What Pulls

My grandmother arranged seventeen marriages before she died.

All of them worked. That's what my mother said. That's what everyone in our community said. Grandmother Priya had the gift. Could watch two shadows in a room and know within minutes if they'd make a good match.

"Attraction is chemistry," she used to say. "And chemistry doesn't lie. Not when you can see it."

So when I turned twenty-three and my mother said it was time, I didn't argue. I'd grown up watching this. Seen my cousins matched. Seen my friends paired. Seen how efficient it was compared to the way Americans dated. Years of uncertainty. Years of wondering. Years of shadows giving away crushes at all the wrong moments.

We didn't waste time like that.

We used bright rooms and careful observation and the one thing shadows couldn't hide.

Who you wanted.

They brought six women to the first meeting.

My family's house. August afternoon. Every light on. Curtains open. The living room looked like a stage set for an interrogation.

My mother introduced them one by one. Priya. Ananya. Kavya. Divya. Meera. Lakshmi. All between twenty-one and twenty-five. All from good families. All educated. All acceptable matches according to the traditional criteria.

None of that mattered as much as what would happen next.

"Please," my mother gestured to the chairs arranged in a circle. "Sit. Let's talk."

I stood by the window. That was protocol. The man always stood. The women always sat. Something about the angle of light. Something about making sure everyone's shadow was visible to everyone else.

My shadow fell across the hardwood floor. Long. Clear. Obvious.

Six women. Six shadows.

We talked about normal things. Jobs. Interests. Family. Movies we'd seen. Books we'd read. The kind of small talk that would happen at any gathering.

But everyone was watching the floor.

Priya's shadow leaned forward when I spoke. Just slightly. Her body stayed still but her shadow showed interest.

Ananya's shadow turned away. Not hostile. Just uninterested. Chemistry goes both ways. Her shadow knew within five minutes that nothing was there.

Kavya's shadow kept looking toward the door. She was here because her parents made her come. Her shadow wanted to leave.

Divya's shadow reached. Not obviously. But I could see it. Every time I moved, her shadow moved too. Following. Tracking. Drawn.

Meera's shadow did something stranger. It stood up from her chair and walked closer to me. Not touching. Not inappropriate. But closer. Like it wanted to see me better.

Lakshmi's shadow sat perfectly still. Professional. Controlled. The kind of stillness that came from years of shadow management training.

After an hour, my mother brought tea. The women's mothers sat in the adjacent room, watching through the doorway. Observing their daughters' shadows. Taking notes.

This was normal. This was how it worked. Chemistry first. Compatibility later. No point wasting time on someone whose shadow didn't reach for you.

After two hours, the women left. Their mothers followed. Polite goodbyes. Thank yous. We'll be in touch.

My mother and grandmother's sister. Aunt Malini. gathered in the living room.

"Well?" my mother asked me.

"Divya," I said. "And maybe Meera."

"I saw Divya's shadow," Aunt Malini said. "Very attracted. Clear signals. Good chemistry."

"Meera's was interesting," my mother added. "The standing. The approaching. That shows strong pull. Maybe stronger than Divya."

"What about Lakshmi?" I asked. "Her shadow was controlled but I thought. I don't know. There was something."

Aunt Malini shook her head. "Too controlled. That's performance. Not attraction. She's been trained to hide what she really feels. Probably had shadow management coaching. You want someone whose shadow shows you truth. Not someone who's learned to suppress it."

This made sense. This was the whole point. In our culture, in our community, we'd watched Americans struggle with dating for generations. Watched them miss signals. Misread intentions. Waste years on people who weren't actually attracted to them.

We didn't have that problem.

We could see chemistry. Could watch it happen in real time. Could make matches based on what bodies actually wanted rather than what people claimed to want.

It was efficient. Scientific. Honest.

My mother made calls. Divya's family was interested. Very interested. Her mother had seen the same things we'd seen. The reaching. The following. The clear attraction.

We arranged a second meeting. Just Divya and me this time. Her parents. My parents. Formal negotiation.

Divya was beautiful. Twenty-four. Worked in finance. Smart. Articulate. Came from a good family. By every traditional measure, she was perfect.

And her shadow reached for mine the moment we sat down.

Not subtle this time. Not restrained. Her shadow crossed the space between us and stood next to mine. Close. The kind of close that would be inappropriate if bodies did it. But shadows showing desire was exactly what everyone wanted to see.

