The disaster strategy was supposed to trigger cancellation protocols.

Instead, it strengthened parental resolve.

The sprinkler sabotage? “Playful chemistry.”
The jewelry store malfunction? “Adorable nervous energy.”
The strobe-light catastrophe? “Young love with spark.”

To “stabilize” the situation, their mothers initiated what they called a bonding reset.

Which translated to:

Five consecutive hours of high-intensity shopping at the city’s most upscale mall.

“Five hours, Kapoor,” Aarav muttered, leaning against a mannequin in a luxury boutique. He looked like he was enduring controlled torture. “I could have optimized an entire kernel module in this timeframe. Instead, I’m observing you debate ivory versus eggshell.”

“Be quiet,” Navya shot back, stepping out of the trial room in an elaborately embroidered lehenga heavy with gold thread. “You think I volunteered for this? My cervical spine is filing a complaint. This thing weighs more than my workstation.”

“Then walk out,” Aarav said evenly. “Terminate the process. Inform them it’s over.”

“I did,” she snapped, lowering her voice. “My father cried and gave another speech about legacy architecture and generational continuity.”

The frustration in her tone wasn’t theatrical this time.

It was real.

She glanced at the growing mountain of shopping bags.

“Fine,” she said. “If I’m trapped, you’re trapped.”

She shoved four oversized bags into his arms.

“Carry these. Consider it fiancé compliance protocol.”

Aarav accepted them without protest—but his eyes sharpened.

“Compliance?” he echoed. “If we’re roleplaying, let’s introduce controlled instability.”

As they moved toward the next store, he subtly tapped his smartwatch.

He had activated a compact portable signal jammer—originally built for controlled network testing.

Within seconds, Navya’s phone signal collapsed.

Wi-Fi: gone.
5G: gone.
Her Spotify playlist died mid-track.

She froze.

“Why is the network dead?” she muttered, shaking her phone.

“Perhaps the mall deployed a firewall against excessive noise,” Aarav replied calmly, walking ahead with all the bags, posture steady.

For the next two hours, Navya existed in digital silence.

No group chat venting.
No GitHub scrolling.
No distraction.

Just fluorescent lighting. Fabric racks. And Aarav.

She observed him despite herself.

He distributed the bag weight evenly without thinking.
He evaluated fabric stitching like it was code integrity.
He rejected a suit jacket because the seam alignment was asymmetrical by two millimeters.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, catching up.

“Define ‘it.’”

“Analyzing thread density like it’s packet traffic.”

“Consistency is transferable,” he replied. “Precision applies to both C++ and cotton.”

She rolled her eyes—but something shifted.

Under the mall lighting, the damp memory of the resort scene flickered back unexpectedly.

For a split second, she noticed the sharp line of his jaw. The way he moved with deliberate economy.

And for one dangerous microsecond—

She forgot to be irritated.

Aarav noticed her staring.

Their eyes met.

The moment stretched.

He looked away first, jaw tightening as if he’d encountered a critical bug.

“The jammer is disabled,” he said flatly.

Her phone instantly detonated with accumulated notifications.

“You jammed me?” she demanded, glaring at him.

“Temporary signal suppression,” he corrected. “Controlled experiment.”

“You absolute—”

“Ninety percent, Kapoor,” he interrupted coolly. “We maintain equilibrium.”

She glared.

But the anger wasn’t as sharp as before.

Somewhere between sprinkler sabotage and network blackouts, the alliance had introduced a variable neither of them had modeled.

Wedding countdown: 13 days.
Hate ratio: nominal.
Unknown variable: increasing.