I threw my extremely cozy covers away as the alarm cried 7 AM on my phone. Despite turning in late yesterday night, my heavy eyelids still found inspiration to wake up on time, probably because of being in no mood to hear a lecture about the importance of waking up on time. It was my birthday morning, and I was happy, in spite of the chronicles of last night. Abeer had, very romantically, set up a beautiful night with dinner and cake and presents for us, and I had smuggled him out of my bathroom and sent him away with a neon-pink flower sweater when my parents had barged in my house to give me a birthday surprise.

I chuckled as I remembered Abeer's soft scowl when he checked himself out in the pink sweater. Despite the disaster yesterday night, it was the most special birthday night of my life. And the funniest too, if you remove the acute dread I felt when my parents had almost walked in on their daughter tumbling on the couch with a guy who was NOT her husband. Oh boy, that would've been SOMETHING. I imagined Abeer and I sitting on some distant beach, reminiscing about this day in each other's embrace.

"Aashi!" My mother's voice broke into my reverie and forced my legs into action.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, when I went out, the breakfast table had been laid out with my favorite idli and chutney peeking out of casseroles. I smiled a toothy grin as I sat down and helped myself with the delicacy mom had prepared for me. There was something about mom's cooking over yours. However well you cooked, it would always be bland in front of your mother's.

I wolfed down idli over idli, gesturing to my parents to start eating too. Knowing my mother, I was sure she would've made idlis enough for the neighbors' families as well, but I didn't want to take chances.

As they settled down with their own plates, my parents looked up at me with weird constipated smiles. I slowed down on my sixth idli. Something was off in the air, I could sense it. But I didn't remark upon it, and continued eating.

My father cleared his throat. "Did you sleep well?" my father asked with a smile. My eyebrows hopped up at his words. Never in my 28 years of existence had papa asked me that. Something was fishy.

"So, one more year added to your age. You are getting old now," my mother started.

"Yes," I said carefully. Old. Yes, everyone wants to hear that on their birthday. "After a certain age pregnancy isn't easy. It is more painful," mom said, pouring chutney in her bowl.

"Mom!" I gave her a horrified expression. This conversation definitely wasn't headed in the right direction. My parents would say otherwise, though.

"Mom please not today, it's my birthday," I gave her an irritated look.

"Then when? When will you get married? Why don't you listen to me? I don't understand what the problem is!" My mother threw her spoon on the plate in an exaggerated manner. Yes, so not dramatic.

"This is not the time to talk about it," I stated and went back to my idli. But mom had come prepared. She threw every tool possible at me, and I just couldn't not fire back at her. Yes, I was my mom's daughter in that way. We didn't shy away from a good fight. We went on bickering for a while until my father interjected.

"We are going to my friend's house for lunch today. Be ready on time. He has a son named Dhruv of your age." I balled my fist in frustration. My father continued in a gentler tone. "It's just lunch. We won't force anything on you. But don't simply say no without even getting to know him. Don't close off your options like that." I couldn't talk back to my father when he said it like that. I rarely talked back to him.

I was fuming. Why did I even think they came to see me for my birthday? Of course there was something else too. This hurt. A lot. For one day couldn't they just forget about societal expectations and celebrate their daughter's birthday? But they had to put me in a spot. I put the plate in the sink and without looking at my mother went back to my room. For a brief moment I felt like going out and telling them all about Abeer. That I loved him. That he was Bengali and a crazy lover of fish. And that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But the series of scenes that my imagination presented before me were gruesome. The word love was unheard in our house. And inter-caste love was equivalent to blasphemy. They would never talk to me again.

I sat on my bed and checked my phone to see Abeer's text. He had sent a photo of him in the pink sweater.

"Preserve and remember this for long Ms. Singhania, I shall have my compensation for this" the text below it said.

It instantly lightened my dark mood and brought a smile to my face. I texted back immediately.

Aashi- What compensation?

Abeer- How about I take milady to lunch today?

I almost typed a yes but deleted it as I remembered my dad's plan at his friend's house. Seeing a prospective groom for marriage. I would just reject the boy and get done with it.

Aashi - Going out with my parents

Abeer- Then dinner?

I sighed.

Aashi- Mom dad won't allow it.

Abeer- I forget how you're still 8 and not 28 for them.

Aashi- ABEER!!!

Abeer- Okay okay don't get angry, I understand.

Aashi- I have tried. It would just end up going nowhere.

Abeer- Fine. I will park my bike below your house at night. Sneak out to see me then, it's your turn now;)

I typed a yes while shaking my head and went to get done with some chores.

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My mother gave a disapproving shake of head and scrunched up her nose as she took in my profile.

"At least tie your hair properly, they are flying in all directions," she took the comb from the stand and started combing my hair vigorously. "And why the jeans?"

I glared at her through the mirror. "And the problem with that is?" She shook her head again. "I should just be happy you're coming with us. Why do I even bother?" Muttering to herself, she pushed me out of the chair and shouted for my father asking if he had called the cab.

I ignored the fight that ensued when mom found out that he hadn't, and focused all my energy on ways and alibis I could use to reject this guy.

We soon got in a cab. There was a disturbing silence. But any talk at this moment would be poking a wild bear, and I wasn't up for being eaten up alive.

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