It meant the chemistry was real. Strong. Undeniable.

Her parents and my parents discussed details. Engagement timeline. Wedding date. Financial arrangements. Living situations. All the practical things that went into a marriage.

Divya and I talked. She was nice. Asked good questions. Seemed genuinely interested in my work. Laughed at my jokes. Easy to talk to.

Her shadow pressed closer to mine.

That's attraction, I thought. That's what this process identifies. The physical pull. The chemical reaction. The thing that makes relationships work.

We were engaged three weeks later.

The wedding was in December. Traditional ceremony. Three hundred guests. My family was thrilled. Divya's family was thrilled. Everyone kept commenting on how strong our shadow connection was. How obvious the chemistry was. How lucky we were to have found such a clear match.

On our wedding night, Divya's shadow reached for mine before we even touched.

The attraction was real. Physical. Undeniable.

Everything our families had promised.

Everything the shadow-matching process was designed to identify.

But then we had to talk.

"So," Divya said, lying next to me in our hotel room. "What do you want to do tomorrow? Before we leave for the honeymoon?"

"I don't know. Sleep in? Get breakfast?"

"I was thinking we could go to that art museum. The modern one downtown. I've been wanting to see their new installation."

"Art museum?" I tried to keep my voice neutral. "On our honeymoon?"

"Well, not the whole day. Just a few hours. I love modern art. Especially sculpture."

I hated museums. Had hated them since I was a kid. Found them boring. Exhausting. Would rather do almost anything else.

But I said, "Sure. That sounds nice."

Her shadow pressed against mine. Still attracted. Still pulled.

Even while we discovered we wanted completely different things.

Six months into the marriage, I realized the problem.

Divya's shadow still reached for mine. Still showed attraction. The chemistry was undeniable. We could walk into a room and everyone could see it. The pull between our shadows. The physical connection.

But we didn't like each other.

Not in any meaningful way. Not in the way that made you want to spend time together. Not in the way that made you actually enjoy someone's company.

She liked museums and poetry readings and long walks talking about philosophy.

I liked sports and action movies and comfortable silence.

She wanted to travel constantly. Try new restaurants. Meet new people.

I wanted routine. Familiar places. Time alone.

She needed to talk through every feeling. Every thought. Every minor decision.

I needed space. Quiet. Time to process things internally.

We fought. Not big explosive fights. Just constant low-level friction. The kind of friction that comes from two people who are fundamentally incompatible trying to build a life together.

But every time we fought, our shadows still reached for each other.

Still showed attraction.

Still demonstrated the chemistry that had made our families so confident this was a good match.

I went to see Aunt Malini in July.

"It's not working," I told her.

She poured tea. Set it in front of me. "What's not working?"

"The marriage. Divya and me. We're. We're not compatible."

"I see your shadows every time you're together," Aunt Malini said. "The pull is still there. The attraction is obvious."

"I know. That's the problem. We're attracted to each other but we don't actually like each other. We don't want the same things. We don't enjoy the same activities. We can barely have a conversation without disagreeing."

Aunt Malini was quiet for a long moment. Then: "The shadows show desire. They don't show compatibility."

"What?"

"Attraction and compatibility are different things. We've always known that. That's why we do the interviews. Why we check family backgrounds. Why we look at education and values and all the traditional criteria." She sipped her tea. "The shadows tell us if the chemistry is there. If the physical pull is real. But chemistry alone doesn't make a marriage work."

"Then why do we base matches on it?"

"Because chemistry is necessary. You can't build a marriage without it. But it's not sufficient on its own." Aunt Malini looked at me with something like pity. "Your grandmother understood that. She watched shadows to confirm attraction. But she also talked to the couples. Asked questions. Looked for compatibility beyond what shadows showed. That's why her matches worked. Not because the shadows reached. Because she understood that reaching isn't enough."

I felt something cold settle in my stomach. "So this process. It only works if you do the other part too. The traditional compatibility assessment."

"Yes."

"And we didn't do that. We saw the shadows and assumed that was enough."

"Your mother and Divya's mother saw what they wanted to see. Strong shadow attraction. They thought that guaranteed success. They forgot that attraction can exist between people who have nothing else in common."

"They forgot that chemistry without compatibility is just frustration."

