The Meeting of Two Families
The journey to the Pal residence was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the Sen estate. Where the Sens lived in a sprawling mansion filled with books and history, the Pal household was a humble, cozy home, lined with shelves of old textbooks and the fragrance of incense lingering in the air.
Ajay Prakash Pal, a retired schoolteacher, sat on the modest sofa with his wife, Jayati Pal, a devoted homemaker. They were simple people, living a life of quiet dignity, unaware that fate had chosen their son to be part of a world so different from their own.
When Bipin Sen and his family arrived, dressed in elegant yet traditional attire, the Pals welcomed them with open arms, though a quiet nervousness lingered in the air. They had never expected a family of such stature to step into their home—not as publishers, not as elite figures of Kolkata, but as equals, as future in-laws.
After the initial pleasantries and cups of steaming tea, Bipin Sen spoke, his voice warm yet authoritative.
“We have come with a proposal,” he said, his eyes settling on Ajay Prakash Pal. “Chitrakshi and Akash have built something beautiful together. They understand each other, they respect each other. It is time to honor their bond with marriage.”
A silence settled over the room, but it was not one of hesitation. It was the silence of awe, of gratitude, of disbelief that such fortune had come upon the Pal family.
Jayati Pal, her hands folded in her lap, looked at her husband, then at her son. Akash sat quietly, his gaze lowered, but a soft smile playing at his lips. His parents knew their son. They knew the fire in his heart, the struggle he had faced to be accepted in the world of literature. And now, here sat one of the most powerful families in Kolkata, not as benefactors, not as gatekeepers of an elite world, but as people who saw Akash as worthy—not just as a writer, but as a man, as a son-in-law.
Ajay Prakash Pal cleared his throat, his voice slightly unsteady. “Mr. Sen,” he said humbly, “this is beyond anything we could have imagined. We are honored—truly honored.”
Bipin Sen smiled. “Then it is settled.”
The Wedding Date is Set
The conversation flowed easily after that, filled with laughter and shared dreams. Discussions of dates, venues, traditions, and ceremonies soon followed. The Sen family assured the Pals that their son would be honored and respected, just as per Indian tradition, where the groom’s family was to be given the utmost respect and reverence.
By the time the evening had deepened, and the final details had been agreed upon, the Sen family rose to take their leave.
Before stepping out, Bipin Sen turned to Ajay Prakash Pal and Jayati Pal, his hands pressed together in a namaste.
“With due respect and honor, we thank you for accepting our proposal,” he said. “From this day forth, we are not two families—we are one.”
As the Sen family departed, the Pal household remained bathed in the quiet glow of joy, of disbelief, of the surreal realization that their son—once an unknown writer fighting for recognition—was now to be wed into one of Kolkata’s most renowned families.
And as for Akash, he stood by the window, watching the Sens’ car disappear into the night, his heart thudding with an excitement he had never known before.
Chitrakshi Sen was to be his wife.
And their story—one that began with struggle and ink—was about to take its most beautiful turn yet.
The news had been conveyed to Chitrakshi Sen, but to the astonishment of her family, it did not bring the expected blush to her cheeks. No radiant smile, no sparkle of excitement in her eyes—only a distant look, a quiet tension that settled over her delicate features. Instead of the joy they had anticipated, an unusual unease seemed to grip her, as though the weight of the moment pressed down heavier than anyone had imagined.
Akash Pal, eager to feel the warmth of her happiness, reached for his phone and dialed her number. His heart raced slightly as he waited, imagining the delight in her voice, the shyness that would color her words. But the call barely connected before she picked up and curtly said, “I’m in a meeting. I’ll call you later.” The line went dead before he could respond.
The abruptness of her tone unsettled him. It was not the reaction he had expected. Had she been caught off guard? Was she simply busy? He convinced himself it was nothing, that she would call back soon.
But as the hours slipped by, there was no call.
Growing restless, Akash dialed her number again. This time, the line was busy. He frowned, staring at the screen. Perhaps it was a coincidence. He waited for a while and tried again, but once more, the same response—busy.
A strange uneasiness began to settle in his chest. He was not a man to push, nor one to demand explanations where none were owed. He respected her space. But as the evening turned to night, the silence stretched unbearably. Finally, unable to resist, he called her one last time.
Still busy.
His fingers curled around the phone, his mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions. Was she truly preoccupied, or was she avoiding him? The thought gnawed at him, unsettling the excitement he had felt only hours ago. The very idea of their wedding dates being fixed had once filled him with happiness, but now, a lingering doubt whispered at the edges of his thoughts.
Sleep eluded him that night. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more troubling than the last. What was Chitrakshi thinking? What was keeping her so distant? And most importantly—why did it feel as though something between them had shifted, just when everything was supposed to fall into place?