It was two days before the engagement.

The lehenga was ready. The haldi playlist had been made. My cousins had started rehearsing for their dance. The house smelled of fresh marigold and pressed silks, and everyone was walking on air.

Everyone except me.

Something had been sitting heavy in my chest lately. A quiet ache. A question I couldn’t name. And maybe that’s why I decided to surprise Rohit.

I didn’t call. I didn’t text. I just picked up a small box of his favorite pastries from the bakery near his place and took an auto straight to his apartment. Maybe, I told myself, a quiet moment together will help. Maybe we just need time away from everyone else.

When I reached, the door was slightly ajar.

I knocked gently, and no one answered. But I could hear voices inside—low, tense, not meant to be overheard.

I paused.

It was Rohit’s voice.

“I told you, I’m marrying her. It’s done.”

There was a pause.

His mother’s voice followed. Sharper, colder. “You’re throwing away your future for this? Just to punish us?”

“You didn’t accept Ananya,” he snapped. “You said she wasn’t good enough. Not from a respectable family. Not the right background. But I loved her. I still do.”

My heart stopped.

“She was divorced, Rohit,” his mother hissed. “She came with baggage. People would talk. But this—marrying this girl—Ameya—just because you want to humiliate us?”

I stood frozen. My name hit me like a slap.

He let out a bitter laugh. “You said I couldn’t be with the girl I wanted because you’d be embarrassed. So here—take your perfect match. She’s good, sweet, average, safe. No one will raise an eyebrow. You’ll get your flawless daughter-in-law. Be happy.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Sweet.
Average.
Safe.

I was a tool. A performance. A pawn in a family drama I hadn’t signed up for.

And all this time, I had believed…
I had wanted to believe…
That he had seen me.

Tears welled up, but I didn't let them fall. Not there. Not in his doorway. Not like this.

Quietly, I turned around and walked away, the pastry box still clutched in my hands.

The city felt louder than usual. My heart thudded in my ears as the truth settled in.

He hadn’t chosen me.

He had used me.

Not because I was enough—but because I was the most socially acceptable compromise.

And somehow, that hurt more than any rejection ever had.

Because he didn’t just not love me.
He had picked me to spite someone else.

I don’t remember turning around.
I don’t remember how my legs carried me back to that door.

But the next thing I knew, I was inside. The pastry box crushed in my fist, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.

Rohit and his parents turned in shock.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice sharper than I’d ever heard it.

Silence.

Not a pin-drop kind. The guilty kind. The kind that follows something ugly being exposed.

Rohit looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Ameya—what are you—how long—?”

“Long enough,” I said, stepping forward, my hands trembling, but my voice steady. “Long enough to hear my name tossed around like I’m some… checklist you had to tick off to prove a point.”

His mother recovered first, trying to salvage the moment. “Ameya, dear, this isn’t what you think—”

“Please,” I cut her off, my eyes never leaving Rohit. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I want to hear it from him.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Ran a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear it like that.”

“But you meant it, didn’t you?” I whispered, my voice cracking. “You’re still in love with someone else. You’re marrying me because it makes your parents look good. Because I’m the safe choice. The acceptable, average girl who won’t raise eyebrows. Right?”

He flinched.

And his silence was louder than any yes could ever be.

I nodded slowly. I could feel my cheeks burning, my eyes stinging, but I didn’t let the tears fall.

“You should have just said no,” I said, voice shaking. “You should’ve had the courage to end this before it got this far. Before I began to believe that someone finally chose me for who I was.”

He stepped forward. “Ameya, I never wanted to hurt you—”

“No, you just wanted to use me,” I snapped. “To prove a point to your parents. To replace the woman you loved with someone convenient. Someone who wouldn’t challenge anything. Someone you don’t even care to see.”

His mother stepped forward, scowling. “There’s no need to make a scene. You’re overreacting—”

“I’m not making a scene,” I said, turning to her. “I’m ending one.”

And then I turned back to him—this man who had smiled at me with practiced kindness, who had let me believe, even for a short while, that maybe I was enough.

“I would have loved you, Rohit. I really would have. With everything I had. But I won’t beg for a place in someone’s life just because I look like I’d be easy to settle with.”

I held the crushed pastry box out and dropped it gently on the coffee table.

“Congratulations,” I said quietly. “You just lost the best damn thing that ever happened to you.”

And I walked out—back straight, chin high, even though my heart was shattering inside.

Because this time, I wasn’t walking away from love.

I was walking toward myself.

I was already halfway to the door when I heard him say it.

“You know what, Ameya?” Rohit’s voice suddenly changed—colder, sharper, cruel. “You act like you’re some kind of prize. But let’s not pretend, okay? I settled for you.”

I froze.

“Do you think any man really dreams of marrying someone like you?” he continued, his words slicing through the air like glass. “You’re sweet, sure. But let’s be honest—you're not exactly the kind of woman a man fantasizes about walking down the aisle.”

My throat tightened. My fingers curled into fists.

“You think I didn’t hear what people whispered after our roka?” he said, laughing bitterly. “‘She’s got a pretty face but too big.’ ‘How did he agree to this match?’ I had friends joking that you probably trapped me or I was doing charity.”

I turned slowly, feeling every cell in my body burn with humiliation—and rage.

His mother didn’t stop him. She just looked down, not saying a word. His father was nowhere to be seen.

“I was doing you a favor, Ameya,” he sneered. “You should be grateful.”

Grateful.

That word again. That cursed, condescending word they all threw at me like a half-eaten piece of fruit.

I walked back to him—slow, calm, dangerously composed.

“Say it again,” I whispered. “Say it to my face. That I’m unworthy. That I’m a burden. That I should thank you for tolerating me.”

He blinked, realizing too late that he had crossed a line there was no coming back from.

I stepped closer, standing toe to toe with him now. I didn’t flinch.

“You think I’m ashamed of my body?” I said, my voice low but steady. “You think I don’t know what people say? I’ve lived in this skin for twenty-eight years. Every roll, every scar, every stretch mark—I know them better than anyone. But do you know what else I know?”

He didn’t answer.

“I know that you—with all your degrees and your polished charm—are the most insecure, spineless man I’ve ever met.”

His jaw clenched, but I wasn’t done.

“You couldn’t even love with honesty. You couldn’t fight for the woman you truly wanted. So instead, you tried to make me feel small. Because that’s the only way you can feel big.”

I turned to his mother, who still hadn’t said a word.

“And you let him,” I said, disgusted. “You stood there while he reduced me to my body like I haven’t already fought the world for every bit of self-worth I have.”

I looked back at Rohit. “You may be handsome, Rohit. But you are ugly where it truly matters.”

I didn’t wait for a response.

I turned on my heel, walked out of that flat, and didn’t look back.

Outside, the world felt louder. Brighter. Like it had cracked open just a little—and I was finally walking through the pieces of a lie I no longer needed.

And as I stepped into the auto, wiping the single tear that escaped, I whispered to myself—

I will never again apologize for being too much for people who were never enough.