Shanaya Thakur [Mumbai, India]
I know. I know.
I shouldn't have said 'Yes' when Zeel asked me, 'Do you trust me?'
I shouldn't have nodded when she added, 'I will help you find a temporary groom.'
But against my better judgment, all the conscience, and for everything that's sane, I agreed, which is how I ended up here, next to Zeel, sitting across from a man who insists he has a PhD in setting people up with partners (fake or not).
And let me tell you—I was regretting every single choice that had led me to this moment. Every. Single. One. I could write an annotated list. Actually, let's go ahead and make one, shall we?
A) The man in front of us looked like he hadn't slept since the early 2000s. His eyebags were darker than my midnight thoughts when I'm reading smut on Wattpad, and his hair was a chaotic masterpiece that could've passed for modern art. He lounged in his squeaky chair and squinted at us as if we were too human to be spending a minute here.
B) The place? Somehow even creepier than its disheveled owner. A tiny shop hidden in a part of the city I normally avoid. The room was the size of a generous closet, with furniture so antique it probably had colonial trauma. Sunlight didn't stand a chance—every window was covered with old newspapers, which might've been useful if I wanted to read stock prices from 1994.
How Zeel got this "tip," I have no clue. But the second we get out of here? I'm interrogating her. Under oath. With cross-examination.
"So, we..." Zeel began.
"Hello, I am Rohu Ganguly, owner of the 'Get Your Ass Hitched' shop." He immediately shifted in his seat and offered to shake hands, which we of course didn't cooperate. "No need to explain what brings you lovely, slightly panicked people here. I already know."
Yes, option C. Also, the name of the shop is freaky too. Get Your Ass Hitched? What in the chaotic universe of bad branding was that?
He smirked and took out an old, dusty, thick red folder.
"People come here when they want to fake a marriage, forge a certificate, stage a date, make their ex jealous, make someone else's ex jealous, create Instagram content, convince their nosy aunt they're not dying alone, or when they're just bored, lonely, heartbroken, emotionally unavailable, mildly curious, or…when they want to fake se—"
"That's it," I immediately interrupted, not liking where this was going. "We already know that."
He sighed, pointing a finger at the file, "Girl, you are so impatient. Also, FYI this shop has a rule: No one can cut me off in the middle when I am talking."
His face turned grim; it should have been spine-chilling, but I wasn't scared. And then he immediately broke into a laugh as if we were all old friends sharing a joke over drinks, not sitting in what felt like a black-market rom-com dealership.
Is he cracked? I thought and glanced at Zeel, who was grimacing.
Are you sure about this? I told her with my eyes. More than five years of best-friend telepathy meant I didn't need to say the words out loud. She got the message.
Her expression screamed, Nope, I'm not sure. Not even a little bit. But we're in too deep now, so suck it up, sis.
She forced a dry smile before turning back to the man.
"So, I was about to say" The guy began. "..that you'll need to sign a contract first. It's company policy. Whether you go ahead or chicken out halfway through, the paperwork comes first."
He shoved a poorly stapled stack of A4 papers across the desk and dug around in a dusty pen stand for a writing instrument that looked like it last signed a cheque in 1998.
I squinted at the paper, then at him and finally at Zeel.
What the eff are we doing? Am I really this desperate for a man, or did I take the wrong exit in life?
Zeel smiled nervously and handed me the pen as if she was handing me over to the firing squad.
"Pen…" she whispered, eyes wide. That was our signal for 'do it before I do something insane'.
"At least let me read wha—"
"You can read them. But let me make it easy for you…" The man (again) interrupted in his grim voice, "The contract states that you're entering into this arrangement with the shop and its owner without coercion, manipulation, hypnosis, or blackmail. Basically, you're here willingly… allegedly."
I was reading while he continued to blabber in the background.
"The policy says my job is to find you a partner within the allotted time, by whatever means necessary. Once you two meet, what happens next? Not. My. Problem. So, don't call us crying at 2 a.m. because your fake boyfriend ghosted you or you caught feelings. Or no calling me up at 2 a.m. screaming, 'You pervert, this is all your fault.' Because no. It's not." He yawned. "My job ends once I hand you the man."
I wanted to laugh, but I didn't. Hand you the man? Is he talking about candy? What kind of prank show is this?
"Also, there are times when…" he continued as if this were a bedtime story and not a legal scam in the making, "people fall for their fake partner for real but their staged partner has no real feel for them. Again, not my circus. Not my problem..."
He snorted.
I wanted to hit the guy in the face by this time. What gibberish is he talking about?
"Then the third paragraph talks about the packages; after selecting the type, the amount of money discussed should be paid within twenty-four hours. Even when you just started the conversation about how you want to proceed further, only to realize that you don't feel like going with the deal. You still have to pay half of the amount that was supposed to be finalized in the seeming future." He smirked and then pointed a finger at us, "Because you wasted my precious time."
I scoffed and turned to glare at Zeel, imagining tiny cartoon fireballs shooting from my eyeballs. So, this is what you meant when you said, 'I got you covered' yesterday?
