Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~19 min read
Chapter 7: Family Pressure
POV: Priya Kapoor
Priya’s parents corner her at Sunday dinner—literal cornering, her mother blocking the kitchen exit while her father settles into what Priya recognizes as his “serious conversation” posture at the dining table, and she knows before anyone speaks that this is going to be about marriage again, about settling down, about how she’s twenty-seven and running out of time according to their traditional timeline that doesn’t account for modern career ambitions or the complicated mess Priya’s made of her personal life.
“Beta, sit,” her mother says, gesturing to the chair across from her father with the kind of gentle authority that means this isn’t optional, this conversation is happening whether Priya wants it to or not. “We need to talk.”
Priya sits, already exhausted by a discussion they’ve had variations of for the last two years, ever since she turned twenty-five and her parents decided that was the appropriate age to start seriously pursuing marriage prospects despite Priya’s protests that she’s focused on her career and not ready for that kind of commitment.
The irony isn’t lost on her—she’s been sleeping with Carter for three months, just agreed to sexual exclusivity, is falling in love with a man who can’t commit, and still her parents think she’s some kind of innocent career woman who needs help finding a suitable match.
“Your cousin Meera got engaged last week,” her father starts, and Priya suppresses a sigh because of course this is about Meera, about comparisons, about family expectations that Priya’s been failing to meet for years now. “To a very nice boy from Chicago. Doctor. Good family.”
“That’s great for Meera,” Priya says carefully, trying to navigate this conversation without triggering the full lecture she can see building. “I’m happy for her.”
“You’re 27!” Her mother’s voice rises with the kind of concern that comes from genuine love mixed with cultural anxiety. “Your cousin is engaged! Your brother was married at twenty-five! What are you waiting for?”
What is she waiting for? Priya wants to ask. For Carter to develop the ability to commit? For her arrangement-that’s-not-a-relationship to magically transform into something she can bring home to her traditional Indian parents? For the man she’s in love with to love her back enough to overcome his fear?
“I’m focused on my career—” Priya starts, the same defense she always uses, the professional ambition that’s supposed to justify her single status.
“Career won’t keep you warm at night!” Her mother cuts her off with the bluntness that always catches Priya off-guard, the way her mom can go from gentle to brutally practical in a single sentence. “You think your job will be there when you’re forty and alone? You need a partner, beta. Someone to build a life with.”
The words hit harder than they should because Priya wants that—wants a partner, wants someone to build a life with, wants exactly what her mother’s describing except she wants it with Carter who’s made it explicitly clear that partnership and life-building aren’t things he can offer, who gave her “exclusive FWB” when she needs “boyfriend” or “relationship” or any label that suggests a future beyond the end of hockey season.
“I’m not ready,” Priya says, which is true and also completely false—she’s ready for commitment, ready for a real relationship, just not available because she’s wasting her emotional energy on a man who’s too scared to claim her properly.
Her father exchanges a look with her mother, some silent communication that Priya recognizes as parental strategy, and she braces herself for whatever’s coming next.
“We’ve been talking to the Sharmas,” her father says carefully, like he’s approaching a skittish animal. “Their son Raj is visiting from San Francisco next month. Software engineer. Very accomplished. We thought maybe you could meet him for coffee.”
And there it is—the arranged marriage conversation that Priya’s been dodging for months, the parade of eligible Indian men her parents keep suggesting she meet, the traditional matchmaking that worked for her parents’ generation but feels completely wrong for Priya who’s already given her heart to someone else even if he won’t take proper care of it.
“I don’t want to meet Raj,” Priya says, trying to keep her voice level, trying not to let her frustration bleed through. “I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I can find my own—”
“Can you?” Her mother interrupts, sharp and pointed. “Because we don’t see you dating anyone. We don’t see you bringing anyone home. We don’t see any evidence that you’re actually looking for a partner instead of just using career as an excuse to avoid marriage.”
The accusation stings because it’s partially accurate—Priya has been using her career as a shield, has been avoiding her parents’ matchmaking attempts, has been maintaining the fiction that she’s too busy with work to focus on relationships when really she’s just been unavailable, emotionally invested in an arrangement that goes nowhere.
“I am seeing someone,” Priya blurts out before her brain catches up with her mouth, desperate to stop this conversation, to prove she’s not some career-obsessed spinster avoiding commitment. “I’m in a relationship. It’s just—it’s complicated.”
Both her parents go still, surprise and interest flickering across their faces in ways that make Priya immediately regret speaking.
“You’re seeing someone?” Her mother leans forward, eyes bright with hope and curiosity. “Who? Why haven’t you mentioned this before? When do we get to meet him?”