I went home. Found Divya in the living room. Reading poetry. Something I'd never understand or enjoy. Something that represented everything about her I was incompatible with.

Her shadow reached for mine the moment I walked in.

"We need to talk," I said.

She looked up. "Okay."

"This isn't working. You know it's not working."

"The shadows still show attraction." Her voice was quiet. Resigned. "Everyone can see it. Our families keep saying how lucky we are."

"Our shadows show chemistry. They don't show that you hate sports and I hate museums. They don't show that you need constant conversation and I need silence. They don't show that we want completely different lives."

"So what do we do?"

I looked at our shadows. Still reaching. Still pressed close. Still showing the physical pull that had convinced everyone this was a good match.

"I don't know," I said. "In our culture, divorce is. It's not really an option. Not when the shadows are this clear. People would say we're not trying hard enough. That we're ignoring what's obviously there."

"But what's obviously there is just attraction." Divya closed her book. "And attraction without compatibility is torture."

"We're chemically drawn to someone we don't actually like."

"Yes."

We sat in silence. Our shadows pressed together on the floor. Demonstrating the pull. The chemistry. The thing that had seemed so important.

The thing that turned out to be completely insufficient.

"My grandmother made seventeen matches," I said. "All of them worked. Everyone says she had a gift."

"What was the gift?"

"Understanding that shadows only show part of the picture. That chemistry gets you in the room. But compatibility keeps you there."

Divya's shadow wrapped around mine. Still reaching. Still showing attraction.

And I felt absolutely nothing except the weight of being tied to someone whose shadow wanted me but whose life didn't fit with mine in any meaningful way.

We're still married. Five years now.

Our families point to us as a success story. Look at their shadows, they say. Look at how strong the pull still is. Look at how the chemistry never faded.

They're right. The chemistry hasn't faded.

Divya's shadow still reaches for mine. Mine still responds. We can walk into any bright room and everyone can see it. The attraction. The draw. The physical connection that's supposed to be the foundation of everything.

But we sleep in separate rooms now.

Have separate friends. Separate hobbies. Separate lives that happen to share an address.

We're polite. Cordial. We show up to family events together and let our shadows demonstrate what everyone wants to see.

And we quietly hate every minute we're forced to spend together.

Last month, Divya's younger sister asked me about the matching process. She's twenty-two. Getting ready for her own meetings.

"Does it work?" she asked. "Really?"

I looked at Divya across the room. At our shadows pressed together even while we stood apart. At the lie everyone believed because the chemistry was so visible.

"It works," I said, "if you understand what it's actually showing you."

"Which is?"

"Who you want. Not who you'll like. Not who you'll be happy with. Not who you'll actually enjoy building a life with." I watched my shadow reach for Divya's even while I wished I was anywhere else. "Just who your body is drawn to. And sometimes that's enough. But sometimes it's just the beginning of a very long trap."

"Should I do it differently?"

"Watch the shadows. Confirm the chemistry. But then actually talk to him. Actually get to know him. Actually check if you like who he is beyond what your body wants."

"Is that what you didn't do?"

I looked at her. At this young woman about to enter the same process that had seemed so efficient. So scientific. So much better than the American way.

"We saw attraction and thought it was everything," I said. "We saw our shadows reaching and thought that meant we'd be happy."

"And you're not happy."

"We're married to someone we're attracted to but don't actually like. We're chemically bound to someone we're fundamentally incompatible with. We're trapped by our shadows showing something that turned out to matter less than anyone told us it would."

Divya's sister got engaged three months later. To someone whose shadow barely moved during their meeting. Whose shadow showed mild interest but nothing dramatic. Nothing like the pull between Divya and me.

But they talked. For hours. For weeks. About everything. About what they wanted. What they valued. What they needed. What would make them happy.

They matched on everything that mattered.

And everyone in our family said she was making a mistake. That weak shadow attraction meant weak chemistry. That she'd regret not holding out for someone whose shadow showed more.

That she should find someone whose shadow reached the way mine reached for Divya.

The way mine still reaches. Every day. Every time we're in the same room.

Showing everyone exactly what they want to see.

Hiding what actually matters.

That chemistry without compatibility isn't love.

It's just biology trying to convince you to make a terrible decision.

And sometimes the most efficient process gives you exactly what it promises.

Just not what you actually need.