Over the past few days of living with Aaravi, Akshay had been noticing something. As chaotic but also simultaneously put together she was, she never braided her hair. Now, this small thing seemed unimportant at first, however, considering the length of her hair he was surprised she always either left it out or put it in a messy bun.
So one day he decided, to spend more time on sites he didn't really explore much; Instagram and Youtube.
"How to braid hair," he'd typed, feeling ridiculous.
He clicked on one video of a girl demonstrating how to split hair into 3 sections and crossing each strand over in a repetitive motion.
In these seven days,
He'd watched 20 videos.
When the YouTube videos hadn't been enough, he'd swallowed his pride and messaged Mishti.
Akshay: Hypothetically, agar kisi ko braid karna seekhna ho... toh kaha shuru kare
Mishti: Akshay, "hypothetically"? Really? Just ask.
Akshay: Fine. Aaravi ke liye. Uske baal... bichaari.. woh struggle karti hai.
Mishti: OH MY GOD YOU'RE SO CUTE. Okay wait, I'm sending you a video tutorial. And some tips. This is adorable.
Akshay: Please don't tell anyone about this.
Mishti: I'm literally telling everyone.
Akshay: Mishti.
Mishti: Fine, fine. Your secret is safe. But seriously, yeh dekho, three-strand braid is easiest. Start from the top, keep the tension even, and just go with the flow.
It was 6:47 AM on a Thursday morning, and Akshay was running on exactly three hours of sleep and hectic nights due to work.
He'd just finished a night shift that had involved two interrogations, one high-speed chase, and approximately seventeen cups of Crime Branch coffee. His eyes felt terrible and his uniform needed washing, and all he wanted was to collapse into bed in his and Aaravi's apartment.
He was fishing his keys out of his pocket when he heard it.
The sound of a High-pitched, dramatic, wail coming from the flat next door.
"NAHI! MAIN NAHI PEHNUNGI YEH FROCK! YUCK!"
Akshay paused, key halfway to the lock.
Then came Mishti's voice, frazzled and at least two octaves higher than usual: "Pihu, PLEASE! Baby, bus aa jayegi! Just five minutes aur—NAHI, PHONE NEECHE RAKHO! PIHU!"
Akshay sighed, pocketed his keys, and walked the three steps to Mishti's door. It was slightly open because Mishti was always forgetting to close it properly.
He pushed it open and stepped inside.
Pihu was standing in the middle of the living room in a bright yellow uniform frock that had somehow gotten twisted around so the buttons were on the side instead of the back. Her curly hair was completely loose. She had one shoe on, one shoe off, and was holding Mishti's phone above her head, having stolen it mid-call.
"PIHU BANERJEE!" Mishti's voice came from the bedroom. "PHONE WAPAS DO ABHI KE ABHI!"
"NAHI!" Pihu shouted back, giggling. "MAIN TAMANAAH KO DEKH RAHI HOON!"
Mishti emerged from the bedroom, her own hair in a messy bun and she had a toothbrush in one hand and Pihu's school bag in the other.
She froze when she saw Akshay.
"Oh thank god," she breathed. "Akshay. Hi. Good morning. Slight emergency. As you can see."
"Main dekh sakta hoon," Akshay said, stepping fully inside and closing the door behind him. "Yeh sab kya chal raha hai?"
"BOSS KA CALL!" Mishti shouted, gesturing wildly with the toothbrush. "Bridal lehenga order! Aur PIHU ne decide kar liya ki aaj woh ready nahi hogi! Aur maine abhi brush bhi nahi kiya!"
Akshay walked over to Pihu, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, completely absorbed in Tamannah Bhatia's " Aaj ki Raat" on the phone screen, oblivious to the chaos around her.
He crouched down next to her and snapped his fingers twice.
He tried again. Louder. "Aye!"
Nothing. Tammanah's dancing was apparently very engaging.
Akshay put two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle.
Pihu's head snapped up immediately, eyes wide. "AKSHU MAMU!"
Her face lit up, and she dropped the phone to throw herself at him. Akshay caught her easily, standing up and settling her on his hip from routine now.
"Hello, Pihu beta," he said, his voice much softer now. "Kaisi ho?"
"Akshu mamu, aap aa gaye!" She threw her arms around his neck. "Maine aapko miss kiya! Aap kitne din se gaayab!"
"Main toh roz aata hoon," he reminded her gently. "Bas tum school mein hoti ho."
"Haan, par main aapko nahi dekhti na!" She pulled back to look at him seriously. "Toh same baat thodi hai."
Mishti was now on her knees, frantically searching for her actual work phone that she'd apparently misplaced. "Akshay, I'm literally dying. Client call fifteen minutes mein hai, Pihu ki bus seven thirty ko aati hai, aur main—WHERE IS MY PHONE?!"
"Counter pe," Akshay said, pointing to the kitchen counter where Mishti's work phone sat next to a bowl of poha.
"OH THANK GOD!" Mishti lunged for it, checking the time. "Okay. Okay. Thirteen minutes. Main kar sakti hoon. Main—" She looked at Pihu, still happily nestled in Akshay's arms, and her shoulders sagged. "Pihu baby, please. Mamu ko chod do. Tumhe ready hona hai school ke liye."
"Nahi!" Pihu clung tighter to Akshay's neck. "Main Akshu mamu ke saath rahungi! NO SCHOOL!"
"Pihu—"
"Mishti," Akshay interrupted. Tum apna office ka kaam dekh le. Main dekh lunga Pihu ko."
Mishti's head whipped around so fast Akshay was surprised she didn't get whiplash. "What? Seriously?"
"Haan. You're stressed. Main yahaan hoon. I'll handle it." He adjusted Pihu on his hip. "Bus kitne baje aati hai?"
"Seven thirty. Twenty-three minutes." Mishti said. Akshay, are you sure? Tumhari shift—"
"Khatam ho gayi. I'm free. Just go."
Mishti was already backing toward her bedroom. "Pihu, mamu ki baat sunna! Aur Akshay—thank you thank you THANK YOU!"
She disappeared into her room, and Akshay heard the door slam shut, followed by frantic rustling and what sounded like Mishti tripping over something.
He looked down at Pihu, who was now playing with his collar, completely unbothered by the chaos.
"Toh, Pihu beta," he said. "Tumhe school jaana hai na? Excitement toh bahut hogi na bacha?"
"Nahi," she said cheerfully.
"Nahi?"
"Nahi. Main aaj aapke saath rahungi. Hum ice cream khaayenge na. Isliye to maine mummy ko bola tha!" she chimed.
"Ice cream subah subah nahi khaate, Pihu."
"Toh dopahar ko khaayenge na !"
"Tum dopahar ko school mein hogi to kaise khaayenge?"
She pouted, her lower lip jutting out. "Par main nahi jaana chahti school."
"Kyun nahi?"
" Mujhe nahi pasand school. YUCK."
Akshay raised an eyebrow. "YUCK? Last week tumne mujhe bola tha ki tumhe school bahut pasand hai. Art class ke baare mein poori story sunayi thi."
Pihu's pout deepened. "Woh last week tha. Aaj nahi jaana!."
"Hmmm." Akshay set her down on her feet and crouched to her level. "Agar main tumhe ek deal offer karoon?"
Her eyes lit up immediately, "Kaunsi deal?"
"Tum ready ho jao, school jao, achhe se behave karo—"
"Noooooooo," she interrupted.
"—aur main tumhe aaj evening mein school pickup karte waqt, ice cream dunga. Chocolate waali. Triple scoop."
Pihu's eyes went wide. "TRIPLE SCOOP?!"
"Triple scoop," Akshay confirmed. "Par sirf agar tum aaj jao school. Deal?"
She considered this very seriously for a four-year-old, her little face scrunched up in concentration. Then she nodded firmly. "Deal. Par pakka ice cream?"
"Pakka."
"Pinky promise?"
Akshay held out his pinky, and she hooked hers with his, both of them shaking very seriously.
"Okay!" Pihu announced. "Toh ab main ready hoon!"
Akshay looked at her. Her frock was still twisted, one shoe was still missing, and her hair, a mass of beautiful dark curls that stuck out in every direction, was tangled and wild. Mishti usually did two neat chottis.
"Pihu beta," Akshay said slowly. "Tumhare baal... aise kyun hain?"
"Mumma ne kaha tha ki woh baad mein karegi," Pihu said, reaching up to pat her hair. "Par abhi tak nahi kiya. Toh main ne khud try kiya!"
"Khud try kiya," Akshay repeated. "And... how did that go?"