Him. Her mother just assumes it’s a him, assumes Priya’s in a traditional heterosexual relationship, assumes there’s someone to meet and introduce and integrate into family gatherings—and technically there is a him, there’s Carter, except Priya can’t explain Carter to her parents without exposing exactly how not-traditional and not-relationship-like their arrangement actually is.
“It’s new,” Priya hedges, buying time, trying to figure out how to backtrack from this confession without admitting she’s been lying. “We’re taking it slow. Getting to know each other.”
“What’s his name?” Her father asks, practical and direct. “What does he do? Is he from a good family?”
Is Carter from a good family? Priya has no idea—knows his parents are divorced, knows the split was nasty enough to give Carter permanent commitment issues, but doesn’t know details like family background or upbringing because their arrangement doesn’t include that kind of personal sharing, doesn’t involve meeting families or discussing futures or any of the things actual relationships require.
“His name is Carter,” Priya says, because lying about that seems pointless when she’s already committed to this fabrication. “He’s… he works in sports. We met through work.”
Not technically a lie, but definitely not the whole truth—doesn’t mention that Carter’s an NHL captain, that she’s his team’s PT, that they met professionally and started sleeping together in violation of approximately seventeen workplace boundaries.
“Carter.” Her mother tests the name, and Priya can see her processing the implications—not Indian, not from their community, not someone her parents would have chosen through traditional matchmaking. “Is he Hindu?”
And here’s where it gets complicated, where Priya has to decide how much truth to admit versus how much fiction to maintain, where cultural expectations collide with the messy reality of loving someone who can’t commit regardless of his religious background.
“No, he’s not Hindu,” Priya admits. “He’s American. White. But Mom, that doesn’t—”
“We’re not opposed to interracial marriage,” her father cuts in, surprisingly progressive, though Priya knows there’s probably a “but” coming. “Your happiness is what matters. But beta, you need to be realistic about the challenges. Cultural differences, family expectations—these things matter in long-term relationships.”
Long-term. The phrase makes Priya want to laugh or cry or both because there’s nothing long-term about her arrangement with Carter, nothing lasting about an exclusive FWB situation that ends when the season ends, nothing future-oriented about a man who’s made it clear he doesn’t do commitment.
“I know,” Priya says quietly, staring at her hands. “We’re figuring it out.”
“When can we meet him?” Her mother asks, already planning despite Priya’s obvious hesitation. “We could have dinner here, nothing formal, just family—”
“We’re not there yet.” Priya’s voice comes out sharper than intended, panic rising at the thought of bringing Carter home, of trying to explain their arrangement to her parents, of watching their disapproval when they realize she’s not in a real relationship at all. “Like I said, it’s new. We’re taking it slow.”
Her mother looks disappointed but nods. “Okay. But soon, yes? If this is serious, we want to meet the man who’s captured our daughter’s heart.”
Captured her heart. If only her mother knew how accurate that is—how completely Carter has captured Priya’s heart despite their arrangement’s boundaries, how thoroughly she’s fallen despite knowing better, how desperately she wants to bring him home as her boyfriend instead of having to explain that he’s just her exclusive sex partner who can’t do commitment.
“Soon,” Priya lies, because what else can she say? That there’s no one to meet because Carter isn’t actually her boyfriend? That she made up the relationship to get her parents off her back about arranged marriage? That she’s in love with someone who gave her “exclusive FWB” when she needs a real relationship?
The conversation moves on after that—her parents asking careful questions about Carter that Priya deflects or answers vaguely, discussing family news and work updates and everything except the elephant in the room which is that Priya’s “relationship” is actually an arrangement with an expiration date and no future—and by the time she escapes to her car an hour later, she’s exhausted from maintaining the fiction and stressed about the mess she’s created.
She sits in her parents’ driveway with her forehead against the steering wheel and tries not to cry from frustration because this is exactly what Iris warned her about—being in relationship limbo is killing her, having Carter but not really having him is unsustainable, loving someone who can’t love her back properly is destroying her from the inside out.
Her phone buzzes: Carter.
Missing you. Come over?
Three words that make Priya’s heart clench with wanting and frustration in equal measure—he misses her, he wants to see her, but only on the terms their arrangement allows, only within the boundaries that keep him safe and her perpetually unsatisfied.
She should say no. Should create distance. Should protect herself from more damage.
Give me an hour, she types instead, because apparently she’s incapable of self-preservation where Carter’s concerned.
Can’t wait.
Priya stares at the message and feels something break inside her chest because this is the problem—Carter can say he can’t wait to see her, can text that he misses her, can be exclusive and possessive and tender in private, but he can’t call her his girlfriend, can’t meet her parents, can’t give her any indication that this is going somewhere beyond the end of the season.
