Mumbai, a quiet corner of an artisanal café in Bandra.
"Rahul, this is the final ultimatum. My mom said the pre-wedding financial security deposit must be ₹50 Lakhs—not a single rupee less!"
"After marriage, my job will be to maintain my lifestyle and look good, and yours will be to earn money to support the family. Your entire salary will be transferred to my account!"
Dressed in a sharp Zara blazer, Ananya put down her iPhone after spending ages taking selfies and finally looked at Rahul.
"Ananya, you know I just bought a flat and I'm currently saving up for the interior work. Where would I magically produce ₹50 Lakhs?" Rahul frowned, his exhaustion evident.
"We've discussed this a hundred times. You said you wanted to settle down in Mumbai, so I emptied my parents' retirement funds to buy a house here."
"You said the commute to your office in BKC was too much of a hassle, so I paid the downpayment for a car."
"Every Diwali, Valentine's Day, and anniversary, I've constantly bought you expensive gifts, jewelry, and transferred money via GPay just to surprise you."
"Add the fancy weekend dinners at Taj and our twice-a-year vacations to Goa and Bali—what have I ever denied you?"
"I slog through the corporate rat race every single day, working overtime until midnight, and when I finally get home, you still complain that I don't provide you with 'emotional value'!"
"Do you have any idea about my sacrifices? I don't even dare spend more than ₹100 on my office canteen thali!"
"I've borne the weight of every single expense during our six years of dating!"
"Now that we're talking about marriage, you suddenly want ₹50 Lakhs as a 'security deposit'. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?"
"I'm just a middle-class guy. Even if you told me to go rob an HDFC branch, I couldn't arrange that amount!"
Facing an agitated Rahul, Ananya gave a cold laugh, her tone dripping with mockery.
"What kind of house did you even buy? A tiny, cramped matchbox in distant suburbs like Virar. Which of my friends at the MNC doesn't live in a luxury high-rise in Andheri or Lokhandwala?"
"Also, that basic entry-level EV you bought—I'm embarrassed to be seen in it. People think I've booked an Ola!"
"Don't talk to me about surprises or gifts. Isn't that the bare minimum a boyfriend is supposed to do?"
"My best friends' boyfriends buy them Sabyasachi lehengas and transfer lakhs into their accounts, labeling it as a 'token of love'!"
"What about you? You have zero generational wealth and offer zero emotional value."
"Back in college, I was young and naive, so I fell for your good looks. With your current financial status, I wouldn't even give you a second glance today."
Rahul had been biting his tongue, silently absorbing Ananya's endless barrage of insults.
As an Indian man raised to keep up appearances, Rahul felt that causing a scene in public was completely undignified. Log kya kahenge? (What will people say?)
But his patience was misinterpreted as weakness.
Encouraged by his silence, Ananya's voice grew louder and shriller, drawing annoyed glances from the startup elites in the café typing away on their Apple MacBooks. It was as if their loud squabbling in such an aesthetic, overpriced café was a disruption to the city's sophisticated vibe.
"What's wrong with asking for ₹50 Lakhs? Do you think it was easy for my parents to raise a daughter?"
"In our community, who gets married without securing the girl's future first?"
"My mom said this money is a guarantee for my safety. After a three-year test of our marriage, it will naturally be considered ours!"
"If you can't even provide this basic security, I know I'll never be happy marrying a miser like you!"
Hearing this, the dam of Rahul's patience finally broke. His voice dropped to a dead, cold whisper:
"Are you done?"
"It wasn't easy for your parents to raise you, but was it a cakewalk for my parents to raise me?"
"Don't give me that nonsense about the money being for 'our' future. We both know that ₹50 Lakhs is going straight into funding your younger brother's grand destination wedding."
"You've been rebelling against your parents for twenty-five years, and this is the one time you decide to be a dutiful daughter and listen to your mother?"
Ananya's face flushed red with indignation. She immediately raised her voice, trying to shame Rahul into submission.
"Rahul, are you even a real man?!"
"You can't even secure your future wife financially—what right do you have to ask for my hand in marriage?"
"Don't just rely on your handsome face; good looks can't pay the EMIs!"
"Without money, your worth in this city is zero!"
As she screamed, Ananya stood up, grabbed her ₹600 cup of artisanal iced matcha, and prepared to splash it right in Rahul's face.