Pihu grinned up at him, showing her missing front tooth. "Accha nahi gaya."
"Haan. Main dekh sakta hoon."
"Pihu beta," he said carefully. "Agar main tumhare baal karun toh?"
She looked up at him, surprised. "Aap? Par aap toh police uncle hain. Police uncles ko baal karna nahi aata."
"Kaun bola nahi aata?"
Pihu giggled in response.
Akshay made a mental note to tell Abhimanyu about this later. "Haan, par main... main seekh raha hoon. Practice kar raha hoon."
"Practice?" Pihu's eyes went round. "Mere baalon pe?!"
"Haan. Agar tu allow kare toh."
She considered this. "Aur agar aapne mere baal kharab kar diye?"
"Toh main theek kar dunga. Promise."
"Aur mumma gussa karegi?"
"Main mumma se baat kar lunga."
Pihu thought about this for a long moment. Then she shrugged. "Okay! Par Akshu mamu, achhe se karna. Mumma jaise."
"Haan, beta. Best try karunga."
Akshay stood up and looked around the living room. He grabbed a chair, a comb. And hair ties.
He spotted Pihu's small plastic stool near the TV and dragged it to the middle of the room where the lighting was best.
"Baitho yahaan," he instructed, patting the stool.
Pihu climbed on obediently, swinging her legs. "Akshu mamu, aap nervous lag rahe hain."
"Main nahi hoon nervous."
"Aapke haath kaanp rahe hain."
"Woh... woh bas thak gaya hoon," he muttered. "Abhi theek ho jayega."
He went to the bathroom and found Mishti's hair supplies in a basket under the sink, combs, brushes, dozens of colorful hair ties, clips shaped like butterflies and flowers, and yes.
Armed with supplies, he returned to find Pihu now trying to stand on the stool.
"Pihu! Baitho!"
"Par aap tel nahi lagadenge! Mumma hamesha lagadeti hai aur usse baal mere ekdam chip chip hojaate!"!" she cried out.
"Pihu Banerjee, baitho neeche. Abhi."
Due to his stern voice, she sat immediately, her eyes went wide. "Sorry, Akshu mamu."
He softened. " " Main nahi lagadunga tel.Bas still rehna hai. Theek hai?"
"Theek hai," she said in a small voice.
Akshay stood behind her, supplies in hand, and stared at the mass of curls in front of him.
He sprayed some water on her hair to make it more manageable, and Pihu squealed. "AAH MAMU, THANDA HAI!"
"Sorry, sorry!" He adjusted the spray, making it finer. "Better?"
"Haan. Par ab mujhe susu aa rahi hai."
"Pihu, please. Abhi nahi."
"Par—"
"Five minutes. Bas five minutes. Please?"
She sighed dramatically. "Okay. Five minutes. Par phir main toilet jaaungi."
"Done."
He picked up the comb and started working through her curls, gently detangling from the bottom up like the YouTube video had taught him. Pihu's hair was thick and curly, completely different from the straight haired influencers on youtube.
"Ouch dukh raha hai!" Pihu yelped when he hit a particularly stubborn knot.
"Sorry! Sorry, beta." He loosened his grip, working more carefully. "Dard hua?"
"Thoda. Par it's okay. Mumma bhi kheenchti hain."
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only three minutes, he'd managed to comb through all her hair. Now came the actual chottis.
He sectioned her hair down the middle and clipped one side away. Then he gathered the other side, trying to remember the technique from the video.
He took her hair tying it in a high ponytail.
He wrapped the hair tie around twice, but it was too loose for 2 and too tight for 3.
Half the hair fell out and it didnt look anything like the ponytail that he had held in his hands.
"Akshu mamu?" Pihu's voice was patient. "Kya hua?"
"Kuch nahi. Bas... ek second."
He tried again. This time he got the hair tie on, but the ponytail was... lopsided. It was pointing toward her ear instead of up.
"Hmm."
He undid it. Tried again.
This time it was too high. Like a devil horn sprouting from the side of her head.
"Akshu mamu, ho gaya?"
"Almost, beta. Bas thoda sa aur."
"Ek ho gaya!" he announced triumphantly.
"YAY!" Pihu clapped. "Doosri bhi karo!"
Akshay unclipped the other side and started working on it. This time he felt slightly more confident. He knew what to do now. How hard could it be to make it match the first one?
The second chhoti ended up higher than the first one.
"Done!" he announced anyway, because in his eyes Pihu looked adorable. He'd been working on this for fifteen minutes and the bus was coming in eight minutes.
Pihu hopped off the stool and ran to the mirror near the door.
She turned her head left and right, examining the chottis.
Then her face scrunched up.
"Akshu mamu..."
"Haan?" His voice was too bright, too hopeful.
"Yeh... yeh ek upar hai aur ek neeche hai."
"Nahi toh. Bilkul even hain. Same height."
" Achi nahi lag rahi hai!" she pouted.
She turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised just like her mom, "Akshu mamu, main chhoti hoon. Stupid nahi hoon."
Akshay smiled trying to help the situation. "Haan, I know, beta."
"Toh aap jhooth kyun bol rahe hain?" She patted the higher chhoti. "Yeh wala upar hai. Dekho."
"Woh..." Akshay scrambled for an explanation. "Woh... woh... it's a style!"
Pihu straightened up, looking suspicious. "Style?"
"Haan! New style! Bahut trendy hai beta!" He was making this up as he went along. "Main ne... internet pe dekha. Aise hi karte hain. Ek upar, ek neeche. Very fashionable."
"Sachi?"
"Arrey Muchi!! Main ne YouTube pe dekha tha."
Pihu turned back to the mirror, tilting her head as she examined the lopsided chottis. "Hmm. Trendy hai?"
" Nahi toh kya, tum apne Akshu mamu pe bharosa nahi karti?" he teased softly.
She seemed to be considering this. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face. "Okay! Main ye style pasand karti hoon! Main school mein sabko dikhaungi!"
"Haan! Good idea! Sab bohot impressed honge!" Akshay was just relieved she'd bought it. "Ab jaldi se shoes pehn lo. Bus aa jayegi."
"Haan!" Pihu ran to find her missing shoe, completely happy now, her earlier reluctance to go to school apparently forgotten.
He helped her find her shoe, made sure her frock was on properly and packed her water bottle into her school bag.
From outside, they heard it the sound of the school bus engine. They made their way quickly to the lift.
As soon as they stepped out,
"BUS!" Pihu shrieked.
"CHALO CHALO CHALO!" Akshay grabbed the school bag, shoved it into Pihu's arms, and practically pushed her toward the stop. "Bye beta! Achhe se behave karna!"
"Bye Akshu mamu!" Pihu called. "Ice cream nahi bhoolna!"
"Nahi bholunga!" Akshay called back.
Pihu's little footsteps stepped onto the bus. Her excited voice greeting the bus driver, heard the bus doors close and the engine rumble as it pulled away.
A few days later, one morning, Aaravi stood in front of the mirror, her hair loose and slightly damp from her shower, a comb in one hand and a hair tie in the other, her expression increasingly frustrated.
From the doorway, Akshay watched, his coffee mug in hand. He was already dressed for work in a crisp white shirt, dark pants, his badge clipped to his belt but he'd learned to take a few minutes out of his day just to watch her morning chaos.
It had become his favorite part of the day.
"Ugh, yeh kaise hota hai?" she muttered to herself, trying to section her hair for the third time. The strands kept slipping through her fingers, refusing to cooperate.
"Kya hua?" he asked, pausing in the doorway.
"Kuch nahi," Aaravi said quickly, attempting again to divide her hair into three sections. One section immediately fell apart. "Bas... bas yeh stupid baal..."
He watched her for a moment, a small smile playing at his lips as she tried and failed again, her frustration mounting with each attempt.
"Aaravi."
"Haan?"
"Main kar doon?"
She turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised. "Aaap? Aap mere baal karoge?"
"Haan." He walked over, gently taking the comb from her hand. "Baitho."
"Par aapko aata hai?" She looked skeptical but sat down on the edge of the bed anyway.
"Pata chal jayega," he said, standing behind her. His fingers carefully gathered her hair, combing through it gently. "Kya chahiye? Simple braid?"
"Haan, simple French braid. Par Akshay, seriously, agar aapko nahi aata toh—"
"Shh. Chup chap baitho aur Akshay ko apna kaam chalene do. "
Aaravi fell silent, watching him in the mirror as he sectioned her hair as he began braiding from the crown of her head.
"Aapko... aapko sach mein aata hai?" she asked softly, amazed as she watched him work.
