The living room was thick with the scent of jasmine incense and the nervous energy of two families. Thakur sat stiffly on the velvet sofa, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his cup. He had spent the morning wondering if a life could truly be decided over snacks and polite inquiries. Then Monika entered, carrying a tray of sweets. She didn't offer the shy, downward glance he expected. Instead, as she set the tray down, she caught his eye and gave a small, conspiratorial smirk—as if they were both in on the same secret joke. "The samosas are from the shop around the corner," she whispered as she sat across from him, loud enough only for him to hear. "But I made the chutney. If it’s too spicy, blame me." Monika’s smile widened, her posture relaxing. In that shared look, the "arrangement" began to feel less like a contract and more like a beginning. The room was still full of chattering relatives, but for the first time, Thakur and Monika were the only two people in it.