Her final year in college was a cocktail of emotions. She was constantly under the pressure of studies and the deadline of her final project. And I was still trying to come to terms with living in Mumbai- a city that never slept. At the same time was that constant fear and thoughts to ensure she was at peace in college. There was Tomar—who refused to move on from the college and, more importantly, from Smitakshi. After failing for the nth time, he was now Smitakshi’s classmate. The year began with tension, but it quickly evolved into a journey neither of us could have predicted. Engagement- marriage and honeymoon!
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In every phone call, we spent a lot of time discussing Tomar and how to deal with him. Confronting him directly would have escalated matters, but ignoring him wasn’t an option either.
One day, an idea struck me: Would the threat die out if Tomar was made to believe that Smitakshi and I were engaged? Would he back off? Men like him had their own unwritten rules. A “taken” woman, especially someone he’d have to call “Bhabhi,” was sacred territory. There were possibilities of it working.
The execution needed to be flawless. The entire college had to believe it for Tomar to believe it. Surprisingly, when I explained the plan to my mother, she didn’t object. “It’s bold,” she said with a smile. But I trust you both. Do what you have to do. And do it if you believe it is the right thing to do.”
The following Monday in August, Smitakshi and I walked into the college dressed like a couple straight out of a Bollywood film—she in a bright red salwar-kameez, me in a kurta that almost matched. We carried boxes of sweets, small enough to seem casual but symbolic enough to spread the message.
We started with the staff handing out laddoos to professors and assistants, thanking them for their blessings as we announced our “engagement.” Word spread like wildfire, and the air was thick with whispers by the time we reached her classroom.
Standing at the door, I announced cheerfully, “Good news, everyone! Smitakshi and I are engaged!”
The room erupted in congratulations, laughter, and a few stunned silences.
Tomar sat frozen, his face a mixture of disbelief and confusion. We walked right up to him, handed him a sweet, and smiled.
“Bhai, aap bhi ashirwaad de do (Brother, bless us too),” I said, barely holding back a grin.
He stared at the laddoo in his hand as if it were a grenade. Finally, he mumbled, “Congratulations, yaar,” and walked away.
Later, he came to me privately. “I didn’t know you were serious about her,” he said. “I thought she was just…you know…” He hesitated, avoiding my gaze. “But now, she’s Bhabhi. Don’t worry, no one will trouble her.”
From that day, Tomar was a transformed man. He didn’t just leave Smitakshi alone—he made it his mission to ensure no one else bothered her.
For the first time in months, we felt a sense of relief. Now, I could leave for Mumbai knowing she was safe.
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The engagement ruse worked, but we knew it wasn’t a permanent solution. The real test would come when Smitakshi graduated, and we will face her parents. Knowing their traditional mindset, we decided to take a step that felt both radical and inevitable—we got married.
It was a small, intimate affair. Just us, a few close friends, and a temple priest who didn’t ask too many questions. The ceremony was simple—no grand decorations, no loud music. Just vows whispered under the temple bells and promises sealed with a garland exchange.
We didn’t call it a wedding, not out loud. It was just another secret to the world, but in our hearts, we knew what it meant. That evening, as we sat under the stars, she rested her head on my shoulder and whispered, “Do you think we’ll ever regret this?”
“Never,” I replied, holding her hand tightly. “This is us, Smitakshi. No one else needs to understand.”
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In late November, I returned to town to accompany Smitakshi to the CAT (Combined Admission Test) for admission to IIMs. We both knew it was more of a formality than a serious attempt, but it gave us an excuse to escape.
The train to Delhi was chaotic, with delays and crowded compartments. We spent four hours waiting at the station, stealing glances at each other and sharing packets of chips and chai. Every brush of her hand against mine felt electric, and every smile promised what was to come.
When we finally reached Delhi, we settled into the empty apartment of a close friend for a week. The silence of the city around us felt liberating. For the first time in months, there were no prying eyes, deadlines, or pretences.
Our days in Delhi were a blur of passion and intimacy.
We made love like we were discovering each other for the first time—hesitant at moments, uninhibited at others. The mornings were lazy, filled with shared cups of coffee and whispered conversations about our dreams. The afternoons were playful, with her chasing me around the apartment for no reason but to laugh. And the nights… the nights were ours entirely.
At first, we were cautious. But as the days went on, caution gave way to urgency, and urgency gave way to recklessness. “Do you think…?” she asked once, mid-kiss, her voice tinged with excitement and worry.
“It’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We’re in this together.”
One evening, after a particularly passionate moment, she rested her head on my chest and said, “This feels too good to be true.”
“It’s true,” I whispered, running my fingers through her hair. “Every bit of it.”
She did appear for the CAT exam, though neither of us took it seriously. The results didn’t matter—it was the journey that did. Those days in Delhi were more than just a getaway; they were a testament to our love, a rebellion against the world that would never fully understand us.
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Back in college, life resumed its usual rhythm. The engagement ruse and our secret wedding had bought us time, but we knew the real challenges lay ahead.
One of those evenings when I was back in town, we sat on a bench near the library. She turned to me and said, “What if we just…run away?”
I smiled, pulling her closer. “We don’t need to run. We’ll face it together, one step at a time.”
At that moment, I realised that no matter what challenges the future holds, as long as we have each other, we will find a way.
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This story with an undisclosed destination started as part of the @BlogChatter event #BlogChatterBlogHop, where I started weaving a story based on the weekly word prompts suggested by BlogChatter. However, after the 5th weekly prompt- Blogchatter took a break, but I continued to develop the story based on the prompts friends and readers suggested on social media. Do suggest some word prompts for the next chapter. And if you want ( which I wish you do) read the whole story- here are the rest of the chapters. https://sanjeevkotnala.com/category/story-undisclosed-destination/ and to start the first chapter – Rainy evening in a resort at Mukhteshwar