"Thoda thoda," he murmured, concentrating. His fingers moved deftly, adding sections of hair as he braided downward. "Zyada tight toh nahi hai na?"
"Nahi, bilkul perfect hai." Aaravi's voice had gone soft. "Aapko... aapne yeh kaise seekha?"
Akshay's ears turned slightly pink. "Bas... seekh liya."
"Akshay Malhotra," she turned her head slightly to look at him, "jhooth mat bolo. Kaise seekha?"
He sighed, his hands still working steadily. "YouTube pe "
"YouTube?!" Aaravi's face lit up with delight. "Aap... Aapne mere liye YouTube videos dekhe? Braiding sikhne ke liye?"
"Haan toh?" His voice was defensive now, embarrassed. "Buri baat hai kya?"
"Nahi!" She was grinning now. "Cute baat hai. Kitne videos dekhe?"
"...Kaafi."
"Akshay!"
"Theek hai, theek hai!" He was fully blushing now. "Pehle teen-chaar videos dekhe, practice karne ke liye Mishti se bhi help maangi. Phir Pihu baby ke baalon pe practice karwaya mujhse. Pihu bahut hasi thi."
"Aap roz subah aise struggle karti ho," he said quietly, his fingers still braiding. "Maine socha... main help kar sakta hoon toh kyun nahi? Aur waise bhi..." He paused, then continued softly, "Mishti ne bataya tha ki usually girls apni maa se yeh sab seekhti hain. Par aapki maa toh..."
Aaravi's smile faded a little, becoming bittersweet. "Haan. Maa nahi thi. Papa hamesha karte the mere baal."
Akshay's hands stilled for just a moment. "Aapke papa?"
"Haan." Aaravi's voice was thick now.. "Morning mein, breakfast se pehle. Woh hamesha kehte the, 'Aaravi, baal kaise aise khule chhod sakti ho? Aao, main kar deta hoon.' Unke paas itna kaam hota tha, par... par woh hamesha time nikalte the mere baalon ke liye."
Akshay resumed braiding, his touch even gentler now. "Aur jab unki duty hoti thi?"
"Tab Srishti didi karti thi. Woh hamare ghar pe kaam karti thi. Bahut pyaar karti thi mujhse." Aaravi smiled at the memory. "Woh kehti thi, 'Aaravi baby, aaj kaun sa style karein? Bolo bolo!' Par... par main kabhi khud seekhne ki koshish nahi ki. Hamesha Papa the ya Srishti didi. Aur phir... phir Papa..."
She trailed off, and Akshay could see her eyes glistening in the mirror.
"Aaravi," he said softly, securing the end of the braid with the hair tie. "Ho gaya."
She looked at her reflection, at the perfectly neat French braid running down her back, and her eyes filled with tears.
"It's perfect," she whispered.
"Thank you," she mumbled. "Aapko nahi pata... nahi pata yeh mere liye kitna mayne rakhta hai."
He smiled gently, "Pata hai," he said quietly. "Isliye seekha na aapke liye."
"Koi baat nahi." He smiled at her. "Aur ek baat."
"Haan?"
"Agar aap chahogi, main roz kar sakta hoon. Aapke baal. Jab tak... jab tak aap khud seekhna nahi chahti."
"Aur. ," he interrupted, standing up and pulling her to her feet, "hum late ho rahe hain. Mujhe duty pe jaana hai, aapko college. Aur abhi humne skincare bhi nahi kiya."
"Skincare?" Aaravi blinked. "Wait, aapka skincare routine hai?"
"Haan," Akshay said, already walking toward the bathroom. "Obviously. Chalo."
"Obviously?!" Aaravi followed him, laughing now. "Mr. Uncha Lamba Kad ka skincare routine hai?!"
"Pollution bahut hai Mumbai mein," he said seriously, pulling out a small basket from under the sink. It was filled with various bottles and tubes. "Skin ka dhyaan rakhna zaroori hai."
Aaravi stared at the collection. "Yeh... yeh sab aapka hai?"
"Haan. Cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen. Basic routine."
"Basic?! Akshay, mere paas toh sirf face wash aur Ponds hai!"
He looked genuinely horrified. "Aaravi! Sunscreen bhi nahi lagate?"
"Um... kabhi kabhi lagaati?"
"Oh my god." He turned to face her fully, his expression stern. "Aaravi Patil—"
"Malhotra," she corrected with a grin.
His ears went pink again, but he continued, "—aapki skin ke saath aisa satyanaash? Chalo, aaj se aap bhi proper routine follow karogi."
"Haan ji, husband ji," she said, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"Haan ji, wife ji," he shot back, then froze, realizing what he'd said.
They stared at each other for a moment, both blushing, before Aaravi cleared her throat.
"Toh... toh skincare kare?"
"Pehle face wash," Akshay said, recovering quickly. He handed her a gentle cleanser. "Yeh use karo. Gentle circles mein."
They both washed their faces, Aaravi watching him from the corner of her eye as he efficiently went through the motions.
"Ab yeh," he said, handing her a toner. "Cotton pad pe leke, gently pat karo. Rub nahi karna."
"Itna gyan kahan se aaya aapko?" Aaravi asked, following his instructions.
"Main padh leta hoon," he said simply. "Aur mummy and bua bhi kuch tips deti hai. Woh bahut padhti hai skincare ke baare mein."
Next came the serum, a light, hydrating one that Akshay gently pressed into her skin with his fingertips, demonstrating the proper technique.
"Aise," he murmured, his fingers gentle on her cheeks. "Upward motion mein. Downward pulls skin."
Aaravi stood very still, aware of how close he was, how focused his expression was as he applied the product to her face.
"Aapke haath bahut soft hain," she said without thinking.
He paused, looking at her. "Haan?"
"Haan. I mean... Aapke kaam ko dekhke lagta nahi. Par hain."
His lips twitched. "Thank you. I think."
He applied moisturizer next, his fingers feather-light as he smoothed it over her skin. Then came sunscreen, which he insisted was non-negotiable.
"SPF 50 minimum," he said seriously. "Especially college mein. Aap outside bahut time spend karti ho, library jaane mein, canteen mein."
"Haan, uncle," Aaravi teased.
"Aaravi," he warned, but he was smiling.
When their skincare was done, Aaravi moved to leave the bathroom, but Akshay caught her wrist.
"Ruko."
"Kya?"
"Makeup nahi karni?"
"I was going to do light kajal, bas. Kyun?"
"Main kar doon?"
Aaravi stared at him. "Aap ... aap makeup bhi karte ho?"
"Nahi karta, par... par dekha hai. Aur practice ki hai." He looked almost shy now. "Agar aap chahogi toh."
"Akshay Malhotra," Aaravi said slowly, a smile spreading across her face, "aapne makeup bhi practice kiya? Mere liye?"
"Aapko zaroorat nahi hai makeup ki," he said quickly. "Aap already, aap bilkul achi lagti ho without it. Main bas... agar aap karna chahti ho, toh... main help kar sakta hoon. Thoda bohot."
Aaravi's heart was doing strange things in her chest, she giggled. " thik hai lekin shakal mat kharab karna! Sundari se pishachini mat bana lena!"
He rolled his eyes, sighing. " Okay baba.. Just trust me!"
She sat on the closed toilet seat while Akshay gathered her makeup bag. He'd clearly gone through it before because he found everything with ease: concealer, blush, mascara, kajal, nude lip liner.
"Yeh," he held up the concealer, "under eyes ke liye hai na?"
"Haan."
He dabbed a tiny amount under her eyes, his touch incredibly gentle, then blended it with his ring finger in soft patting motions.
" Awww aap kitne pookie ho." she said giggling.
"Aaravi, please, yeh pookie-wookie shabd mujhe shobha nahi dete." he muttered, focusing on applying a very light amount of blush to her cheeks. "Ruko, hil mat jao."
She obediently stayed still as he swept the blush across her cheekbones, then stepped back to check his work.
"Perfect hai?" he asked.
"Haan, par... thoda sa aur." He applied just a touch more,
then nodded satisfied. "Ab theek hai. Natural lag raha hai."
Aaravi was quiet for a moment, watching him in the mirror as he capped the blush and set it down carefully.
"Akshay?"
"Hm?" He was already reaching for the lipstick.
"Blush ki zarurat hi kya thi?"
He paused, looking at her reflection, confused. "Matlab? Aapne khud toh bola tha makeup—"
"Matlab..." She bit her lip, her eyes dropping shyly. "Aap toh kaafi hain already. Mere cheeks pink karne ke liye."
