His ring, Her Rules

Lina Point of view

It was a hectic day after reviewing a popular restaurant in the city—one of the best, as people claimed. But I was shocked to find they had no proper kitchen hygiene, so I gave them a bad review. As a food critic, it’s my job to stay unbiased.

I stepped out of my car and headed inside. I found my parents in the living room.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I greeted, but they didn’t respond.

“You should go change and get ready for your date. I just sent you the address and the name of the restaurant,” my dad said, and I couldn’t believe my ears. They wouldn’t even let me rest properly.

“Mom, Dad,” I called, staring at them. “Do I really have to go from one date to another? I’ve already been on several this week. Can I just take a break and focus on my work? The right man will come at the right time,” I told them, but my dad just smirked.

“There’s no such thing as the ‘right man coming at the right time.’ Marriage is about commitment, and love grows with time. You know better than to say no. Now go get ready,” he ordered firmly.

“Yes, my daughter,” my mom chimed in, smiling as she held my dad’s hand, acting all lovey-dovey. “Our marriage was arranged too, and we fell in love.”

But what could I do? I come from a family where disobeying your parents means being labeled the black sheep.

“Fine. I’ll go. But don’t expect me to say yes,” I told them.

“You will have to,” my dad snapped. “This isn’t just anyone. It’s either you say yes—or I disown you as my daughter.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“My friend’s daughter got married at 20. She’s your age, and I was just invited to her second child’s baby shower. Aren’t you ashamed?” he added, and I knew better than to argue any further.

They were comparing me to someone who got pregnant out of wedlock and rushed into marriage to cover it up. Why couldn’t I just focus on my own life instead?

Without another word, I turned and walked toward my room.

*****

I arrived at the restaurant my father had sent me to and walked inside with quiet confidence.

As I entered, my eyes scanned the room until they landed on a guy sitting alone near the window, completely focused on his tablet. The soft glow from the glass beside him revealed a stunning view of the city skyline. He had to be my date.

I approached him, and without waiting for an invitation, I sat across from him. He didn’t even glance up—his eyes locked on the screen, his jaw tense, brows furrowed. From the looks of it, he was just as much a workaholic as I was.

I cleared my throat and let out a soft “Hmm.” Just enough to break his concentration.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered distractedly, then looked