The wall between us leads to the destination

The Forced Proposal

Laksh adjusted his collar for the third time in the car mirror, tugging at it as if it were strangling him. "Do I really have to do this today?"

"Sir has already sent word," the driver reminded him gently. "The Agarwal family is expecting you this evening."

"Right. Formal meeting. Marriage talk." Daksh exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I still don't even know this girl's name properly."

"Meera, Young Master."

"Meera," he repeated, testing the name as if it belonged to a stranger—which, as far as he was concerned, it did. His father had arranged this the way he arranged everything: efficiently, without asking his wishes, and expecting obedience in return. Daksh had agreed to show up mostly because arguing with Rikant Prasad Singhania took more energy than simply appearing, smiling politely for an hour, and leaving.What he hadn't accounted for was where "meeting the Agarwal family" would actually take him.

The car rolled to a stop at the very edge of the Baadi—the same lane, the same street where he had humiliated himself only a few days ago under the name Lucky. He stepped out, sunglasses pushed up, entirely unaware of the storm about to greet him.

"You," Naira's voice cut through the street before he could even take five steps.Laksh turned, and his stomach dropped slightly at the sight of her—the same girl, the same fire in her eyes, now aimed squarely at him again. "Oh. It's you."

"Don't sound so surprised," Naira snapped, crossing her arms. "What are you doing back here? Looking for another stranger to humiliate on a bet?"

"Relax," Laksh said, holding up both hands with a lazy grin. "I'm not here causing trouble today. I'm here for something... official."

"Officially," Naira repeated skeptically. "Somehow I doubt you know the meaning of that word."

"You'd be surprised," he smirked, glancing around the lane. "I'm actually here to meet someone. A family matter."

Naira's expression shifted from irritation to something sharper—suspicion. "What family matter would bring someone like you to this Baadi?"

Before he could answer, it clicked in her mind faster than he expected. "Wait." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you talking about the alliance? The Agarwal family is expecting someone from a rich family to come to see Meera today."

Laksh blinked, caught slightly off guard. "You know about that?"

"Everyone in the Baadi knows about it," Naira said, disbelief written across her face. "But there's no way – there's absolutely no way you're the boy that the great Parvati Agarwal has been praising for the last three days like he's some prince."

"Depends," Laksh said, recovering his easy grin. "Which prince are we talking about?"

"Don't play games with me," Naira stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward his chest, echoing the same warning she'd given him a few days ago. "If you are who I think you are, let me make one thing very clear right now. Meera is nothing like the girls you're used to messing around with. She's gentle, disciplined, and respects her family more than anything – and someone like you, who hugs strangers for bets and treats everything like a joke, has no business anywhere near her life."

"Wow." Laksh raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused despite himself. "You really don't hold back, do you?"

"Not when it comes to my friend," Naia said firmly. "So whatever this is — whatever arrangement your family has cooked up — stay away from her. She deserves someone serious, not someone who treats life like one big bet to win."

Laksh studied her for a long moment, the smirk faltering just slightly before he masked it again. "Careful," he said lightly, stepping past her toward the house. "You almost sound worried I might actually be that boy."

"I'm not worried," Naira shot back. "I'm certain you'll prove me right."

"We'll see about that," he called over his shoulder, disappearing through the gate and leaving Naira standing in the lane, arms crossed and jaw tight, unaware that the boy she'd just threatened to keep away from her best friend was about to walk straight into her life.

The Agarwal hall had been prepared since morning — fresh flowers strung along the doorframe, silver trays polished and lined with sweets, every cushion straightened twice over.

Pravathi hovered near the entrance, smoothing her saree for the third time, as the sound of a car pulling up sent a ripple of excitement through the house.

"They're here! The Singhanai's are here!" she called, clapping her hands as if summoning the household to attention.

Brinda Rikant Prasad Singhania swept in first, warm and composed, greeting Pravathi with folded hands. "Namaste, aunty Thank you for having us."

"The honor is entirely ours," Pravathi gushed, ushering her toward the seating.

Behind her, Laksh trailed in last, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight with the particular resentment of a man attending his own sentencing. He dropped onto the cushioned seat his mother gestured toward, arms crossed.

"Sit properly, Laksh," Brinda murmured under her breath.

"I am sitting, Ma," he muttered back. "You didn't say anything about my posture needing approval too."

"Lucky," she warned quietly, using the name only she used when she meant business, "today, of all days, behave."

He exhaled and forced his arms to uncross, though the frustration didn't leave his face. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't been consulted. His mother had simply decided, the way mothers in this family always seemed to decide everything, and now here he was — dressed up, seated, and expected to smile at a girl he'd never laid eyes on.

That was when Meera entered.

She came in slowly, veiled in a heavy red dupatta, eyes lowered, every step careful and deliberate, exactly as she'd been raised to move in moments like this. She settled into the chair across from him without a word, hands folded, the very picture of obedience.

Laksh studied her for a long moment — the silence, the veil, the practiced stillness — and felt something in him deflate further. This is what my father thinks I need, he thought bitterly. A girl trained to disappear into a room.

He didn't yet know the fire that lived just beneath that quiet. He only saw what the ritual wanted him to see.

Meanwhile, three streets away, Naira stood frozen in her doorway, phone in hand, staring at a photograph her friend had just forwarded her.

"That's him," she said slowly, disbelief creeping into her voice. "That's actually him."

"Him who?" her friend asked.

"The guy from the street. The one who hugged me on a bet." Naira's grip on the phone tightened. "His name is Laksh. Laksh Singhania. He's the boy they're marrying Meera to."

"Wait — Lucky? That Lucky?"

"The same one," Naira snapped, already grabbing her dupatta off the hook by the door. "The reckless, shameless, bet-making Lucky is apparently sitting there right now, pretending to be some respectable groom."

"Naira, wait—"

But she was already moving, cutting through the lane at a near-run, her earlier warning to him echoing in her own ears: stay away from her. She'd said it without knowing. Now she knew exactly who she'd said it to.

She burst through the courtyard gate just as the priest was preparing the next round of formalities, breathless, eyes immediately locking onto the boy seated across from Meera.

"You," she said, voice cutting sharply through the quiet ceremony.

Every head turned. Laksh looked up, and for the first time since walking in, something other than boredom crossed his face — pure, unfiltered alarm.

"Oh no," he muttered under his breath.

"You're Laksh?" Naira said, storming further into the hall, ignoring the scandalized gasps rippling through the relatives. "You're the boy this family wants to marry Meera to?"

Meera, startled, looked between them both. "Naira? What's going on? Do you two... know each other?"

Naira's eyes never left Laksh's face. "Oh, we know each other," she said, voice like ice. "Better than you'd think."