For a moment, Akshay just stared at her reflection in the mirror, the lipstick frozen in his hand. Then her words registered, and his ears turned bright red.
"Aaravi..." he started, then stopped, completely flustered. "Aap bhi na..."
He turned his face away quickly, pretending to be very interested in reading the lip balm label, but she could see the smile threatening to break on his face.
"Kya?" she asked innocently, though her own cheeks were now genuinely pink. "Sach bol rahi hoon."
"Chup raho," he mumbled, still not looking at her, his neck now joining his ears in redness. "Aapko... Aapko late ho raha hai. Lips karne do mujhe."
"Haan, par pehle aap meri taraf dekho toh—" she said
"Haan... Lipbalm." But he was smiling now, she could hear it in his voice as he handed it to her.
Next came the mascara. Akshay's hand was remarkably steady as he carefully applied it to her lashes.
"Upar dekho," he instructed softly. "Aur blink mat karna."
"Aapke haath itna steady kaise hai?" Aaravi marveled.
"Gun hold karna sikhate hain training mein," he said with a small smirk. "Mascara wand isse zyada asaan hai."
"Show off," she muttered, making him smile.
The kajal was next. He'd clearly practiced this because his hand didn't waver once as he lined her eyes, creating a soft, subtle line.
"Almost done," he murmured, his face very close to hers as he worked. "Bas lip liner baaki hai."
He uncapped the nude liner, his movements slowing down as he traced the outline of her lips. "Done," Akshay said finally, stepping back. Then his face broke into the most genuine, delighted smile she'd ever seen on him. "Aaravi, dekho! Perfect ho gaya!"
He actually giggled, a sound so pure and happy that Aaravi's heart felt like it might burst.
"Itni khushi ho rahi hai aapko?" she asked, charmed.
"Haan!" He turned her toward the mirror. "Dekho na! Exactly waise hi jo YouTube mein dikhaya tha! Main soch raha tha shayad galat ho jayega, par yeh, yeh bilkul theek hai!"
Aaravi looked at her reflection. The makeup was indeed perfect and enhancing her natural features rather than covering. Her eyes looked brighter, her cheeks had a soft glow, her lips looked naturally full.
"Akshay," she breathed, "yeh... yeh bahut accha hai. Professional lag raha hai."
"Sach mein?" He was practically bouncing on his heels now, so proud of himself. "I did okay?"
"Okay? Yeh amazing hai!" She stood up. "Thank you. Braiding, skincare, makeup, aapne sab kuch itna perfect kiya."
"Bas aapke liye.. Kuch bhi ban sakta hoon.. Makeup artist. chef .. husband.." he said without thinking, then seemed to realize what he'd said and pulled back slightly. "Matlab... agar aapko help chahiye toh..."
"Haan," Aaravi said softly, looking up at him. " samajh gayi main"
"Humein late ho raha hain," Akshay said finally, though he didn't move.
"Haan," Aaravi agreed, also not moving. "Aapko duty pe jaana hai."
"Aur Aapko college."
"Aaravi?"
"Haan?"
"Kal... kal bhi main kar doon aapke baal?"
Her smile was radiant. "Haan. Please. Roz karo."
"Theek hai." He stepped back, clearing his throat. "Toh... toh ab jaana chahiye."
"Haan, bilkul."
They both moved toward the door, Aaravi grabbing her bag, Akshay pulling on his uniform shirt.
As she was about to leave, she turned back. "Akshay?"
"Haan?"
"Thank you. Sach mein. Yeh sab... Papa ke jaane ke baad, maine socha tha... maine socha tha ki ab kabhi koi mere baal nahi karega. Kabhi koi itna dhyaan nahi rakhega." Her eyes were bright with unshed tears again. "Par aa... aapne YouTube videos dekhe. Mishti se seekha. Practice kiya. Mere liye."
Akshay's expression was incredibly soft. "Hamesha karunga," he promised. "Jab tak aap chahogi."
"Aur agar main hamesha chahoon?"
"Toh main hamesha karunga."
Aaravi nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and headed for the door.
As she reached the door, Akshay called out, "Aaravi?"
"Haan?"
"Aapke Papa... woh bahut khush hote. Aapko dekh ke. Aap exactly waise ho jaise unhone Aapko banna sikhaya hoga. You are so strong and resilient. Mujhe garv hai aap pe"
...................................
Mishti was sitting on her living room floor, surrounded by fabric swatches and her design sketches, when Pihu came up to her.
"Mumma, mere school mein fancy dress competition hai!"
Mishti looked up, smiling. "Oh really? Kab?"
"Next Friday! Aur main... main..." Pihu's eyes went wide. "Main Naval Officel banna chahti hoon! Maan Uncle jaisa!"
The pencil in Mishti's hand snapped.
"W-what?"
"Naval Officel!" Pihu clapped her hands excitedly. "With the white uniform aur cap aur everything! Maan Uncle dikhate hain mujhe unki photos! Itne handsome lagte hain woh!!"
" Pihu Banerjee... Indian Navy! Reporting for duty Sir!" she saluted.
Mishti felt her eye twitch. "Pihu, beta, naval officer thoda... complicated hai. How about something simple? Like... like doctor?"
"Nahi."
"Teacher?"
"NAHI."
" Lawyer?"
"NOOOO!"
"Astronaut? Princess? Superhero?" Mishti was getting desperate now.
"NAVAL OFFICEL!" Pihu crossed her little arms stubbornly. "Sirf naval officel. Like Maan Uncle."
"But beta, doctor kitna accha lagega! White coat, stethoscope—"
"Nahi. Naval officer."
"Chef? Tum chef ban jaao, chef's hat kitna cute—"
"NAVAL. OFFICEL."
Mishti closed her eyes, counting to ten in Bengali. "Pihu. Baby. Naval officer ka uniform banana bahut mushkil—"
"Par aap toh fashion designel ho na, Mumma!" Pihu's eyes went wide and innocent.
"Aap toh best fashion designel ho! Aap kuch bhi bana sakti ho!"
"That's not fair, you can't use compliments to manipulate—"
"PLEEEEASE MUMMA!" Pihu threw herself at Mishti dramatically. "Please please please! Main Maan Uncle jaisa banna chahti hoon! Please!"
Mishti looked down at her daughter's pleading face, then up at the ceiling.
"Of course. Of course Pihu wants to be like Abhimanyu. Kyun nahi hogi woh? Everyone is obsessed with Abhimanyu. Puri duniya Abhimanyu ke peeche paagal hai."
She muttered angrily.
"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "FINE. Naval officer. But Pihu hum last year ka doctor costume se banadenge"
" kyu mumma? Naya khareed nahi sakte?" Pihu asked.
" Arrey beta par –"
" Mumma hum garib hai kya?" she pouted.
" Nahi beta! Bas materials kyu waste kare" Mishti said.
"YAAAAY! Thank you Mumma! Thank you thank you!" Pihu was already running around the room in victory laps.
"Pihu, sun toh—"
But Pihu had grabbed her toy phone and was pretend-calling someone. "Hello? Maan Uncle? Maan Uncle, guess what! Main aapke jaisa ban rahi hoon! Naval officel!"
Mishti's eye twitched harder.
Over the next two hours, as she pulled out her measuring tape and started sketching designs, she maintained a running commentary:
"Naval officer. Couldn't be doctor. Nooo. Had to be naval officer."
Sketch sketch.
"White uniform banana hai. Do you know how hard white stains?"
Measure measure.
"Epaulettes. She wants epaulettes. Four-year-old ko epaulettes chahiye."
Cut cut.
"Aur yeh cap. Yeh perfectly angled cap. Of course."
Pihu sat on the couch, swinging her legs happily. "Mumma, aap best!"
"Haan haan, best hoon main." Mishti squinted at her design. "Jo bhi karo, Maan Uncle jaisa banana hai."
"Maan Uncle. Everything is Maan Uncle. Brush teeth? Maan Uncle said. Eat vegetables? Maan Uncle told me. Jump off furniture? Maan Uncle said it's fun—
"MUMMA! Kya aap gold buttons laga sakti ho? Real wale?"
"Real gold?" Mishti looked up, horrified. "Pihu, you're four—"
"Nahi nahi, gold color! Shiny wale! Maan Uncle ke uniform mein hain!"
"Of course they are." Mishti went back to her fabric. "Of course Maan Uncle has shiny gold buttons. Kyun nahi honge? Perfect Maan Uncle. Perfect uniform. Perfect buttons—"
"Mumma, aap Maan Uncle se baat kar rahi ho?"
Mishti froze. "What? Nahi! Main... main bas design ke baare mein soch rahi thi!"
