Seconds seemed to pass like minutes, as Neela absorbed the reality of a big ol' fashioned Indian-Canadian family reunion in Paris.

The way her older sister would call her out every chance she got.

The way her mom would complain about everything, while intermittently studying Neela's face-size and telling her she'd been eating too many croissants.

The way her dad would arrive in Paris and feel homesick for Indian food in approximately 3.2 seconds.

And the way her mom and dad would be totally scandalized when they found out she'd gotten engaged and would be staying in France for good.

"Aren't you excited?" Dad said, as Neela played out the horrifying scenarios in her head. When she didn't respond his expression darkened. "Don't you miss us?"

This latest question finally registered with Neela. "Of course I miss you. But I already told you I had a Google Alert for cheap flights; if you had waited you probably could've gotten something cheaper."

In reality there was no Google Alert to speak of. Just a steady and committed repulsion to having her family ever visit.

"How long were we supposed for a cheap flight?" Dad said. "We haven't seen you since Christmas. And anyway, these tickets are non-refundable so we are coming."

This one simple word, 'non-refundable,' made her grip the nearest throw pillow so hard she almost ripped into the stuffing. "So when is this trip even happening?" she asked, her voice sounding quiet and defeated.

Dad couldn't help but grin. "We leave in four weeks!"

"What is that?" Mom said sharply, a random interruption topped off with a glare. Her face was now crawling with accusation as she poked at the screen with her finger.

Neela was genuinely baffled. "What's what?"

"Behind you," Mom replied. "Hanging on the sofa. Those are dress pants. For a man."

Neela immediately jerked her head around.

And there it was.

A pair of pants.

Luc's pants.

Luc's pants in recently-worn disarray.

Trying her best to stay totally chill, she turned back around towards the screen. "Fashion week!" she sputtered.

Neela seemed as surprised by the random proclamation as her parents.

"What does this fashion week mean?" Mom said, her expression as suspicious as ever.

"I'm writing an article for fashion week!" Neela exclaimed. Her parents' blank stares made it clear that she needed to elaborate. "The Paris fashion show! And for next winter, the new trend for women is to wear men's pants. They gave me a sample." She shrugged dismissively. "It's not really my favourite style though."

Mom shook her head in disapproval. "This white people fashion; it's too crazy."

Neela nodded firmly in agreement. "Yep...those crazy white people."

The topic shifted from there and Neela couldn't help but feel proud of herself.

Until she noticed Luc glaring from the bedroom doorway...

***

A couple of hours after the call, Luc was in the bedroom ironing the controversial man-pants, his creases annoyingly exact.

Neela watched from a sprawled out position on the bed, her expression nowhere near apologetic. "I still think you're being weird," she declared.

He scoffed. "If you want to talk about weird, there is a lot we could cover."

Instead of being offended, she seemed even more self-assured. "So you're genuinely surprised that old-fashioned Indian parents—who met three days before their wedding by the way—would have a total fit if they knew their unmarried daughter was living with a guy?"

He sighed. "Maybe not, but how much longer will I be the ghost in your life?" He turned dramatically. "These pants belong to a person!"

Neela seemed surprised by his sudden outburst, and when the shock of it wore off she actually felt a little repulsed.

Even so she shifted gears in an attempt to be sympathetic. "You're right, these pants belong to a person." She sat up and managed a smile. "But don't you think it's better for my parents to meet the pants when they're worn by my fiancé's body?"

He turned his attention back to the ironing. "So I am your fiancé then? Just checking."

She couldn't actually see if he was pouting now, but from his tone it was pretty clear. She rolled her eyes. How was she going to get out of this when she thought he was being a drama queen?

And then she had an idea.

"Of course you're my fiancé," she said softly, switching gears and sexily stretching out on the bed. "Now why don't you come over here and prove it?"

He seemed completely immune to her sexy ways and kept on ironing. "If I truly am of such importance, you should be more excited to have your parents come for a visit." He looked back and finally smiled. "Won't their visit be the perfect chance to announce our big news?"

Her horny vibes dissolved into immediate anxiety. She knew her two worlds would collide eventually, but to have it happen in only four weeks' time? It was simply too soon. But how could she possibly explain that to Luc? There was no good way to say it, especially not when he was standing there with such an excited look on his face.

