Between the sharp, sticky heat of Delhi and the occasional, stolen breeze of an overworked ceiling fan, I sit, staring at this man—this impossibility of a man—who somehow, against all odds, against every carefully crafted plan, is mine.

And honestly? It has all been a scam.

A very well-orchestrated, brilliantly executed, straight-out-of-a-con movie that the universe somehow pulled off without me realizing.

Because me? Married? To him?

I had spent my life confidently declaring that I wasn’t the marrying kind. That I would waltz through life, gathering stories, laughing at love-struck fools, and living on my own terms. I was sure I’d be the main character of my own chaos, sipping overpriced coffee, giving wise (and unsolicited) advice to friends about their doomed relationships, and sneaking out of weddings before they could trap me into their happily-ever-afters.

And then, somewhere between a hot Delhi summer and a man who walked in with Sydney’s cool logic, my well-laid plans turned to absolute dust.

Srijan wasn’t supposed to happen.

And certainly not like this.

Not this fast.

Not this effortlessly.

Not this completely.

He came in like the opposite of everything I had ever known—a planner, a thinker, the kind of person who reads the instructions before assembling IKEA furniture. A man who sees chaos and instinctively reaches to organize it, while I was perfectly content living inside of it, letting it swirl around me like a storm I had befriended.

But here’s the thing: I might be the storm, but he—he is the stillness in its center.

Somewhere between our opposing quirks and our perfectly-aligned humor, between our stubborn debates and the way he softens when he looks at me, I realized—I was doomed.

Because love wasn’t supposed to be this easy.

It wasn’t supposed to be laughter at 2 AM over the worst food delivery we’ve ever had. It wasn’t supposed to be him instinctively pulling me closer in a crowd, like a habit he never meant to form. It wasn’t supposed to be knowing exactly what kind of chai I need on an exhausting day, or him rolling his eyes at my ridiculous theories while secretly enjoying every single one of them.

It wasn’t supposed to be feeling, for the first time in my life, that I had met someone who gets it. Who gets me.

And now? Now, I’m stuck.

Forever.

In a scam so grand that even I can’t find an escape clause.

So fine. I accept defeat. I give in to the fact that my life—this beautifully wild, unpredictable life—has been permanently hijacked by a man who somehow makes my chaos feel like home.

And if this is a scam, then I hope it lasts for the rest of eternity.

Because Srijan?

He is the one thing I never saw coming.

And the only thing I now know I can’t live without.

Something for the Gram!

When we were shopping and having fun!