"Oh. Par aap unse baat kar sakti ho. I know you're friends again!" Pihu grinned. "Main ne dekha tha. Aap dono garden mein the. Rain mein!"
"You—you were watching?"
"Haan! Window se! Aap dono dance kar rahe the!" Pihu started giggling. "It was like princess ka movie!"
Mishti's face went completely red. "We were NOT—that was just—we were just—"
"Aaru mami kaha ki you looked... what's the word?.. Oh haan.. very sexy!"
" SEXY!!!??? Yeh shabd kaha seekha tune!" Mishti's eyes nearly popped out of her head.
" Arrey! Abhi toh bola maine! Aaru maami se!" Pihu grinned.
"Aaravi—EVERYONE WAS WATCHING?"
"Haan! "
" That was NOT romantic!" Mishti's voice came out too high. "It was... it was closure! Old friendship closure! In the rain! Which is normal!"
"Mumma, aap red ho gayi aur yeh Ronantic kya hota?" she asked
"I'm NOT—I'm just—it's hot in here!" Mishti fanned herself with the fabric.
Pihu tilted her head, looking eerily wise for a four-year-old. "Mumma, do you like Maan Uncle?"
"WHAT? No! I mean—he's fine! He's okay! He's just—he's just Abhi! Annoying Abhi! Always has been! Nothing's changed!"
"NOTHING'S CHANGED!" Mishti said firmly, more to herself than Pihu.
"Okay, Mumma." Pihu smiled innocently. "Par main toh chahti hoon ki aap Maan Uncle ko like karo. Phir woh mere papa ban sakte hain!"
Mishti dropped all her fabric.
"PIHU BANER—THAT'S NOT—YOU CAN'T JUST—"
" YEH BHI KISNE SIKHAAYA TUJHE! LIKING SHIKING?" Mishti yelped.
" Aaru mami ne sikhaaya. Aur kisne?!" Pihu responded innocently.
" Yaar yeh Aaravi bhi na! Aaj shyaam college aayegi naa.. Iski fielding set kardungi!!" she grumbled angrily.
But Pihu had already skipped away, humming some tune, leaving Mishti sitting on the floor surrounded by white fabric and her own spiraling thoughts.
Papa. She said papa. Abhimanyu as papa. Abhimanyu as—
"Nahi nahi nahi," Mishti shook her head agressively. "Definitely not thinking about that. Not at all. Never. Chiii."
She picked up her scissors with slightly shaking hands.
You're making it in his honor.
"I AM NOT!"
"Mumma? Aap phir se baat kar rahe ho?"
"...kisi se nahi, beta."
Mishti looked down at her design...a miniature naval officer's uniform, with epaulettes and gold buttons.
It was going to look adorable on Pihu.
"CHIII!" she scowled in disgust.
..............................................................................................................................
The Malhotra household was very buzzy early morning.
Due to the happiness revolving the Singapore Deal, the Malhotras had closed. Hence, Smita had organized a temple visit for the entire family to seek blessings. Shriya stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her hands gripping the sink edge so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
Her period had started in the middle of the night, heavy but manageable the way it always was with PCOS.
She'd changed, cleaned up, taken two painkillers from the stash she kept hidden in her drawer, and spent the rest of the night curled up in a tight ball, waiting for the medicine to kick in.
It was 7:15 now and she could hear everyone moving around downstairs, getting ready.
"Shriya beta!" Smita aunty's voice called from outside the bedroom door. "Beta, ready ho gayi? Hume nikalna hai aadhe ghante mein!"
Shriya took a shaky breath. "Haan, Mummyji! Bas... bas paanch minute!"
Downstairs, Vikram was already dressed in a crisp white kurta-pajama, sitting on the sofa and reading the newspaper.
"Veer! Tera phone band kar aur ready ho ja! Hum late nahi honge!"
Veer was indeed on his phone, sitting on the armrest of the opposite sofa, dressed in a navy blue kurta. "Haan Papa, bas do minute. Client ka urgent message hai—"
"Do minute matlab aadha ghanta! Phone rakh! Aaj kal ke bache! Pura din phone!" he grumbled.
"Haan, Papa!"
Smita emerged from the kitchen, carrying a small steel dabba filled with prasad she'd prepared earlier of coconut laddoos and chana. She was dressed in a beautiful peacock blue saree, her hair neatly pulled back.
"Veer beta, Shriya ko dekho na. Woh ready ho gayi ya nahi?" she asked, setting the dabba on the center table.
"Haan, Mummy, maine abhi awaaz sunai thi. Woh ready ho rahi hai." Veer stood up, pocketing his phone. "Main jaake dekhta hoon."
Just then, Anita Bua swept into the living room.
"Arre wah, sab ready hain!" she announced, looking around. "Vikram, tum toh time pe ready hai. Accha hai. Veer beta, tum bhi kitna handsome lag raha hai. Aur Smita..." She looked Smita up and down. "Hmm. Peacock blue? Mandir ja rahe hain, fashion show thodi jaa rahe. "
" aap chahti bhagwan ko dekhne ki jagah log aapko dkehe?" Anita chuckled.
Smita's smile tightened but she said nothing. "Bhabhi, chai piyengi? Maine abhi banayi hai—"
"Nahi nahi, mera pet khaali hona chahiye mandir jaane se pehle. Tum log ko bhi nahi peeni chahiye."
"Hum toh pee lenge," Vikram said from behind his newspaper. "Subah subah bina chai ke kaise ja sakte—"
"Vikram! Mandir ja rahe ho! Ek din chai ke bina nahi jee sakte?"
Vikram sighed and went back to his newspaper.
Veer used the distraction to quietly slip away toward the stairs and check on his wife.
Upstairs, Shriya was dressed simple yellow cotton saree with a white blouse. Her hands had shaken so badly while draping it that she'd had to redo the pleats three times.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed now, trying to gather the energy to stand up and go downstairs, when there was a soft knock on the door.
"Shriya?" Smita's voice, quiet and gentle called out. "Beta, main andar aa sakti hoon?"
"Haan, Mummyji." Shriya straightened up quickly, trying to look normal.
The door opened and Smita stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. Her eyes immediately went to Shriya's face.
"Beta..." She came over and sat down next to Shriya on the bed. "Beta, tum theek ho?"
"Haan, Mummyji. Main... main bilkul theek hoon." Shriya forced a smile. "Bas thodi si neend kam ho gayi thi toh—"
"Shriya." Smita's voice was firmer now, but still kind. "Mujhe sach batao. Tum theek nahi lag rahi ho. Bukhar toh nahi hai? Ya..."
She paused, then lowered her voice even more, leaning in slightly. "Beta, tumhare... tumhare periods toh nahi hain?"
Shriya's face flushed immediately. She looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of her pallu.
"Main... woh..."
"Beta, it's okay. Tum mujhe bata sakti ho." Smita placed a gentle hand on Shriya's shoulder. "Hain kya?"
Shriya nodded miserably, still not looking up. "Haan. Subah... subah shuru ho gaye. Aur... aur mere PCOS ki wajah se bahut... bahut zyada heavy hota hai. Cramps bahut... bahut bure hain lekin iss baar its manegeable"
"Oh beta." Smita's voice was full of sympathy. "Tumne dawai li?"
"Haan, mummyji" she said.
Smita was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. Then she said softly, "Toh tum mandir mat aao aaj. Ghar pe rest karo. Main Vikramji ko bol dungi ki—"
"Nahi!" Shriya . "Nahi, Mummyji, please. Main... main aa sakti hoon. Main theek hoon sach mein manageable hai" she said
Smita understood immediately. "Theek hai, beta. Main kuch nahi bolungi. Par tum pakka aana chahti ho? Agar tum ghar pe rehna chaho toh main koi bahana bana dungi. Keh dungi ki tumhe sar dard hai ya nahi—"
" Agar dard hai toh aap ghar pe hi reh lena"
"Nahi, Mummyji. Main... main chalungi. Please." Shriya's voice was almost pleading.
" Actually periods ke time bahut anxiety hoti hai mujhe.. Toh mandir mein shaanti milti hai" she smiled.
Smita looked at her daughter-in-law's pale face and smiled,"Theek hai, beta. Par agar tumhe bahut zyada problem hui toh mujhe batana. Hum jaldi wapas aa jayenge. Promise?"
"Haan. Promise."
Smita gave her shoulder one more gentle squeeze, then stood up. "Chalo, neeche chalte hain. Sab wait kar rahe honge."
She walked to the door, opened it—
And found Anita Bua standing right outside, clearly having been eavesdropping.
