Arati woke up to a quite chilly morning, a sense of stillness filling the air. The usual sounds of the house—the soft clatter of pots and pans as her mother prepared breakfast, the distant hum of conversation between her father and Somnath—were conspicuously absent. Arati sat up in bed, her senses heightened by the unusual silence.

She glanced at the clock. It was late, but the absence of activity felt wrong. A deep, instinctual awareness tugged at her, something she couldn't quite place. With a sigh, she pushed the covers aside and walked to the door of her room, the wooden floor creaking beneath her feet. As she stepped into the hallway, she was met with an unexpected sight.

Her parents sat at the dining table, both of them unusually still, as though bracing for something. Her father was the first to look up, his face unreadable, the kind of serious expression that Arati had seen only when he had to deliver difficult news. Her mother, sitting beside him, had her hands folded neatly in front of her, but there was a tightness to her face—a quiet anticipation that seemed to hang in the air like a veil.

"Tia", her father said, his voice calm but edged with an unspoken weight, "come sit with us."

The moment Arati crossed the threshold into the room, she felt the intensity of the situation. The air around her seemed to thicken, and she couldn't help but feel as though she were walking into something that had already been decided.

She moved to the chair opposite them, her heart racing. Her mother's eyes were wide, filled with expectation, while her father's face was unreadable, though his posture suggested something important was coming. The quiet of the house seemed louder now.

Her father cleared his throat and began. 

"Rishi has agreed to the marriage," he said, his voice steady but with a note of finality, as though this was a matter that had been settled long ago, "He has confirmed that he is ready to move forward. And now, Arati..." 

He paused, meeting her gaze with a look that held both care and seriousness, "It is your turn to decide. What do you say?"

The words hung in the air, dense and heavy, like a weight she couldn't quite lift. Arati blinked, her thoughts a tangled mess, the grogginess from just having woke up not helping in the least.

"Rishi?", she repeated, her voice slightly trembling, as if testing the reality of what she'd just heard.

Her mother nodded,

"Yes, Rishi. The Das family who came with a proposal. You even went on a walk with him!"

Arati blinked blankly.

"He has given his consent. And now we await yours."

The realization was slow, creeping like a shadow across her thoughts. The marriage—this abstract concept that had been discussed in quiet conversations, tucked into the corners of her life—was now real. Rishi had agreed. And now it was her turn to say yes.

Her mother leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement.

"So, Arati, what do you say?", she asked again, her voice trembling with hope, her expression eager and hopeful. But there was an undercurrent of something else too—expectation, perhaps even pressure, all wrapped up in her gaze.

Arati could feel her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words. She didn't know what to say. The world around her suddenly felt too small, too close. Her heart raced as she tried to process what was happening. A decision—her decision—was being expected of her, and yet she had so little time to process the enormity of it all.

"I need some more time", she croaked out, almost guiltily. It would be a lie if she told herself she wasn't given enough time already, yet nothing felt enough in the moment.

Arati nodded, grateful for the suggestion. She could feel the space between herself and her family widening in the tension that filled the room. As she stood, she moved toward the door quickly, eager to escape the suffocating air of the house and the expectations that now clung to her like a second skin.

Kali was sitting under the large banyan tree in her backyard, as she often did when the afternoon sun was gentle and the heat was bearable. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. As Arati walked toward her, Kali's gaze lifted, immediately catching the troubled look on her friend's face.

"Arati, what's wrong?" Kali asked, her voice soft with concern, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Arati sat down beside her, the cool shade of the tree offering some relief from the oppressive air. The rustling of the leaves above them was the only sound for a moment, as Arati tried to gather her thoughts.

"Rishi has agreed to the marriage," Arati said softly, her voice tight with emotion, "It's real now. And I suppose me parents want me to say yes."

Kali raised an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful, "And what do you want?"

Arati's heart squeezed at the question. It felt like an innocent inquiry, but to Arati, it held a weight she wasn't sure how to carry. 

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know him, Kali. I've only met him once, and it was all so formal with Dada looming over us. Now suddenly, it feels like my whole life is mapped out for me. I'm supposed to say yes. But I'm scared. What if I say yes, and I'm not ready? What if it's not right?"

Kali's expression softened, and she placed a comforting hand on Arati's shoulder.

"Arati, I can't tell you what to do. I can't make that choice for you. But you're not in this alone. Rishi has known you as long as you have known him. And no one is forcing you to make a choice"

Arati nodded, her eyes downcast,

"I know. But there's so much uncertainty. My mother speaks of him as though she knows him well, but I only saw him in brief moments, in formal settings. I don't know what he really wants, what his dreams are, or what he's really like when he's not playing the part of the dutiful suitor."