Zeel flashed a trembling grin at me.
"And the last paragraph says..." The man's shrill voice snapped my attention back to him. "That any scandal, rumor, legal fiasco, international drama, mafia entanglement, or felony-level catastrophe that you inevitably bring upon yourself after the deal, shall be your responsibility and yours alone..." He lit his cigar, before adding casually. "The company is not liable. And should you feel the noble urge to march in here with a police complaint, I may say something that accidentally lands you in a deeper pit of doom rather than rescuing you."
I huffed. "I don't want this stupid deal…"
"You still have to sign the contract…" He responded, unfazed.
"What's the point of signing if a person doesn't want it?"
"But it's part of the policy; you have to sign because you guys entered the place with a motto of getting a fake marriage deal. Didn't you?"
That was as logical as a unicorn performing a viral Tiktok dance.
"Fuck your stupid policies," I snapped, standing up impulsively. "Do you even know what you are saying? You absolute, delusional, policy-hugging pi—"
"Girl..." He lifted one bony finger and pointed to his right like he was summoning ghosts.
I followed his gesture—and there it was. An old wooden board hanging by a single desperate nail, reading:
'NO CURSES ARE ALLOWED TO BE THROWN AT THE OWNER.'
"It's also part of the policy…" he scoffed, and my gaze flew back to him.
What kind of psychopath grins that wide at nine in the morning? I could feel the annoyance gnawing at me.
I opened my mouth—probably to say something wildly inappropriate—but Zeel caught my wrist and dragged me down into the chair beside her.
"Just sign it...what's the big deal?" she whispered.
"It is a big deal." I whispered back through gritted teeth. "What if this is a scam? If I end up on the evening news, I'm dragging you down with me. That's my new personal policy. You go down, I go down."
Zeel huffed. "Sure, but first save your miserable life right now."
I rolled my eyes and scribbled my signature with enough force to tear the page. Then I shoved the notepad across the desk with all the grace of a salty cat.
"So, now shall we begin with the process..." He tapped his fingers mindlessly on the paper. "...of finding the partner? Be careful before you say yes."
I was going to say no, but before I could, Zeel chirped in, "Yes."
I shot her a look that promised revenge.
"Okay, so now..." He inverted the antique hourglass before adding, "Make sure you both don't waste my time, because every minute is as precious as money. And I don't do discounts." He laughed.
God. His teeth. Has no one ever gifted this man a toothbrush and a little self-awareness?
Zeel nodded, and I crossed my arms in defiance.
"So what kind of person do you want?" He cocked his eyebrow at Zeel.
"I am not looking for a fake marriage...my friend is." Zeel responded and gestured towards me.
His eyes darted to me, and I could see a little bit of disbelief in his eyes. "Okay, what kind of person do you want then…?Preferences? Tall, short, alcoholic, non-alcoholic…?"
I could feel Zeel staring at the man in disgust.
"A morally grey man with an unhealthy obsession with me," I replied, totally digging my heels in the mess now. "Height should be six-five, should have muscles and abs you could do laundry on, runs a Fortune 500 company or owns an island. Or a small country. I am not that picky. Money should pour out of his pores. His brain should be like a Nobel Prize winner and face like a Greek god." I went on and on.
I could now feel both Zeel and the owner squinting at me in disgust and mild disbelief as if I had declared that gravity was optional on Wednesdays and Tuesdays.
"...he should be ruthless and tough on the outside, but submissive to me." I went on explaining, "He should shake the world, burn down the bridges or kingdoms if he saw me cry. Or if someone so much as looked at me wrong. He should be stoic in public, but privately? Completely whipped." I stopped for one hot second before adding quickly, "Basically fictional."
His face did a thing—twisting somewhere between is she serious? and do I call for backup?
He looked at Zeel like she might be able to offer some explanation. A subtle SOS. But, she offered none because she was busy ogling at me with same intensity of emotions as him, probably wondering if she'd make a huge mistake bringing me here. (She had.)
"Well…" He finally responded, feeling a little outraged. "Marry a book, then."
"Sounds comforting to me," I replied dryly. I then gripped the wrist of Zeel and added, "Let's get going…"
I stood up and made Zeel stand up from her seat, who was still aiming to negotiate.
"Fine. But you have to pay the money before you leave." His voice went up an octave, making us stop in our tracks. "Thirty thousand rupees. That's part of the contract you signed."
I scoffed in vexation before moving forward. I froze mid-step, turned slowly, and let out a slow, exasperated breath through my nose. "Your stupid, flimsy little policies can kiss my ass." I gritted out, storming up to him and fisting his collar like I'd watched one too many crime dramas. "I could have you arrested for this sketchy matchmaking circus you're running."
He squirmed, and a small bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
Good.
"I will charge twenty thousand extra for this level of threat!" He squeaked, aiming the comment at Zeel like she was the customer service rep and I was just her violent sidekick.
Oh, the audacity of this walking scam artist.