Smita froze. "Didi, aap... aap yahaan...?"
"Main Shriya ko dekh ne aayi thi, Kaafi time ho gaya ready hone mein. Soch ke dekh loon sab theek hai ya nahi."
"Haan, sab... sab theek hai," Smita said quickly. "Shriya ko bas thodi si neend kam hui thi. Woh abhi aa rahi hai."
"Hmm." Anita's gaze moved past Smita to where Shriya was sitting on the bed, visible through the doorway. "Neend kam hui? Ya kuch aur?"
Smita's face went carefully blank. "Bhabhi, matlab?"
"Kuch nahi, Smita. Bas pooch rahi hoon." Anita smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Chalo, jaldi karo. Vikram gussa ho jayega agar hum late hue."
She turned and walked back down the hallway, her footsteps deliberately loud on the marble floor.
Smita exchanged a worried glance with Shriya.
Veer was standing near the door, car keys in hand, waiting. Vikram had folded up his newspaper and was checking his watch impatiently. Smita was fussing with the prasad dabba.
Shriya descended the stairs slowly, carefully, one hand on the railing.
Veer looked up as she reached the bottom, and his face immediately softened with a small smile. "Shriya ji, ready ho gayi aap?"
"Haan," she said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. "Sorry, mujhe thoda time lag gaya."
"Koi baat nahi. Chalo—"
"Ruko."
Everyone turned to look at Anita Bua, who had stood up from the sofa.
"Kya hua, Didi?" Vikram asked, impatient to leave.
Anita walked over to where Shriya was standing, her eyes scanning her up and down in a way that made Shriya want to shrink into herself.
"Shriya beta," Anita said, her voice deceptively sweet. "Tum... tum theek ho na? Tum thodi... thodi si kaanpti si lag rahi ho."
"Main... main theek hoon, Bua." Shriya smiled."Bas subah se kuch khaaya nahi toh thoda weakness—"
"Weakness," Anita repeated. "Hmm. Aur kuch nahi?"
Shriya's stomach dropped. "Main... matlab?"
"Matlab yeh ki..." Anita leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only Shriya could hear. "Tumhare periods hain na?"
Shriya's face went white, then red. She opened her mouth but no words came out.
Smita stepped forward quickly. "Didi, kya—"
"Smita, main Shriya se baat kar rahi hoon." Anita held up a hand, not taking her eyes off Shriya. "Toh? Hain ya nahi?"
Shriya looked desperately at Smita, then at the floor, her voice barely a whisper. "Main... haan. Par... par main theek hoon. Main mandir aa sakti—"
"NAHI!" Anita's voice was sharp now, loud enough that Vikram and Veer both looked over in confusion.
"Kya hua?" Vikram asked, frowning. "Kya ho raha hai yahaan?"
Anita turned to face her brother, her expression serious. "Vikram, Shriya ko mandir nahi jaana chahiye aaj."
"Kyun nahi?" Veer asked immediately, stepping forward, his eyes going to Shriya with concern. "Kya hua? Shriya ji, aap theek hain?"
"Main theek hoon—" Shriya started.
"Nahi, tum theek nahi ho," Anita interrupted firmly. "Tum... tum. Aise condition mein mandir jaana theek nahi hai."
Veer's frown deepened. He moved closer to Shriya, his voice worried. "Kya hua? Bukhar hai? Chakkar aa raha hai? Aapne mujhe bataya kyun nahi—"
"Veer beta, woh..." Anita paused dramatically. "Woh... thodi si... indisposed hai. Samajh rahe ho na?"
Veer blinked, clearly not understanding. "Indisposed? Matlab?"
Vikram, however, seemed to catch on. His expression became uncomfortable, and he cleared his throat. "Achha. Haan. Toh... toh Shriya ghar pe hi reh jayegi. Thats... that's fine."
"Par main nahi samjha!" Veer looked between his father and his aunt, confused. "Kya hua hai exactly? Agar Shriya ji beemar hain toh hume doctor ke paas—"
"Doctor ki zaroorat nahi hai," Anita said firmly. "Yeh... yeh aise hi theek ho jayega. Do-teen din mein."
"Do-teen din?" Veer's confusion was morphing into panic now. "Itne serious hai? Shriya ji, please batayiye kya—"
"Veer, beta," Smita said quietly, placing a hand on his arm. "Woh... woh theek ho jayengi. Tumhe tension lene ki zaroorat nahi hai. Bus... bus thoda rest chahiye."
Veer looked at his mother, still clearly lost, then at Shriya, who was staring at the floor, her face burning with humiliation, her hands clenched in her saree pallu.
"Par—"
"VEER!" Vikram's voice was sharp. "Enough. Zyada sawaal mat pooch. Shriya ghar pe rahegi. Hum log jaa rahe hain. Chalo."
"Par Papa—"
"CHALO!"
Veer fell silent, but his eyes stayed on Shriya, worry and confusion warring on his face.
Anita turned back to Shriya, her voice dropping to a whisper that only Shriya and Smita could hear. "Ghar pe hi rehna. Mandir mein aisi haalat mein aana... yeh uchit nahi hai. Samjhi?"
It's for the best. Hamare dharma mein, hamare traditions mein, yeh paramparaein hain. Yeh parivar educated hai, modern hai, par kuch cheezein toh hain jo nahi badalni chahiye."
"Hai na, aur tum tu samajhdaar bahu ho na... mandir mein aise apavitra cheezein nahi aani chahiye" she continued.
" Mamta!!" Anita caled out to the help.
" Tum dekh lena ki Shriya apne room main hi rehti hai... usse bahaar mat aane de... uska saara khaana wahi pe bhejdo" Anita ordered the help.
" Ji didi" Mamta the help said.
Shriya felt tears prickling at her eyes but she blinked them back furiously, nodding once.
Anita smiled and patted Shriya's cheek in a mockery of affection. "Good girl. Rest karo. Hum jaldi wapas aa jayenge."
She turned and walked toward the door. "Chalo, Vikram! Hume late ho raha hai!"
Vikram followed, already pulling out his phone to check something.
Smita gave Shriya one last helpless, apologetic look before following her husband.
Veer hesitated at the door, looking back at Shriya. "Aap... aap pakka theek hain? Mujhe ghar pe hi—"
"Veer!" Anita's voice came from outside. "Chal!"
"Ek minute—"
"ABHI!"
" It's okay... aap jao Veer ji" she said softly turning to look at him.
Veer looked torn, he nodded awkwardly, and he turned and walked out, casting one more worried glance over his shoulder.
Shriya stood frozen in the middle of the living room, alone, her hands still clenched in her pallu, her entire body shaking from pain, from humiliation, from the effort of not crying.
Then, distantly, she heard Anita Bua's voice from outside, clear and carrying:
"Dekho, maine use mana kar diya. Theek hi kiya na? Aise haalat mein mandir jana... bilkul galat hai. Bhagwan ke ghar mein kitna ashudh hota hai. Aajkal ke modern bache, feminism ke chakkar mein, saare puraane riti riwaz hi bhul jaate. Apna man ke hisaab se hi sab karte."
She reached the bedroom she shared with Veer, walked inside, and very carefully, , closed the door behind her.
And then, only then, did she allow herself to fall apart.
The first sob came out, the first since her marriage. Her heart wrenched from somewhere deep in her chest. Then another. Before she knew it, she was sliding down the door, her expensive silk saree pooling around her, and crying in a way she hadn't cried in a while now.
Great, heaving sobs that hurt her already cramping stomach, that made her head pound, that left her gasping for breath. She pressed her hands over her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds, some part of her still worried about being too loud, about disturbing anyone, about being more of a problem than she already was.
The humiliation burned through her. The way Anita Bua had taunted her. That false discretion that still managed to make sure everyone knew, everyone heard, everyone understood that Shriya was... what? Unclean? Impure? Not fit to enter a temple because her body was doing what bodies do?
And no one had defended her.
Not Smita aunty, who'd been so kind this morning but had crumbled the moment her sister-in-law had applied even the slightest pressure.
Not Vikram uncle, who'd looked uncomfortable but had ultimately just wanted to escape the awkward conversation.
And not Veer.
Especially not Veer, he didn't even understand!
She thought of her father, who'd never once made her feel ashamed. Who'd bought her heating pads and chocolate when she was thirteen and getting her first period. Who'd researched PCOS when she was sixteen and the pain got so bad she'd missed a week of school. Who'd openly told her that any god who was offended by a natural biological process wasn't worth worshiping, and that any man who couldn't handle the reality of women's bodies wasn't worth marrying.