And Priya can’t tell her parents about him because what would she even say? “This is Carter, we’re sleeping together exclusively but it’s not a relationship and it ends in four months, yes I know that sounds insane but I’m in love with him anyway”?
The cultural pressure from her parents isn’t even the worst part—Priya could handle their disappointment, could weather their concerns about finding a suitable match, could navigate their traditional expectations if she had something real to hold onto.
But she doesn’t.
She has an arrangement. An upgraded arrangement as of last weekend, sure, with exclusivity that Carter claimed out of jealousy, but still just an arrangement with defined boundaries and a clear expiration date.
She has a man who wants her physically but can’t commit emotionally.
She has feelings that violate their agreement and a future that doesn’t include the person she’s falling for.
She has parents who want to meet the man who’s captured her heart, and no way to explain that the man in question hasn’t actually captured anything—he’s just borrowing her heart temporarily until the season ends and he gives it back damaged.
Priya drives to Carter’s apartment on autopilot, the route familiar after three months of this routine, and tries to figure out what she’s going to do because this limbo is unsustainable, this halfway love is killing her like Iris said it would, this arrangement needs to either evolve or end before Priya loses herself completely.
Carter opens the door looking unfairly good—sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair still damp from a shower, smile that lights up his whole face when he sees her in ways that make Priya’s traitorous heart insist that he has feelings too, that exclusive means something significant, that maybe she’s not alone in wanting more.
“Hey,” he says, pulling her inside and kissing her before she’s fully through the door, hungry and possessive like he really did miss her, like seeing her matters. “How was your day?”
How was her day? Priya thinks about lying, about saying fine and moving on, about maintaining the emotional distance their arrangement is supposed to include—but she’s tired of pretending, tired of hiding, tired of acting like this situation isn’t slowly destroying her.
“My parents want to meet you,” she says instead, pulling back enough to see his face, to watch his reaction. “They think we’re in a relationship.”
Carter goes very still, something flickering across his expression that might be panic or might be hope—Priya can’t tell anymore, can’t read him the way she used to, can’t differentiate between what she wants to see and what’s actually there.
“You told them about us?” His voice is careful, neutral, giving nothing away.
“I told them I was seeing someone.” Priya steps back, putting physical distance between them because this conversation needs space, needs clarity. “They were pushing arranged marriage again, talking about setting me up with suitable matches, and I just—I said I was in a relationship to make them stop.”
“But we’re not—” Carter starts, then stops, clearly uncertain how to finish that sentence. “I mean, we’re exclusive, but—”
“But we’re not in a relationship,” Priya finishes for him, the words tasting bitter. “We’re exclusive friends with benefits. Which isn’t something I can explain to my traditional Indian parents who want to meet the man I’m supposedly building a future with.”
Carter’s jaw tightens, and Priya can see him processing, can see the conflict playing across his face—wanting to help versus being terrified of commitment, wanting to give her what she needs versus being trapped by his own fear.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly, and it sounds like a genuine question, like he’s actually asking what she needs instead of what he’s capable of giving.
“I want you to be my boyfriend,” Priya says, the confession spilling out before she can stop it, months of wanting condensed into a single sentence. “I want to be able to call you my partner. I want to introduce you to my parents as someone significant in my life instead of having to explain that we’re just casually exclusive until the season ends.”
The silence after her words is deafening—Carter staring at her with something like fear in his eyes, Priya’s heart pounding so hard she’s surprised he can’t hear it, the space between them feeling like miles instead of feet.
“Pri—” Carter starts, and there’s apology in his voice, regret, the beginning of a rejection that Priya can’t bear to hear right now.
“I know,” she interrupts, holding up a hand to stop him. “I know you don’t do relationships. I know you can’t give me that. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s not that I don’t want—” Carter takes a step toward her, reaching out, but Priya backs away because she can’t let him touch her right now, can’t maintain any composure if he holds her while breaking her heart gently.
“You don’t want it enough,” Priya says, and her voice cracks despite her best efforts. “You want me, but only on terms that keep you safe. You want exclusivity, but not commitment. You want all the benefits of a relationship without any of the vulnerability.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Isn’t it?” Priya feels tears building behind her eyes and fights them back. “You get jealous when other men talk to me. You ask me to stay over. You text that you miss me. You do everything a boyfriend would do except actually be one, and I’m supposed to just accept that because you’re scared of commitment?”
Carter looks like she’s slapped him, and Priya feels guilty for being harsh but also vindicated because this needs to be said, this conversation needs to happen, they can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it clearly isn’t.
