Chapter 3: Promises and Parental Pressure

The year we graduated, my parents wanted me to come home. But if I did, I’d never find a good job. I told Rohan.

My mother would call every other night, her voice full of worry: “Beta, ab bas karo, wapas aa jao. Bahut ho gaya sheher ka hawa.” I explained my fears to Rohan one evening over bun-maska and chai at Goodluck Café.

He grabbed my hand, anxious. “No, you can’t go back.”

His grip tightened, as if he could anchor me to this city by sheer will. His eyes pleaded, as though the thought of me leaving was too much to bear.

“But living here is so expensive. I’m not sure I can manage.”

My monthly budget was always tight—sometimes I skipped the auto and walked home just to save money for one extra samosa. I confided in him, voice low so nobody else would hear.

He hugged me tightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask my dad to get you an easy job in the LIC office. I’ll handle the money. All you have to do is be Mrs. Rohan.”

He said it like a promise, as if he was offering me the ultimate shelter. My worries melted, just for a second, under the warmth of his words and arms. I let myself rest my head on his shoulder, eyes closed, pretending this was our real future. I closed my eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of his shirt—half deodorant, half aftershave.

At that moment, all my doubts and worries melted away.

I let myself believe, just for that night, that everything would work out. The city’s noise faded; I only heard his heartbeat against my ear.

I didn’t really need his father to find me a job. I just wanted to know I had a safety net, a way out if needed. My major actually made it easier for me to find work than it was for Rohan.

I never told him, but I’d already received interview calls from tech companies. Still, his offer gave me a sense of security, like an invisible dupatta protecting me from the cold wind of uncertainty.

In the end, Rohan went to work in HR at a company owned by his father’s friend. After several interviews, I landed a product manager role at a top tech company in Mumbai.

We both started our adult lives almost at the same time, but in different lanes—his path smoothed by connections, mine built on late nights and self-doubt.

I stayed on in this city.

Sometimes, sitting alone in my PG room, hearing the distant azaan or wedding band, I wondered if this city would ever truly feel like mine.

But every seemingly perfect moment in life isn’t the end point. Being a rank holder in school wasn’t. Getting into a good university wasn’t. Being with him wasn’t. Getting married wouldn’t be. Even having children wouldn’t be.

It’s like the family albums my mother kept—always waiting for the next photo, the next big thing. But the real story happens in the spaces between.