And now she was here, in this house, with this family that drove foreign cars and vacationed in Dubai and prided themselves on being modern and educated, and they were treating her like she was contaminated.
"Aap log itne ameer ho," she whispered to the empty room, her voice broken and raw. "Itne padhe-likhe. Aur phir bhi... phir bhi aise sochte ho?"
Another cramp twisted through her, stronger than before, and she curled into herself, pressing her forehead against her knees, one arm wrapped around her cramping stomach.
She cried until she had no tears left, until her throat was raw and her head was pounding and her eyes burned.
Eventually, exhausted beyond measure, she dragged herself to the bed. She didn't bother changing out of her temple clothes, what was the point? She wasn't pure enough for the temple anyway, apparently.
[Three hours later]
Veer had been distracted the entire time, he was barely paying attention to the aarti, his mind racing with worry about Shriya. What was wrong? Why wouldn't anyone tell him? Why had everyone been so weird about it?
He'd tried to ask his mother again, but she'd just patted his hand and said, "Beta, Shriya theek ho jayengi. Tumhe tension nahi lena chahiye. Yeh... yeh normal hai."
Normal? What was normal about being so sick you couldn't come to the temple but also not sick enough for a doctor?
It didn't make sense.
By the time they got home, Veer's worry had crystallized into a hard knot in his stomach.
He was out of the car before it had fully stopped, taking the front steps two at a time.
"Shriya ji!" he called out as he entered the house. "Shriya ji, main aa gaya! Aap kahan—"
"Shriya ji?" He checked the living room, the kitchen, even the small prayer room..
He climbed the stairs quickly and walked to their bedroom. The door was closed.
He knocked softly. "Shriya ji? Main hoon. Aap andar hain?"
His worry spiked. "Shriya ji, please. Darwaza kholiye. Main bas... main bas dekhna chahta hoon ki aap theek hain."
Oh dear, now he was genuinely scared.
"Shriya ji, agar aap abhi darwaza nahi kholti hain toh main... main tod dunga. Main serious hoon."
For a long moment, he heard nothing.
Then he heard it, a soft choking sob from inside.
"Shriya ji, please. Darwaza kholo. Please."
Then, finally, he heard movement, her soft footsteps, and the click of the lock.
The door opened a crack.
Veer pushed it open gently and stepped inside.
And his heart broke.
Shriya was standing a few feet away, still in her yellow saree from this morning, but her hair was messed up, her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and she was hugging herself, looking small and miserable and so, so hurt.
"Ashi ji..." He stepped toward her automatically, his hands reaching out. "Kya hua? Kya—"
"Kuch nahi," she said, her voice rough and thick. She turned away from him, walking to the window. "Kuch nahi hua. Main bilkul theek hoon."
"Aap theek nahi lag rahi hain—"
"Toh mat dekho na! Kisne kaha aapko dekhne ke liye! Pure din toh ghar pe nahi the. Aur abh fikar ho rahi hai aapko!" she said.
The words came out sharp, bitter, and Veer froze.
Shriya never spoke to him like that.
"Main... Shriya ji, maine kuch kaha kya? Kuch galat—"
"Aapne kuch nahi kaha." Her voice was shaking now. "Wohi toh problem hai. Aapne kuch nahi kaha."
Veer stared at her back, completely lost. "Main... main samjha nahi. Aap... aap mujhse naraaz hain?"
"Naraaz?" Shriya let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "Nahi main toh bahut khush hoon! Kyu na hum party karte!?"
" Obivously main naraaz hoon. Aapse. Aapki family se. Sab se!"
"Par kyun? Maine... maine kya kiya? Please batayiye—"
She whirled around to face him, and the anger in her eyes made him take a step back.
"Aapko pata bhi hai ki aaj subah kya hua?" Her voice was rising now, tears streaming down her face. "Aapko pata bhi hai ki Anita Bua ne mere saath kya kiya?"
"Woh... woh boli ki aap beemar hain. Indisposed hain. Isliye aapko ghar pe rehna chahiye—"
"INDISPOSED!" Shriya practically spat the word. "Yeh shabd! Yeh... yeh stupid, backward shabd! Iska matlab pata hai aapko?"
Veer was floundering now, his confusion complete. "Main... nahi. Nahi pata. Koi beemar hai toh hum bolte hain indisposed—"
"MAIN PERIODS PE HOON!"
The words hung in the air like a bomb.
Veer's eyes went wide. His face flushed bright red. "Aap... woh... oh."
"Haan. OH." Shriya's tears were flowing freely now but her voice was still angry, hurt. "Main periods pe hoon. Aur Anita Bua ko pata chal gaya. Aur unhone mujhe mandir jaane se rok diya. Boli ki main IMPURE hoon. Ki aise haalat mein mandir jana GALAT hai! AUR MUJHE SAARA DIN KAMRE MEIN BAND KARWADIYA!!"
"Par... par yeh..." Veer's mind was reeling. "Yeh... yeh toh bas... period hai. Natural hai. Biological function hai. Isme galat kya—"
"Exactly!" Shriya's voice broke. "EXACTLY! Par Anita Bua ko yeh 'impure' lagta hai! Unhone mujhe ghar pe rehne ko kaha! Aur... aur kisi ne kuch nahi bola! Aapke papa chup rahe! Aapki mummy ne bhi kuch nahi kaha! Aur AAP—"
She pointed at him, her hand shaking.
"Aap! Aap toh bilkul confused lag rahe the! Aapko pata bhi nahi tha ki kya ho raha hai! Kya aap... kya aap itne uneducated hain is baare mein? Itne clueless?"
"Main..." Veer's voice was barely a whisper. "Main... mujhe... mujhe samajh nahi aaya tha ki—"
"Aapko samajh nahi aaya!" Shriya let out a bitter laugh. "Aap itne bade businessman hain! Itni modern company chalate hain! Foreign clients ke saath deal karte hain! Par periods ka naam sun ke aap... aap kuch nahi samjhe!"
"Shriya ji, main... I'm sorry, par mujhe kaise pata hota—"
"Aur agar aapko nahi bhi pata tha, toh aapne kuch kaha kyun nahi?!" Her voice was desperate now, pleading through the anger. "Jab Anita Bua mujhe rok rahi thi, jab woh bol rahi thi ki main indisposed hoon aur mujhe ghar pe rehna chahiye... tab aapne kuch kaha kyun nahi? Kuch bola kyun nahi? You didn't even properly question it!"
"Main confused tha! Mujhe pata nahi tha ki—"
"Toh pooch lete!" Shriya was fully crying now, her words coming out in gasps. "Mujhse pooch lete! Clearly pooch lete ki kya problem hai! Par nahi! Aap... aap bas wahan khade rahe! Chup chap! Jab aapki bua mujhe taane mar rahi thi.. aap kuch nahi bole!"
Veer felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Main... main nahi jaanta tha ki—"
"Aur aapki family!" Shriya continued, her pain pouring out now like a flood. "Aapki family itni rich hai! Itni educated! Modern! Mumbai ke sabse bade business family! Par mindset? Mindset itna... itna backward! Itna ghatiya! Itna primitive! Ki ek natural biological process ko... impure maan te hain! Aur koi kuch nahi bolta! Sab chup! Sab okay samajh ke chup!"
She wrapped her arms around herself again, her entire body shaking with sobs.
"Main... main soch rahi thi ki shaadi ke baad sab theek hoga. Ki yeh family modern hai, educated hai. Par aaj... aaj mujhe pata chala ki nahi. Kuch nahi badla hai. Abhi bhi... abhi bhi wahi purane rules. Wahi discrimination. Aur... aur koi kuch nahi bolta."
Veer stood there, frozen, watching his wife break down, and he felt more helpless than he'd ever felt in his entire life.
"Shriya ji—"
"Aur sabse bura..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, broken and raw. "Sabse bura yeh laga ki aapki Mummy ne bhi kuch nahi kaha. Unhone... unhone pehle mujhse poochha tha. Unhone care ki. Concerned the. Unhone ne mujhe ghar pe rehne ke liye kaha, na ki kyuki main "asudh" hoon, par lekin mujhe agar rest chahiye ya na".
"Par jab Anita Bua ne mujhe rok a... tab woh chup ho gayi. Kuch nahi bola. Bas... bas chup chap dekha. Aur... aur phir sab chale gaye. Mujhe akela chod ke."
She looked up at him, her eyes red and swimming with tears, but to him she looked like a goddess. A raging, broken but beautiful goddess.
