"How many times do I have to say this to you guys? I didn't trick her!" I yelled, my voice breaking under the pressure of anger and disbelief.
My friends — the same ones who used to share laughs, drinks, and life stories with me — now stood before me like strangers.
Their gazes avoided mine, some filled with doubt, others with quiet judgment.
"I've never slept with anyone while pretending that I loved them or that I'd marry them. Not even once!" I insisted, pushing each word out like it was a confession, even though it was the truth — my truth.
The room was heavy with silence until a muffled sob shattered it.
"Why are you— sob —why are you lying like that?" The girl's shaky voice rang out. She stood there in the center, her eyes shimmering with tears, each drop falling like a silent accusation. The others looked at her with pity — the poor, heartbroken woman wronged by a man.
But to me, she didn't seem heartbroken.
She appeared calculating, her tears like a mask carefully crafted to gain sympathy.
To everyone else, she was a victim. To me, she was the devil who knew how to cry on cue.
My hands shook — not from guilt, but from frustration.
Why doesn't anyone listen when a man speaks the truth?
I clenched my jaw, swallowed the words I wanted to shout, and turned away from their gazes.
I'm Ashok, an average Indian guy working in IT in Chennai. Thirty-three years old.
Single by choice.
In India, a thirty-three-year-old single guy is often seen as expired goods — just a leftover no one wants. But that's not me.
I never tied the knot because I don't believe in marriage at all.
To me, it's one of the most time-consuming, inconvenient, and honestly, dumb institutions ever made.
That's just how I feel about it.
My opinions didn't come from arrogance — they were shaped in me from a young age.
I grew up seeing my parents argue almost daily.
The walls of our home were filled with fights instead of laughter.
My dad's anger and my mom's tears were the soundtrack of my childhood.
From the age of ten, my mom took care of me in my grandparent's house after my parents split up — not due to any tragedy or misunderstanding, but simply because they chose to.
They just couldn't stay together anymore.
My mom raised me solo, balancing work and home life, while my dad sent a little cash each month — just enough to check the box of being a father.
I never saw them happy together.
Not in pictures, not in memories, and certainly not in my imagination.
My mom didn't raise me out of love or affection; she did it because it was her responsibility as a mother. I don't blame her for that.
In fact, I have a lot of respect for her.
She never shied away from her responsibilities, no matter how tough things got.
As I grew older, I started noticing the people around me — neighbors, family, even strangers — and a pattern emerged.
Most men went to jobs they didn't enjoy, sometimes even despised, just to support their families.
And what did they get in return? An unhappy wife, always wanting more, constantly reminding them of her misery.
I've heard those same phrases too many times:
"My life is ruined because of you."
"Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life."
For some, those might just be angry outbursts — the kind of things couples say during a heated argument.
But for me, as a kid quietly listening from the sidelines, those words were etched into my memory.
They were sharp, harsh, and unforgettable.
That's when I made a vow to myself — I wouldn't live that way.
I wouldn't marry anyone.
I wouldn't become another man shackled by duty and regret.
Instead, I'd earn money, live freely, and savor every single day of my life without needing anyone's approval or company.
Let's be real here. Let's have an honest conversation.
What's the main goal of marriage?
For me, it's pretty straightforward — to have kids.
You get married, your wife looks after the child, and you go out to make the money.
That's the classic narrative. That's really all there is to it.
But what about joy? What about living for yourself? What about pursuing your own interests?
I'm not just speaking from a guy's perspective.
Women are also caught in that same cycle — expected to give up their aspirations for the family, to shoulder responsibilities that were never really theirs to take on.
And come on, we're not stuck in the stone age anymore. It's 2033. The world has evolved in ways our parents couldn't even dream of.
Artificial womb technology is already a reality. They've shown that it's possible to create healthy babies without needing a mother's womb. If I want a child, I can literally pay for it, select compatible genetics, and have a baby with my DNA — no marriage, no emotional baggage, no lifelong compromises.
The world has become incredibly advanced, super convenient… so efficient.
So why haven't people's lifestyles adapted? Why are we still following outdated traditions meant for a different era?
Why do two people feel the need to get married and have a kid just to meet society's expectations?
Who made that the only acceptable way to live?
This is exactly why I decided to stay single.
I've put in the effort, saved every penny, and made smart investments in various areas. I've accumulated enough wealth that I could quit my job today if I chose to.
I could spend my life just chilling, traveling, and living freely on my own terms.
That's what I've earned by avoiding the never-ending cycle of family drama and financial pressure that many people refer to as 'stability.'
And now, after all this, here I am — facing judgment because someone chose to distort the truth.
Watching her cry in front of everyone, acting like the victim, while I'm here trying to defend what's actually real.
"Ashok, what's the issue with marrying her? At your age, no one's going to want to marry you anyway," one of my so-called friends said — someone I once thought understood me better.
I looked at him in shock. "Are you really serious?"
I replied, my voice getting louder.
"She's lying, and you all know it! She's just after my money — that's it. But instead of hearing me out, you all want to push me into marrying her? This is ridiculous."
I faced her, my anger boiling over.
"You know exactly what we discussed. I told you from the beginning — I wasn't looking for love or marriage. I was upfront about that. You agreed it was just for fun, nothing more. And now you're here making me out to be the bad guy, you slut?"
The room fell silent for a moment. Then one of the women — my friend's wife — spoke up sharply.
"Hey! Don't speak to her like that. She's still a woman. Remember, your mother's a woman too — she brought you into this world."
Her words hit me like a punch. Not because they were true, but because that's all anyone ever noticed — gender, not the truth.
I wanted to shout that honesty doesn't matter anymore, that no one cares about facts once feelings take over.
But instead, I just stood there, breathing heavily, watching every face turn against me.
"Don't you dare compare this bitch to my mother," I spat, my throat tight with anger.
I wasn't exactly proud of how my voice sounded.
I threw the bottle I was holding to the ground; it shattered with a loud crack that made everyone instinctively step back.
I locked my gaze on the bitch.
"Do whatever you want," I said, my voice low and icy.
"But I recorded our conversation. Every single word. You told me you wanted the same thing I did — nothing serious. It's on my phone."
The color drained from her face when I said that.
For a long moment, nobody moved. The pity on some faces froze; the smugness disappeared from others.
I didn't stick around to see them pick up the pieces.
I pushed my way through the small crowd, and walked out.
I got in my car and left before anyone could stop me.
The engine's hum was the only sound I heard as I drove away, the city lights blurring past like the life I'd been judged for living.
My entire mood was shot after that incident.
The things they said kept ringing in my ears — about my mom, about that woman, about me.
If giving birth is all that matters, then what's wrong with me sleeping with her?
She should be happy, right? Getting fucked and having a baby.
Bringing a man into the world is quite the accomplishment, according to what they say.
I wasn't really mad at women. Not at all.
What got to me was how society kept them — and men — stuck in the same old script.
People called me a cynic, but I always saw myself as the opposite.
A believer in equality. In choice.
Deep down, I wanted women to be free — not defined by marriage or motherhood.
I wanted them to choose their own lives, relationships, and futures without facing shame for it.
I dreamed of a world where honesty was valued more than appearances.
But somehow, no one ever got what I was saying.
To them, I was just the selfish guy who didn't want to tie the knot.
When I got home, I tried to chill out.
I made a simple meal — veggies, rice, and soup — something healthy to help me feel grounded. I sat by the window while I ate, watching the city lights flicker like distant thoughts.
I kept mulling over everything that happened, every word thrown my way, every face that turned away. The more I thought, the heavier my head felt.
Eventually, I lay down, still replaying the day in my head.
And before I knew it, I drifted off to sleep.