“I’m trying,” Carter says quietly. “Exclusive is—that’s progress. That’s me trying to give you more.”
“It’s not enough.” The admission costs Priya something, but it’s true, it’s honest, it’s what she should have said weeks ago. “I need more than exclusive FWB. I need a real relationship. I need someone who’s not ashamed to claim me publicly, who doesn’t panic at the thought of meeting my parents, who can see a future with me instead of a countdown to when we end.”
“I’m not ashamed—”
“Then what are you?” Priya’s voice rises, frustration overwhelming her usual control. “What am I to you, Carter? Because from where I’m standing, I’m convenient. I’m safe. I’m someone you can have without risking anything real.”
“You’re not—” Carter runs his hands through his hair, clearly struggling. “Pri, you’re not convenient or safe, you’re—you’re everything. You’re the person I think about constantly. You’re the only one I want. But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be what you need.”
“Then figure it out!” Priya’s crying now, tears she can’t control streaming down her face. “Figure out if I’m worth overcoming your fear. Figure out if we have a future or if I’m just wasting my time. Figure out what you want before I break completely from loving someone who can’t love me back!”
The confession hangs between them—loving someone who can’t love me back—and Priya watches Carter’s eyes go wide with shock, watches him process that she just admitted to loving him, watches him realize exactly how far past their arrangement’s boundaries she’s gone.
“You love me?” His voice is barely a whisper, and Priya can’t tell if the emotion in it is hope or horror.
She could take it back. Could claim she misspoke, that she meant it casually, that love is too strong a word for what they have.
But she’s tired of lying.
“Yes,” she says simply. “I love you. I’ve been falling for months and I can’t stop and it’s killing me because you can’t even call me your girlfriend let alone love me back.”
Carter looks devastated, torn, like Priya’s just presented him with an impossible choice—and maybe she has, maybe asking a commitment-phobe to love her is unfair, maybe she should have known better than to fall for someone so emotionally unavailable.
“I don’t know what to say,” Carter admits, and at least he’s being honest, at least he’s not pretending or deflecting.
“Say something,” Priya begs, dignity abandoned in favor of desperate hope. “Say you feel the same way. Say you’ll try. Say I’m not alone in this.”
But Carter just stands there, silent and conflicted, and his inability to respond is answer enough.
Priya nods, something breaking inside her chest that she’s not sure will ever heal. “I should go.”
“Pri, wait—” Carter reaches for her but she dodges, heading for the door with tears still streaming down her face.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says without turning around. “I can’t keep loving you halfway. I can’t keep pretending exclusive FWB is enough when I need so much more. I just—I can’t.”
“What are you saying?” Carter’s voice is panicked now, desperate. “Are you ending this?”
Priya stops with her hand on the doorknob, not turning around because looking at him will destroy her completely. “I’m saying I need you to figure out what you want. Really want. Not what’s safe or convenient, but what you actually feel. And until you do, I need space.”
She leaves before Carter can respond, leaves before she can change her mind, leaves before the sight of his devastated expression makes her take it all back and accept whatever scraps he’s willing to offer.
The drive home happens through a blur of tears, and Priya makes it into her apartment and past Iris who takes one look at her face and pulls her into a hug without asking questions, and finally lets herself break completely—sobbing into her best friend’s shoulder while months of suppressed emotion pour out in waves.
“I told him I love him,” Priya gasps between sobs. “And he couldn’t say it back. He couldn’t even—he just stood there—”
“Oh, honey,” Iris holds her tighter. “I’m so sorry.”
“My parents want to meet him. They think we’re in a relationship. And I can’t tell them the truth because we’re not anything real, we’re just—we’re nothing.”
“You’re not nothing,” Iris says firmly. “What you feel is real even if he can’t acknowledge it yet.”
“Yet.” Priya pulls back, wiping at her face. “You think there’s still a chance?”
Iris is quiet for a moment, careful with her answer. “I think Carter has feelings for you. But I don’t know if having feelings is the same as being capable of acting on them. His fear might be stronger than his feelings.”
The words settle like stones in Priya’s chest because that’s what she’s terrified of—that even if Carter loves her, even if he wants her, he might not be brave enough to choose her over his fear.
And Priya can’t live in that limbo anymore.
Can’t keep hoping he’ll change.
Can’t keep breaking her own heart waiting for him to be ready.
She told him she needs space, needs him to figure out what he wants, and now all she can do is wait and hope that what he wants is her—really her, all of her, in a real relationship with a real future.
But hope is dangerous when you’re in love with someone who’s terrified of commitment.
And Priya’s not sure how much more hoping she can survive.
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