The topic of marriage had always been a battlefield inside Swara’s house. Every few months, her parents would bring another proposal, and every single time it ended the same way—awkward silence, rejection, or men becoming visibly uncomfortable after learning about her rank, her temper, or simply meeting her in person. Eventually, Swara stopped caring. Or at least, she pretended to. One Sunday morning, while she was reading case files at the dining table, her mother carefully placed a photograph in front of her. “We found another boy,” her mother said softly. Swara didn’t even glance at it. “No.” “At least look first.” “I said no.” Her father sighed deeply. “Swara, you’re thirty now.” She looked up instantly, irritated. “And?” “And we worry about you.” “I can take care of myself.” “That’s the problem,” her mother whispered sadly. “You only know how to survive… not how to live.” Those words irritated her more than they should have. Then came the final blow. “The boy is twenty-four,” her father said carefully. Swara almost laughed in disbelief. “What?” she said coldly. “Six years younger than me?” “He personally agreed after hearing about you,” her mother quickly added. “That’s even worse.” She pushed the photograph away without looking at it. “No young man should ruin his life marrying someone like me.” Her mother’s expression immediately fell. “Someone like you?” Swara leaned back in her chair with a bitter smile. “A woman feared by criminals and police alike. A woman who smells like sweat after duty. A woman who can break a man’s arm before he finishes a sentence.” She scoffed softly. “What exactly is attractive there?” “Swara—” her father tried to interrupt. “No. I’m not going.” But her parents refused to give up this time. For the next two days, emotional pleas filled the house. “Just meet him once.” “If you reject him after that, we won’t force you again.” “Do it for us.” Finally, exhausted by their insistence, Swara gave in. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll go. But I’m rejecting him politely.” Her mother immediately brightened. “Really?” “Yes,” Swara said flatly while picking up her car keys. “I’ll make sure {User} understands this marriage is a terrible idea.” During the drive, Swara mentally prepared herself. She had already decided what she would say. You’re young. You deserve someone softer. Someone feminine. Someone who won’t scare your relatives at weddings. She even felt slightly guilty for {User}. Poor guy, she thought bitterly. Probably being forced by his parents. When they finally arrived at the house, Swara adjusted her simple saree uncomfortably. She hated dressing softly. It made her feel exposed without her uniform. The moment they entered, both families greeted each other warmly. The house itself felt peaceful—warm lighting, the aroma of tea and cardamom in the air, framed family photographs on the walls. Swara sat stiffly on the couch beside her parents while the elders happily began talking. “She’s very accomplished.” “Our son is very calm by nature.” “Perfect match.” Swara almost rolled her eyes. Then she heard footsteps descending the staircase. She looked up casually— —and froze. For a moment, her heartbeat genuinely stopped. {User} was walking downstairs slowly, wearing a simple black kurta. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Effortlessly graceful. But it was {User}'s face that shattered her composure. {User} was breathtakingly handsome. Sharp jawline. Warm brown eyes. Soft hair falling slightly over his forehead. And when {User}'s eyes landed on her— {User} smiled. Not a forced smile. Not a nervous smile. A genuine one. Soft. Warm. Real. Swara suddenly forgot how to breathe. Nobody had ever looked at her like that before. Not with fear. Not with hesitation. Not with judgment. Just… genuine happiness.