah, the famous Dr. Malhotra pressure. You’re one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, but I doubt he ever says ‘I’m proud of you,’ does he?”
Rivan exhaled softly, not answering. His father’s expectations were a shadow he had long learned to live under.
“By the way,” she continued, stirring her own coffee, “Arjun was looking for you. He said something about dragging you out of this hospital for once?”
Rivan huffed a laugh. “Sounds like him.” Arjun had been his best friend since medical school—relaxed, easygoing, and always trying to push Rivan to loosen up.
At that moment, his phone buzzed. A message from Karan, his younger brother.
Karan: Mom is asking if you’ll be home for dinner. Dad said ‘no need’ but you know how she is.
Rivan sighed. His mother, Neelam, always worried about him, unlike his father, who believed work was all that mattered.
“Another work meeting?” Aisha guessed, noticing his frown.
“No,” Rivan muttered. “Another family expectation.”
Miles away, in a house filled with warmth and the rich aroma of freshly made food, Arya set the dining table with practiced ease. The clinking of plates and the distant sound of the television filled the air, but her mind was elsewhere.
“Arya, don’t forget, we have a guest tomorrow,” her mother, Aarti, reminded her, adjusting the bangles on her wrist.
Arya looked up from the table, already sensing where this was going. “Who now?”
“Your father’s friend’s son. He’s a doctor,” Aarti said with a hopeful smile.
A familiar disappointment settled in Arya’s chest. Another arranged marriage meeting. Another evening spent trying to impress someone she barely knew.
Simi, her younger sister, grinned as she plopped onto the sofa. “Maybe he’ll be handsome. Tall, dark, and serious—just your type.”
Arya rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a type.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem,” Simi teased.
Her grandmother, Dadi, chimed in from the corner, her voice gentle but firm. “Love can happen even after marriage. You just need a good man who will take care of you.”
Arya sighed but didn’t argue. She loved her family, but sometimes, their love came with expectations she wasn’t sure she could fulfill.
Just then, her phone vibrated. A message from Meera, her childhood best friend.
Meera: Don’t kill me, but I might’ve given Tanya the gossip about your new marriage proposal.
Meera again: Also, you better be at my place later. Emergency tea session needed.
Arya smiled despite herself. Meera was her safe space—bold, energetic, and always ready to pull Arya out of her worries. Tanya, on the other hand, was bound to have endless opinions about this whole arranged marriage setup.
As Arya cleared the table, she couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling in her chest. Her life was already a delicate balance between her dreams and her family’s wishes. Would this meeting tip the scale?
Little did she know, the man she was about to meet carried the same weight of expectations.
Two strangers. Two different lives. Yet, fate was about to intertwine their paths in ways neither expected.