Kali chuckled softly, her voice gentle,

"Arati, you can't know everything about him right now. You're right—it's not the same as having spent years with someone. But you know yourself. You know what you value, what matters to you. And you also know how it feels when something is right."

Arati looked at her friend, seeing the wisdom in her eyes. Kali was never one to offer easy answers, but her words had always been grounded in truth. 

"But what if I'm not ready for the responsibility of marriage? What if I can't be the kind of wife I'm supposed to be?"

Kali gave a soft laugh, shaking her head, "Arati, no one is ever ready. Not in the way you think. Marriage isn't about being perfect from the start. It's about growing, together, over time. And you're not making this decision alone. Rishi will grow with you, just as you will grow with him. You'll learn to be the kind of wife you want to be."

Arati smiled faintly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly, "You always know just what to say."

"I'm not giving advice. I'm just reminding you who you are."

The sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the garden. Arati sat in the quiet, her mind turning over the possibilities. There was no certainty, not yet. But the weight she had carried seemed lighter now, and the fear she had felt lessened by a small but important degree.

That evening, when she returned home, her heart was still heavy, but it was a weight she had chosen to carry. She knew what she had to do.

"I've thought about it," Arati said softly, looking at her parents across the table, "I accept. I trust Rishi. I'll marry him."

Her mother's face lit up immediately, her joy spilling over in a delighted gasp, "Oh, Arati! You've made the right choice. I knew you would! This will turn out to be wonderful, I'm sure of it. We have so many preparations to make!"

She clapped her hands, already thinking ahead to the wedding arrangements with feverish excitement.

Arati smiled, a small, nervous smile. She wasn't entirely sure what the future would hold, but the decision felt right in this moment. She had found her voice. And now, it was time to step forward.

It hadn't been even a week since she confirmed her decision and Arati felt the subtle shift in the air as everything became more real, more immediate. Then, a letter arrived from Rishi. It was the first letter he had written since their engagement had been formally agreed upon, and Arati held the envelope with a flutter of anticipation.

Dear Arati,

I trust this letter finds you well. I write to you with great pleasure, for it brings me joy to know that we have both come to the same decision. I am pleased that we are moving forward together, and I hope that the days ahead will bring us closer, though we remain physically distant for now.

I look forward to the day when we can meet again. The time we spent together was brief, but it was enough to know that I can imagine a future with you.

With respect and anticipation,
Rishi

Arati read his words slowly, savoring the familiar comfort they brought. There was a kindness in his tone, a sense of care and respect that she hadn't fully grasped before. And though her heart wasn't yet filled with love, it was beginning to feel like something more than a decision.

She sat down at her desk and, for the first time, wrote her response with a quiet sense of certainty:

Dear Rishi,

I am glad to hear from you. It has been a few weeks since our engagement was formalized, and I am now certain that we are both ready to take the next step.

I, too, look forward to the future we are about to share, though I know it will not be without its challenges. But I trust that we will find our way together, just as we have now.

With respect and quiet excitement,
Arati

As she sealed the envelope and placed it in the mailbox, Arati felt a quiet shift within her. It wasn't love, not yet. But it was the beginning of something real—a connection that had started with a simple decision and would unfold, one letter at a time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next few weeks passed in a blur of preparations and quiet reflections. Arati's family immersed themselves in the arrangements for the wedding, but Arati felt a strange sense of distance from the whole process. The celebration, though exciting, felt like something that was happening to her, not something she was actively participating in.

Yet, with every letter she received from Rishi, a new layer of connection grew between them. Each letter was a window into a world she had yet to enter, and with each word he wrote, she could almost sense his presence beside her.

The first few letters were simple—formal, as expected. But as the weeks wore on, something began to shift. They both seemed to sense an unspoken understanding that their letters had become more than mere correspondence; they were a way to bridge the gap between two lives that had yet to truly intersect. In these exchanges, Arati found a space where she could speak freely, without the watchful eyes of her parents, without the heaviness of expectations pressing on her.

It started with small gestures, the kind of things you could only share when distance demanded a different kind of closeness.

Dear Arati,

It has been several weeks since I last wrote to you, and I must say I find myself looking forward to each of your letters with more eagerness than I expected. It is strange, in a way, how something as simple as a few pages of ink and paper can form a bond between two people, but I suppose life is full of strange things.

You might wonder why I've waited so long to write again. To be honest, I've been busy with work—life in England was full of its own challenges, and though I am back in Kolkata now, it seems there is always something that demands my attention. But I have made a point of taking time today to sit down and write to you, as I believe that is the most important thing in our current situation—to connect, to truly communicate, even if through letters.