"I am excited!" she insisted, opting for the go-to lie. "It'll just be a little bit complicated to share such exciting news when they're...you know...being themselves."

He set down the iron, at last forsaking the perfect creases of those goddamn pants. "I suppose I can understand this a little."

Her pulse quickened as she thought about the looming conflict more and more. "And on top of all that, it'll be even harder to share the news when they're navigating a foreign country and they're totally out of their comfort zone. Like 'Hey Dad, wanna hear some news? Oh but first why don't you choke on this bucket of fresh steamed mussels!'" She shuddered. "It's gonna be totally fucked."

He went over to her and cradled her face in his hands.

"I promise I will be my most charming self, and I promise it will be great."

She emerged from her spiral of anxiety and snorted.

"What?" he said confused.

"It's just...is charm really your secret weapon?" she said smirking. "Because when you and I first met...you were kind of a dick."

"This is not true!" he protested.

"You really don't remember? That crowded bar on the Left Bank?" She crossed her arms. "You knocked over my drink, but you only half-ass cleaned it up."

"That's because my favourite song started playing! I had been waiting for it all night!"

"Wait..." she started to remember, "not that song..." The look of dread was already apparent on her face.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "The one by Jason Derulo!"

She was officially scandalized. "You're actually saying that your favourite song of all time is by Jason Derulo?"

He laughed like it was no big deal, like his severely questionable taste in music was not even an issue at all.

"Do not pretend you didn't know," he said teasingly. "I played it last week when I was cooking dinner."

Neela leaned back in shock. "I must've been listening to my murder podcast with my headphones on..."

"You still listen to those?" He shook his head disapprovingly. "It is such a morbid concept."

There was a long pause. An eternity of a pause. A pause in which the great divide between Neela and her husband-to-be had never seemed bigger.

But Luc didn't have a clue.

"It will be great to meet your parents," he added firmly, before leaning over to kiss her forehead. "So please try not to feel stressed about it."

"Okay!" she said, in a tone so unconvincing he would probably pick up on it right away.

But he didn't.

So she did the only thing she could think of doing. She hopped off the bed and hightailed it outta there.

She headed straight for the kitchen and grabbed a juice glass from the cupboard.

"Jason DeRulo?" she muttered. "Un-fucking-believable."

Her sarcasm transformed into serious concern. Within seconds she was clutching her chest, likely due to a panic attack brought on by the prospect of the next fifty years, a time in which there would be no escape from a well-meaning person who probably wasn't 'the one.'

Her shallow breathing slowed when she noticed a stack of mail on the counter.

The first letter had been sent from the government and addressed to Neela. It was likely an update on her permanent residency status.

She ripped open the envelope and scanned the letter, sighing in relief when she realized that her co-habitation with Luc—so long as it continued—would mean a far less cumbersome path to staying in France for good.

Feeling some sense of relief—which was a much-needed distraction from the dangerous thoughts she'd just been flirting with—Neela took her empty glass to the fridge. She reached for the fridge-door handle, but something stopped her. It was a photograph taped to the fridge, featuring a special moment in time early on in her relationship with Luc.

The photo depicted a sunny day at the Giverny gardens, with Neela and Luc happily posing with their bicycles surrounded by lush greenery and flowers. It was the spot where Monet had conceived his famous 'Water Lilies' painting, an iconic destination popular with couples the world over.

Their bike ride that day had included a picnic on a grassy hill, with nothing but the sounds of chirping birds and leaves in the breeze as their soundtrack. He'd poured her champagne and told her he loved her that afternoon, and up until that moment, it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her. Until of course that recent night at the Michelin star restaurant, when the violinist played, the waiter poured champagne, and Luc got down on one knee to pop the big question.

She stared at the photo harder and frowned.

Why hadn't she felt as happy as the beaming girl in the photo on the night when Luc had made the most romantic gesture in the world?

She put down the glass, opened the fridge, and pulled out a half-empty bottle of rosé.

She sat on the floor and drank it straight from the bottle, while tightly clutching the letter from the government that sealed the deal on her perfectly arranged future in France...