Prologue
The Perfect Match
“Do you love her?”
The question was simple.
The silence that followed wasn’t.
Maan Singh Khurana looked away from the floor-to-ceiling windows of his study and towards his grandmother.
Savitri Devi Khurana sat opposite him, watching him with an expression he knew far too well.
“Dadima—”
“It’s a yes-or-no question, Maan.”
His jaw tightened.
“Since when did love become a prerequisite for marriage?”
Dadima’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Maan noticed.
He always noticed.
“Since marriage became about spending your entire life with another human being.”
“Sameera and I understand each other.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“We respect each other.”
“Maan.”
“Our families know each other. She’s educated, independent and understands the responsibilities that come with the Khurana family.”
Dadima sighed.
“You’ve given me her résumé.”
Maan frowned.
“I asked whether you love her.”
He turned towards the window again.
Outside, Khurana Mansion was glowing.
Workers were putting the finishing touches on the decorations. Flowers had arrived hours earlier. Security had doubled at the gates. Caterers were moving through the gardens.
Tomorrow evening, Delhi’s elite would gather beneath this roof.
And Maan Singh Khurana would become engaged to Sameera Malhotra.
Everything had been arranged.
Everything made sense.
So why was Dadima asking questions that didn’t?
“Love isn’t enough to sustain a marriage, Dadima.”
“No,” she agreed quietly.
Maan looked at her.
She smiled.
“But neither is a checklist.”
Sameera Malhotra was perfect.
There really wasn’t another word for her.
She knew exactly what to wear to a Khurana charity gala.
Exactly what to say to an international investor.
Exactly how much affection to display publicly without turning their relationship into gossip.
She never complained when Maan cancelled dinner because of work.
She never demanded explanations when he disappeared into meetings for twelve hours.
She understood his need for space.
And most importantly—
She never tried to change him.
They had been friends for years.
When their families suggested marriage, neither found a compelling reason to refuse.
Maan considered that maturity.
Dadima apparently considered it concerning.
“You like her,” Dadima said.
“Yes.”
“You trust her?”
“Yes.”
“You respect her?”
“Obviously.”
“Do you miss her?”
Maan’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“When you don’t see Sameera for three days, do you miss her?”
“What kind of question is that?”
Dadima smiled knowingly.
“An inconvenient one.”
Maan picked up the file on his desk.
“This conversation is over.”
“Of course.”
She stood.
At the door, she stopped.
“Maan?”
He didn’t look up.
“Hmm?”
“I hope someday you meet someone whose absence gives you the answer that her presence couldn’t.”
His hand stilled over the document.
But by the time he looked up, Dadima had already left.
The engagement happened exactly as planned.
No surprises.
No disasters.
No imperfections.
Sameera descended the staircase looking breathtaking.
Maan waited below.
She smiled when she reached him.
“Nervous?”
“No.”
“Of course not.” She laughed softly. “Maan Singh Khurana doesn’t get nervous.”
He almost smiled.
“And you?”
“Not particularly.”
That was Sameera.
Calm.
Composed.
Certain.
Exactly like him.
Perhaps that was why everyone believed they were perfect together.
The priest completed the small rituals requested by the elders.
Their families exchanged gifts.
Then the rings arrived.
Sameera extended her hand.
Maan slipped the diamond onto her finger.
Applause filled Khurana Mansion.
Sameera placed his ring on his finger.
Camera flashes exploded around them.
Dadima smiled.
Yet somewhere behind that smile lived the same question.
Do you love her?
Maan ignored it.
He looked at the woman standing beside him.
Beautiful.
Intelligent.
Compatible.
His future wife.
What else did a man need?
The celebrations continued late into the night.
By midnight, the last guests had departed.
By one, Sameera and her family had left.
By two, Khurana Mansion had finally become silent.
Maan entered his bedroom, loosened his tie and glanced at the ring on his finger.
Engaged.
He expected the word to feel different.
It didn’t.
His phone vibrated.
Sameera: Goodnight, fiancé. ❤️
Maan looked at the message.
A few seconds later, he typed:
Maan: Goodnight.
He placed the phone down.
Outside his room, Dadima happened to be passing.
She noticed the light beneath his door.
She stopped.
For one moment, she considered knocking.
Then didn’t.
“Babaji,” she murmured softly, “bas mere Maan ko khush rakhna.”
She walked away.
Neither grandmother nor grandson knew that somewhere beyond the gates of Khurana Mansion…
Babaji had apparently already begun working on it.
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