Jassi's voice softened, the edges of her words wrapped in a honeyed, persuasive tone. She sank onto the edge of the worn cot, her eyes wide with the shimmer of a new future.
"Beta, think about it," she murmured, her gaze locked on Pranati's face. "You won't have to work anymore. No more sweating over a hot stove, no more running orders, no more chasing after money. Do you even realize what kind of family this is? The Motwanis. Their wealth isn't just money—it's power. It's respect. People like us… we don't even dream of proposals like this."
Pranati didn't move. Her posture was rigid, her knuckles whitening where her hands rested at her sides.
"You're right," she said finally, her voice low and measured. "Come with me."
A flush of triumph spread across Jassi's cheeks. She rose, smoothing down her faded sari, her steps light with anticipation as she followed her daughter back into the small living room.
Mr. and Mrs. Motwani sat side by side on the only decent sofa in the room, their posture impeccable, their clothes crisp and out of place against the chawl's peeling walls. Neil stood slightly behind them, leaning against the doorframe with an ease that felt proprietary. A faint, knowing smile played on his lips, as if he were watching a script unfold exactly as he'd written it.
Pranati stopped a few feet away, the distance deliberate. She folded her hands in a respectful namaste, her eyes meeting each of theirs in turn before she spoke.
"Mr. Motwani, Mrs. Motwani," she began, her voice clear but not loud. "It is a genuine honor that you considered someone from my background worthy of such a proposal. That you came here personally… it speaks of a kindness I don't take lightly."
Jassi's hopeful smile widened. Mrs. Motwani gave a gentle, approving nod. "You speak well, child. It's refreshing."
Pranati took a slow, steadying breath. The air in the room felt thick, charged with unspoken expectations. She folded her hands again, this time in a gesture of apology that was both graceful and final.
"Because of that respect you've shown me," she continued, her gaze unwavering, "I must be equally honest with you. I cannot accept this proposal."
The silence that followed was not loud, but it was profound. The cheerful sounds from the lane outside seemed to fade away.
Jassi's smile vanished, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief. "Pranati—"
"I am not ready for marriage," Pranati stated, the words leaving no room for negotiation.
Mrs. Motwani's eyebrows lifted slightly, not in anger, but in genuine surprise. "Oh?"
Neil pushed himself off the doorframe, his casual demeanor unchanging. "That's perfectly understandable," he said, his voice smooth, conciliatory. "There's no rush. We could begin with an engagement. A formal understanding. The wedding could follow whenever you're comfortable."
His eyes held hers, a quiet challenge glinting beneath the polite offer.
Pranati turned to face him fully. The memory of the yacht—the cold fear, the humiliating costume, the terror of the storm—tightened her chest, but none of it showed on her face. Her expression was a mask of calm resolve.
"I appreciate the flexibility," she said, her tone polite yet firm. "But I am not ready for an engagement, either. I am not ready for any commitment of this nature."
The finality in her voice was a wall. Mr. Motwani studied her for a long moment, then slowly rose to his feet. He exchanged a silent look with his wife—one of resignation, but also a flicker of respect.
"Honesty is a rare commodity," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his years. "You have declined with grace. That is commendable."
Mrs. Motwani stood as well, offering a small, sympathetic smile. "If your mind ever changes… the offer was made in good faith. Our home remains open."
Pranati bowed her head slightly. "Thank you for your generosity."
Jassi stood frozen, her earlier excitement curdling into a cold, sickening dread as she watched the Motwanis prepare to leave. This was not the scene she had envisioned.
As his parents stepped out into the dusty lane, Neil lingered. He let the door swing halfway closed, casting the room in a slanted shadow.
"May I have a word?" he asked, his voice dropping, meant only for her. "Alone."
Pranati's pulse quickened, a primal warning humming beneath her skin. She glanced at her mother, who was watching them with wide, anxious eyes, then back at Neil. His expression was unreadable—polite, patient, but with an intensity that felt like a trap.
"Yes," she replied, her own voice carefully neutral. "But make it brief."
The door clicked shut, leaving the two of them in the dim, quiet room. The space felt suddenly smaller, the air harder to breathe.