The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up my black shirt, the crisp fabric a perfect match for the formal trousers I had chosen for the day. Today was important—a meeting with clients that could define the trajectory of the project I had been leading for months. I brushed my hair and let it fall loosely over my shoulders, a small act of rebellion against the usual formal updo I wore to work. As I finished getting ready, the soft whistle of the cooker in the kitchen reached my ears, a familiar sound that brought a sense of comfort. My mother, Sushma, was already up, preparing lunch for us.

"Maithili!" her voice called from the kitchen, breaking through my thoughts. "Your tiffin is on the dining table. Keep it in your bag before you forget!"

"Coming, Ma!" I replied, slipping on my heels and grabbing my bag. I hurried to the dining table, where a neatly packed lunchbox awaited. Just as I tucked it into my bag, my mother emerged from her bedroom, dressed in a crisp cotton saree, her hair tied in a neat bun. She looked every bit the principled school principal she was—loved by her students, respected by her colleagues, and, when the situation demanded, strict enough to command silence with just a glance.

I couldn't help but smile as I looked at her. "Ma, are you ready? Shall we leave?"

She nodded, adjusting the pallu of her saree. "Yes, let's go. And before you ask, yes, I've taken my BP tablets and my diabetic medicine."

I squinted at her, my hands on my hips. "Are you sure? You know how forgetful you can be sometimes."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Don't look at me like that. I'm your mother, not the other way around."

I sighed, knowing there was no winning this argument. "Fine, but take your medicines on time, Ma. Your BP can't afford to rise again."

My mother sighed as she looked at me, her expression a mix of exasperation and affection. "You know my BP isn't fluctuating because of the medication, Maithili. It's because of you," she said, her tone soft but firm. "How many proposals am I sending you daily? You're not getting any younger. You're twenty-seven now. When will you get married? And don't forget, your biological clock is also ticking."

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my tone light. "Ma, I never said I won't get married. But it must be on my terms."

My mother stopped in her tracks, turning to face me. Her hands were on her hips, and her eyes bore into mine. "Yes, with that ridiculous condition of yours. Which girl takes her mother to her in-laws' house? In which society is that accepted?"

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. This wasn't the first time we'd had this conversation, and I knew it wouldn't be the last. "Ma, I've discussed this many times, and I'm saying it again—if a man can expect his wife to take care of his parents after marriage, then it's his responsibility to take care of my parents too. I'm sorry, but I won't marry a chauvinist who thinks otherwise." I paused, softening my tone. "And if I don't find anyone who accepts this, don't worry. I'm happy to stay here with you always."

My mother opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off gently. "We're getting late, Ma. We can continue this argument in the evening."

She sighed shaking her head, but she didn't press further. Instead, she adjusted the pallu of her saree and walked toward the car. I knew my condition wasn't conventional, but it was non-negotiable. My mother had sacrificed everything for me, her dreams, her comfort, her peace of mind. She had raised me single-handedly after we lost my father when I was just thirteen. She had worked tirelessly ever since, and now she is the principal of a prestigious international school in Delhi. She was always there for me, ensuring that I never felt the absence of a second parent. How could I possibly leave her alone now? This is her time to rest, and I should be there for her—just like she was there for me at every step of my life. I can’t leave her just because society expects me to.

As I started the car and pulled onto the bustling streets of Delhi, I glanced at my mother. She stared out of the window, her face calm, yet her mind undoubtedly racing. I knew she was worried about me—about my future, my happiness, and my stubbornness. But what she didn’t understand was that my happiness was tied to her well-being. I couldn’t imagine a life where I wasn’t there for her, just as she had always been there for me.
I glanced at her as we approached her school. "Ma, don't forget to drink water and take a short walk during lunch. You've been sitting too much lately."

She smiled, patting my hand. "Yes, yes, I'll remember. You focus on your meeting today. And don't forget to eat your lunch on time."

I nodded. "Have a good day, Maithili. And think about what I said, okay?"

I gave her a small smile. "I will, Ma. Have a great day."