But Rahul, who had swallowed enough humiliation for one lifetime, stood up abruptly with a loud scraping of his chair.
The sudden movement startled Ananya. Her hand jerked, and instead of splashing Rahul, the sticky green drink spilled all over her pristine Zara suit.
The nearby "hustling" elites couldn't resist. A few slyly pulled out their iPhones, ready to record a viral Mumbai café drama for Instagram.
"Ananya, we're done. Let's break up," Rahul said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"What? You... you want to break up with me?"
Ananya's eyes widened, her face a mask of absolute shock. Usually, no matter what tantrum she threw, Rahul would patiently apologize and coax her back.
What had gotten into him today?
But Ananya, who had been treated like a princess her entire life, let her bruised ego take the wheel.
"Fine! Let's break up! I refuse to believe that with my looks and profile, I can't find a guy ten times richer than you on Hinge!"
Rahul didn't waste another second. He grabbed his laptop bag and turned toward the exit.
"Wait! Come back and pay the bill!" Ananya screeched, pointing at the table loaded with expensive croissants and cheesecakes.
"I didn't order them, and I didn't eat a single bite. Pay for your own lifestyle."
Rahul coldly dropped those words and walked away.
"You cheap..." Ananya stamped her foot in pure frustration.
Watching Rahul leave, a suited man and his female companion at the next table began whispering loudly:
"Tsk. Who takes a girl out to a place like this and makes her pay? What a massive red flag."
"Seriously. If a guy pulled that cheap stunt with me, I would have dumped him ages ago."
"Don't worry, babe, I'd never be like that loser. A guy with that attitude is destined to die single."
Rahul, who was passing their table, caught every word.
Already walking around with a volcano of suppressed rage, he stopped dead in his tracks.
He turned and roared at the couple:
"Shut the hell up! If you've got so much courage, say it to my face!"
The corporate guy in the suit took one look at Rahul's ferocious, unhinged expression and immediately shrank back into his chair, terrified into silence.
It was only after Rahul had pushed through the café's glass doors and disappeared onto the bustling Mumbai street that the suited man finally muttered to his date:
"What a psycho..."
"If he hadn't run away so fast, I would have definitely taught him a lesson!"
That afternoon, Rahul didn't return to his office in BKC.
He messaged his manager for a half-day leave and took the local train back to that cramped, aging suburban flat in Virar that Ananya despised so much.
Working mechanically, he pulled out suitcases and began packing up every single thing that belonged to Ananya.
He packed tirelessly until the sun dipped below the horizon, the sounds of the neighborhood temple bells ringing in the distance.
It was only as he zipped up the last bag that Rahul looked around and realized a tragic truth: his own house barely had any trace of him.
The space was entirely dominated by Ananya's aesthetics, her clothes, her expensive skincare. She had constantly complained about the grueling train journey from the suburbs, and after living with him for just one month, she had conveniently moved back to her shared PG in Andheri.
Even so, she had left her clutter behind to mark her territory.
He was tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.
Six years of dating, three years of slogging in the corporate world since graduation—it felt like he hadn't lived a single day for himself.
Why is it that in middle-class Indian society, once you hit a certain age, you are forcefully shoved onto the conveyor belt of marriage?
His office colleagues, his college batchmates, his cousins back in his hometown—every single one was either getting married, hunting for arranged matches, or taking out massive loans to fund weddings.
It was as if failing to marry by your late twenties meant your entire existence was a failure.
He mentally calculated his age. He was only 27!
The home loan EMI, the car loan EMI—the financial noose was suffocating him.
He didn't dare take a vacation, didn't dare fall sick, and couldn't even afford to show a hint of weakness in front of his peers. Society had a suffocating grip on expectations: A man is born to provide. A man is born to endure.
Sitting on the floor of his empty living room, Rahul couldn't help but imagine how incredibly peaceful life could be if he just stepped off the conveyor belt.
At the very least, he wouldn't have to drain his aging parents' hard-earned provident fund.
At the very least, he could ensure his parents lived their twilight years with dignity and comfort!
There were surely good, understanding women out there, but unfortunately, he just hadn't met one.
As his gaze drifted to the faded map of the world he had pinned to his living room wall years ago, Rahul made a life-altering decision.