“That guy looks like ACP Kailash Mathur,” Akshaj muttered, slowing his steps as his eyes lingered on a couple near the chai shop. “Looks like he’s with a girl.”

The man was holding onto a pink bicycle, clearly not his own. There was no way a senior police officer like Mathur would ride something that bright. The girl beside him stood out even more. Pink hair, bold clothes, unapologetically loud in a way society usually reserved its side-eyes for.

Too funky for someone like him, Akshaj thought instinctively.

Then he caught himself. If they were happy, who was he to judge?

Lavanya followed his gaze. “They look really cute together,” she said, smiling softly.

He turned to her, eyebrows raised, disbelief written all over his face.

She noticed. “What?”

“You said that just for fun, right?” he asked. “I mean, look at them. They’re complete opposites. There’s no way you find that cute.”

“Akshu,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

She slowed her pace slightly, eyes still on the couple. “She’s lucky. Not because of him, exactly, but because she has the freedom to choose herself.” She gestured vaguely. “Look at her hair. Pink. When was the last time you saw a woman around us with hair like that? Or even the freedom to decide something so small without being questioned?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“And look at him,” she continued. “He doesn’t look embarrassed. He doesn’t look irritated. He doesn’t look like he’s trying to fix her or tone her down. He’s smiling. Like he genuinely does not give a damn what anyone thinks about her hair or clothes.”

She looked up at Akshaj. “He loves her as she is. If that isn’t cute, I don’t know what is.”

He nodded slowly.

Something about her words stayed with him. Not uncomfortable enough to argue, not clear enough to fully grasp. Just… heavy.

They walked in silence for a few steps.

“By the way,” Lavanya said casually, as if she were commenting on the weather, “I was thinking of stopping freelancing for a while.”

He looked at her sharply. “Stopping?”

She nodded, breathing in the warm morning air. Summer was creeping in, heavy and slow. “Maa called yesterday. She said it would be better if I took some time off work and focused on the baby. Mummy said the same thing.”

“And you’re okay with that?” He hesitated before adding, “I thought you were trying to find a proper job. You were applying on LinkedIn just last week.”

“I was,” she admitted. “But realistically, who’s going to hire a pregnant woman?” She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “They know we’ll need breaks. And sometimes women just… quit after childbirth. That's like hiring a bad luck.”

“But,” he said slowly, “we have so many people to look after the kid. Mummy, Bhabhi, your mom. Other elders at home. And if needed, there are daycares nearby.” His voice dipped, unsure. “Why take such a long break unless you actually want to?”

She held onto his arm, her grip gentle but firm. “Because being a mother is the ultimate purpose of being a woman, Akshu.”

The sentence landed between them, quiet and unquestioned.

“A child is completely dependent on the mother,” she continued. “Especially in the early years. Only she can give the best care. And women are naturally better at it. Motherhood is precious.”

He frowned.

Not because she sounded unhappy. She didn’t.

That was the part that unsettled him.

“I’m not upset,” she added quickly, sensing his discomfort. “I want to do this. For our baby.”

He nodded again, though the feeling in his chest refused to settle.

“And your education loan?” he asked after a moment.

She sighed. “Maa said Papa will take care of it. Everything happened so suddenly. They feel I shouldn’t stress about money anymore. I should focus on the future of my family.”

Your family, he noted silently.

Not yourself. Not your career. Not your independence.

Akshaj said nothing.

His mind felt crowded. He couldn’t tell where choice ended and expectation began. Whether Lavanya truly wanted all this, or whether she had been gently nudged, reassured, praised into agreeing. Told she was lucky. Told this was natural. Told this was what good women did.

He walked beside her, holding her hand, trying to understand a world where everything sounded loving and reasonable, and yet felt quietly unfair.

And for the first time, he wondered if not understanding was part of the privilege too.

A privilege of being a man.

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