I remember our brief conversation during my last visit, and though we spoke little, I felt something in that moment—a sense of ease, perhaps, that we are on the same page in this, even if we are not yet sure of what lies ahead. I hope we can continue to learn about one another, and though I may not be the best at expressing myself verbally, I hope my letters will convey the sincerity of my intentions.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Yours sincerely,
Rishi

Arati read Rishi's letter slowly, savoring the quiet honesty in his words. It was the first time she'd sensed any vulnerability in his writing, and it left her feeling oddly comforted. He spoke of the past with a quiet nostalgia—his time in England was a part of him, something he still carried with him despite being back in Kolkata.

She thought about his words for a long while. Then, she sat at her desk, the candlelight flickering softly in the late evening as she began her reply.

Dear Rishi,

Thank you for your thoughtful letter. I, too, find it curious how letters can create a connection, even when we are far apart. The written word is powerful, and it is through these simple exchanges that I begin to understand you, even if in small pieces.

As you may know, I have always been a person of quiet reflection. Words are both my refuge and my means of understanding the world. In your letter, I sense a depth that I did not know you possessed—a depth that is beyond the formalities of our engagement.

I also wanted to share something with you, something personal. You mentioned England, and I couldn't help but wonder what it was like for you there. It must have been a world so different from our own. I imagine the streets, the air, the people... Did it feel like home? Or was it always a place you were visiting, a brief sojourn before returning to your roots here in Kolkata?

As for myself, I have found much comfort in writing poetry. It is a solitary pursuit, but one that has always helped me make sense of the world. I hope to share some of my work with you one day, though I wonder if you would find it too introspective or unimportant.

I look forward to hearing from you again, and perhaps—if you wish to share—some more of your experiences in England.

Yours faithfully,
Arati

The next letter Arati received arrived a week later. Rishi's handwriting was more relaxed this time, the words flowing more freely as if he were speaking directly to her. There was a warmth to his tone that made Arati smile as she read.

Dear Arati,

I must say, your letter was a pleasant surprise. I find myself intrigued by your love of poetry. I have always believed that art, in whatever form it takes, has the power to reveal parts of ourselves that words alone cannot express. Perhaps, someday, you could share your poetry with me. I would be honored to read it.

As for my time in England, it was, indeed, a world apart from Kolkata. The first few months were the hardest—I missed the warmth of home, the sounds of the city, the constant hum of life here. But over time, I came to appreciate the things that England had to offer—the gardens, the quietude of the countryside, and yes, even the cold winters. But in the end, no matter how beautiful the landscape or how cultured the people, I found myself longing for Kolkata, for the chaos and color that only this city can provide. I suppose that's what makes it home, in the end.

I remember walking through the streets of London, watching the people rush past me, all of them lost in their own worlds. It struck me, then, how much the world has changed, how connected we all are despite the distance between us. The technology we rely on, the speed of life—it all feels so different from the pace of our lives here in Kolkata. But it was in those moments of quiet reflection that I came to realize something important: home is not just a place. It is the people we are with, the bonds we share.

I look forward to hearing more from you, Arati. You have a quiet strength about you that I admire, and I hope that, in time, we can learn to know one another better.

Yours sincerely,
Rishi

Arati placed his letter on her desk, her thoughts swirling. There was something in Rishi's words that spoke to her, something that made her feel seen, even in the most subtle of ways. His words made her think about the difference between home and belonging. She had always been here, in Kolkata, surrounded by family and tradition. But what would it mean to belong with him? To make a new home together?

She sat quietly for a long time, then began to write once more.

Dear Rishi,

Thank you for your lovely letter. Your words about home struck a chord within me. I have never thought of home in quite the same way—always associating it with the place, the city. But now I see it differently. Perhaps home is not just about the place, but about the people, the connections we make, and the bonds we form.

I have spent much of my life thinking about what it means to belong, and your letter has helped me see that belonging is not something we seek from the world, but something we create within ourselves and with others. It is in the quiet moments, like the one we share now through these letters, that I am beginning to understand what that might mean for me.

I look forward to hearing from you soon, and I hope that, in time, we can share more of our thoughts, not just in letters, but in person.

Yours faithfully,
Arati

And so it continued. The letters between Arati and Rishi became more than just polite exchanges. They were the foundation upon which something real was being built. Each letter carried a piece of their heart, each word a step closer to understanding.

Arati found herself eagerly awaiting the arrival of Rishi's letters. His thoughts on technology, his reflections on the future, and his musings on life in England fascinated her. But even more so, it was his openness—the way he allowed her into his thoughts, his past—that made her feel like they were moving toward something more than an arranged marriage. They were slowly learning about each other in ways they never could have in person.

She often found herself sitting in the quiet of her room, thinking about him. She wondered what it would be like when they finally met, when the letters were no longer necessary, and their voices could fill the silences.

But until then, the letters were enough. And for the first time in a long time, Arati allowed herself to dream—of a future with Rishi, of a life that was slowly beginning to take shape with each word they exchanged.