As I watched her walk into the school, her head held high, I felt a surge of pride and gratitude. With a deep breath, I shifted gears and drove toward my office.

I reached my office, the familiar building standing tall in front of me as I parked my car. I made my way towards the entrance.

"Maithili!" I heard someone call. Turning around, I saw Aarthi and Shivam, my teammates and close friends, walking toward me.

"Good morning!" they both said in unison, grinning.

"Morning," I greeted, returning their smiles. "All set for the meeting?"

Shivam gave a small thumbs-up. "Yeah, can't wait. We've been working on this project for the past six months, and I really hope the client likes what we've done."

"They will," I said confidently. "Our work is solid. No need to worry."

Aarthi asked, "Is the meeting starting soon?"

"In an hour," I replied, "but before that, I need my coffee to wake up properly and go through the final details."

Aarthi raised an eyebrow, glancing at me with a teasing smirk. "You missed your breakfast again, huh?"

I smiled sheepishly, nodding. "Guilty as charged."

"I don't know how you escape from auntie's hawk eyes without having breakfast," Shivam said, shaking his head in amusement.

I chuckled. "I have my tricks." I shot him a wink, and he just nodded knowingly.

"Always the master of escape," Aarthi said with a grin.

"Only when I have to," I replied. "But coffee first. I'll need it to get through the rest of the day."

With that, I headed towards the cafeteria, the line wasn't too long this early in the morning, and I quickly grabbed my cup of coffee, letting the warmth seep into my hands. As I took my first sip, I felt the caffeine hit me, the familiar buzz of alertness flooding my system.

The clock on the wall showed that it was almost time. I took a final sip of my coffee, feeling the warmth settle in my chest as I walked back toward the conference room.

Aarthi and Shivam were already seated at the large conference table, sorting through the final presentation. I slid into my seat next to them and took a deep breath.

Shivam looked over at me with a raised eyebrow. "Ready?"

I nodded, my nerves already settling. "Yeah. Let's nail this."

The door to the conference room opened, and a couple of clients walked in, their business attire immaculate, their expressions professional but guarded. They introduced themselves briefly as they took their seats. I shook their hands, maintaining a calm exterior, despite the adrenaline rushing through me.

We began with small talk—brief introductions, pleasantries exchanged—but I could tell the clients were eager to dive straight into the details. The pressure was mounting, but I was ready. This was my time to shine, and I had prepared for this meeting for months.

Aarthi opened the presentation, and we started walking the clients through the project. Shivam and I spoke first, explaining the technical aspects, the challenges we had faced, and the innovative solutions we had implemented.

As I presented the results—graphs, data, and forecasts. I could feel the energy in the room shift. They were impressed. Every point we covered seemed to hit the mark.

But then, as we moved to the final slide of the presentation, one of the clients, Mr. Kapoor, leaned forward slightly. He was the senior manager, the one we had been working closely with throughout the development process. He had the final say.

"This is impressive," Mr. Kapoor said, his voice calm but pointed. "But there are a couple of things I'd like to discuss further. Specifically, the timeline for the implementation phase and how you plan to handle scaling the product once we expand into other regions."

The room went quiet for a moment as I processed his question. I knew this was coming.

"Absolutely," I said, locking eyes with him. "We've accounted for the expansion from the very beginning. Our plan includes a phased implementation with strategic checkpoints. We're looking at a regional deployment model that will allow us to scale efficiently while keeping the quality of service high."

I could see Mr. Kapoor taking notes, nodding slowly. The tension in the room was lifting. This was going well.

He looked at me and said, "That's good to hear. You've anticipated potential roadblocks. That gives us confidence."

There was a brief pause as the clients discussed among themselves, and I could see them exchanging glances. The mood in the room had shifted from cautious to positive.

Finally, Mr. Kapoor stood up and extended his hand to me. "Maithili, your team has done excellent work. We're happy to move forward with the next steps."

A rush of relief washed over me as I shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Kapoor. We're excited to continue working with you."

The meeting wrapped up smoothly, with the clients expressing their satisfaction and outlining the next steps.

"That went better than expected!" Shivam grinned, clapping me on the back. "You killed it, Maithili."

I smiled, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away. "We all did. It's a team effort."

Aarthi chimed in, "Now we just have to tackle the implementation phase, right?"

I laughed, feeling a sense of camaraderie wash over me. "One step at a time. But yeah, we're not done yet. Let's get to work."

Just as I sat back down at my desk, my phone buzzed with a message from my mother: "How did the meeting go, Maithili? Hope you nailed it!"

I smiled, quickly typing back: "We did. It went great. I'll tell you all about it when I get home."

I was deep in concentration, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I tried to debug the stubborn piece of code that had been giving me a headache for the past hour. I was in the zone, my mind laser-focused on the problem in front of me.

Just as I was about to crack it, my phone pinged loudly, shattering my flow. I glanced down and saw a flood of WhatsApp notifications from my mother. I sighed, knowing exactly what this meant.

With a reluctant exhale, I picked up my phone and opened the messages. As expected, my mother had sent another barrage of marriage proposals. Photos of men in various poses filled the screen—some smiling awkwardly at the camera, others looking overly serious and trying too hard to appear sophisticated. Each photo was accompanied by a bio that could easily be found in a dating app profile:

"Software engineer, 29, earns well, family-oriented, loves pets."
"CA, 31, from a respected family, owns a flat in Mumbai."
"Doctor, 32, settled in the USA, looking for a traditional bride."

The list went on, and I scrolled through them, unable to suppress a small twitch of amusement at the over-the-top descriptions. But before I could even start asking about them, my mom had already sent a follow-up message:

"Maithili, beta, please just look at them. At least one of them might be suitable. You're not getting any younger!"

I rolled my eyes and quickly typed back:
"Ma, did any of them agree to my condition?"

The reply came almost instantly, filled with a string of angry and exasperated emojis—a frowning face, a steaming face, and even one with rolling eyes. I couldn't help but chuckle. My mom had recently discovered emojis and was using them with such dramatic flair, I was half-expecting to see a facepalm emoji at this point.

"Your condition is impossible, Maithili!" she texted, followed by another round of emojis, including a crying face and a folded hands emoji, as though pleading with me. "No boy or his family will agree to this. You're making things so difficult!"

I smirked and typed back, "Ma, if they can't accept something as simple as this, then they're not the right match for me. And please, stop sending me these profiles unless they meet my criteria."

Her reply was immediate this time: a single red-faced, angry emoji. I could almost hear her exasperated sigh through the screen. With a soft shake of my head, I set my phone aside, a smile tugging at my lips. My mother's persistence was both endearing and exhausting, but I wasn't giving in. Not this time.

Aarthi, who had been watching the whole exchange from her desk, leaned over with a grin. "Let me guess—more proposals from Auntie?"

I nodded, rolling my eyes. "Yep. And more emojis than actual text. She's really mastering the art of digital drama now."

Shivam, sitting across from us, chuckled. "What's the condition this time? Or is it the same one that's giving Auntie sleepless nights?"

"The same one," I said, leaning back in my chair and stretching a bit. "I'm not backing down, though. If a guy can't accept that my mom is a part of the deal, then he's not the one for me."

Aarthi raised an eyebrow, glancing at me with some disbelief. "You know, Maithili, it's not exactly common. Most guys would freak out at the idea of taking their mother-in-law along after marriage."

I shrugged. "Well, most guys can keep freaking out then. I'm not settling for less. My mom has done everything for me. I'm not going to abandon her just because society thinks it's 'weird.'"

Shivam gave a sympathetic smile. "You're tough, Maithili. But I get it. No one's going to understand your side unless they know your heart."

I nodded, grateful for my friends' support. They knew how important it was for me to honor my promise to my mom, no matter how hard it seemed to make others understand. I wasn't just looking for any man—I was looking for someone who would accept my terms.