He took a step toward her, his hands raised helplessly. "Shriya ji, please... listen to me. Sacchi. Main... main nahi jaanta tha ki yeh sab—"
"Sorry se kya hoga?" She wiped at her tears angrily. "Sorry bolne se Anita Bua ka mindset badal jayega? Sorry bolne se woh sab rules change ho jayenge jo... jo auraton ko control karte hain? Auraton ko... ko shame karte hain natural cheez ke liye?"
"Nahi. Par... par main sikh sakta hoon." Veer's voice was quiet, earnest. "Main... main bahut uneducated hoon is baare mein. Mujhe... mujhe pata hona chahiye tha. Mujhe samajhna chahiye tha. Aur... aur iske liye main genuinely sorry hoon."
Shriya was quiet, still crying, still hugging herself.
"Aur... aur aap sahi hain. Main... main kuch nahi bola. Main bas... main confuse tha aur... aur darr gaya tha ki aap beemar hain aur... par yeh excuse nahi hai." He took another small step closer. "Main apne bua se baat karunga. Unhe... unhe clearly bataunga ki yeh sab acceptable nahi hai. Aur Mummy se bhi. Aur Papa se bhi."
"Kya fark padega?" Shriya's voice was dull now, exhausted. "Sab aise hi sochte hain. Yeh toh... yeh toh society hai. Culture hai. Tradition hai."
"Toh tradition galat hai!" Veer's voice came out more forcefully than he intended. "Agar tradition kisi ko hurt karti hai, kisi ko discriminate karti hai... toh woh tradition nahi hai. It's cruelty. Aur main... main yeh nahi hone dunga. Not to you."
Shriya looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice.
"You're my wife." Veer continued, his voice softer now but no less firm. ""I made a vow, not just to the heavens, but to my soul to protect you. To stand by your side through every storm, every shadow, every breath. And today I failed. Aur... aur iske liye main kitna bhi sorry bolun,Par aaj... aaj main fail ho gaya.. Aur... aur iske liye main kitna bhi sorry bolun, kam hai."
He was standing right in front of her now, close enough to see the tear tracks on her cheeks, the pain in her eyes.
"Par please," he said quietly. "Please mujhe ek chance dijiye. Sahi karne ka. Seekhne ka."
Shriya stared at him for a long moment. Then, fresh tears spilled over and she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.
"Main... main bahut dard mein hoon," she whispered. "Physically and mentally. Aur main... main bas... main bas akela nahi rehna chahti."
"Aap akeli nahi hain." Veer reached out slowly, carefully, and when she didn't pull away, he gently touched her shoulder. "Aap... aap bilkul akeli nahi hain. Main hoon na. Aur... aur main kuch bhi karunga. Jo bhi aap chahogi. Just... just tell me. Please."
Shriya looked up at him through her tears. "Main... mujhe sirf... rest karna hai. Aur... aur heat pack chahiye. Cramps ke liye."
"Heat pack. Haan. Of course." Veer's mind was already racing. Where did they keep heat packs? Did they even have one? If not, how fast could he get one? "Main... main abhi laata hoon. Aap... aap bed pe baith jaiye. Please."
He guided her gently to the bed, and she sat down slowly, wincing as she moved.
His heart clenched seeing her in pain.
"Main... main do minute mein aata hoon.."
He practically ran out of the room.
Veer took the stairs three at a time, his mind racing.
Heat pack. Where would they keep a heat pack?
He burst into the kitchen where Smita was putting away the prasad, and she jumped at his sudden entrance.
"Veer! Beta, kya—"
"Mummy, heat pack kahan hai? Ya... ya hot water bag? Kuch bhi jo warm ho sake?"
Smita's eyes widened in understanding. "Shriya... Shriya theek hai?"
"Nahi, Mummy! Woh... woh bahut dard mein hai! Aur woh... woh ro rahi hai aur... aur mujhe nahi pata ki kya karun!" His voice was rising with panic and frustration. "Aur... aur aaj subah... aaj subah aap sab ne use akela chod diya! Jab Anita Bua use... use taane maar rahi thi!"
Smita's face crumpled with guilt. "Veer, beta, main... main kya karti? Anita Bhabhi ke saamne main—"
"Mummy!" Veer's voice cracked. "Woh AAPKI bahu hai! Aapne... aapne use defend nahi kiya! Kuch nahi bola aur aap toh jaanti thi kya chal raha tha!!"
Tears filled Smita's eyes. "Main... main ek weak woman hoon, beta. Main kabhi... main kabhi Anita Bhabhi ke against nahi bol payi. Woh badi hain, Vikram ki badi behen hain, aur main... main dar jaati hoon—"
"Toh yeh dar ki wajah se aap Shriya ko... use akela..." Veer shook his head, too angry and upset to continue. "Heat pack. Please. Abhi."
Smita wiped her eyes quickly and opened a lower cabinet, pulling out a rubber hot water bottle. "Yeh... yeh hai. Main paani garam kar deti hoon—"
"Nahi, main kar lunga." Veer took it from her hands. "Aap... aap bas... please jaake Shriya se baat kariye. Use... use sorry boliye. Properly."
He didn't wait for a response, just grabbed a pot, filled it with water, and put it on the stove to boil, his hands shaking slightly with residual anger and worry.
While the water heated, he pulled out his phone and quickly googled: "How to help someone with period cramps."
The search results flooded in: heat therapy, pain medication, comfortable position, hydration, warm drinks.
He could make her something. Tea? No, he'd read somewhere that haldi milk was good for cramps. His mother made it sometimes when she wasn't feeling well.
He looked around the kitchen frantically. Milk, haldi, a little bit of honey...
The water was boiling. He carefully poured it into the hot water bag, sealed it tight, wrapped it in a thin towel so it wouldn't burn her skin.
Then he started on the haldi milk, heating the milk in a pot, adding a pinch of haldi, heating it slowly, adding a small spoon of honey at the end.
"Veer beta, main upar jaun Shriya se—"
"Haan, Mummy. Please. Aur... aur unhe bolna ki main... ki main sorry hoon. Aur ki yeh... yeh nahi hoga dobara. Ever."
Smita nodded, wiping her eyes again, and headed upstairs.
Veer finished making the haldi milk, poured it into a glass, and followed her up with the hot water bag in his other hand.
When he entered the bedroom, Smita was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Shriya, who was now lying down curled in a tight ball, her face pressed into the pillow.
"Shirya beta...I'm so sorry ," Smita was saying, gently caressing her forehead.
"Main... main bahut weak hoon. Mujhe itni ssundar aur achi bahu mili hai, aur mujhe... mujhe uske liye strong saas banna chahiye tha. Par main... main dar gayi. Aur tumhe... tumhe akela chod diya. Please, please maaf kar do mujhe."
Shriya didn't respond, but Veer could see her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Smita looked up as Veer entered, saw the hot water bag and the glass of milk in his hands, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
Veer stood there for a moment, holding the hot water bag and the milk, not sure what to do.
Then he moved to the bed and sat down carefully on the edge.
"Shriya ji," he said softly. "Main... main heat pack laaya hoon. Aur haldi milk bhi. Aap... aap rakh sakti hain? Dard kam hoga."
"Shriya ji, please. Main jaanta hoon aap mujhse naraaz hain. Bilkul sahi bhi hai. Par... par please thoda help toh karne do. Please."
After a long moment, she shifted slightly, uncurling just enough to turn her head and look at him.
Her eyes were swollen, her face blotchy from crying, and she looked exhausted.
"Heat pack... kahan rakhun?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
"Main... main rakh deta hoon. Aap seedhi ho jaiye."
She slowly, painfully, straightened out from her curled position, wincing as she moved.
Veer gently placed the hot water bag on her lower abdomen, adjusting it carefully. "Zyada garam toh nahi hai na? Main towel mein wrap kar ke laaya hoon par—"
"Nahi. Theek hai." Her voice was flat, exhausted.
"Aur... aur yeh." He held up the glass of milk. "Haldi ka doodh. Main ne... main ne try kiya hai banana. Pata nahi kitna achha bana, par Google pe likha tha ki yeh cramps ke liye achha hai toh—"
"Baad mein pi lungi," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "Abhi... abhi bas sona hai."
"Haan. Haan, of course. Aap... aap so jaiye. Rest kijiye."
He set the glass on the bedside table and started to stand up, thinking he should leave her alone.
But her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
"Ruko," she whispered, her eyes still closed. "Yahaan... yahaan baitho. Please. Main... main akela nahi rehna chahti."
Veer's throat tightened. "Haan. Main... main yahaan hoon. Kahin nahi jaunga."
He sat back down on the edge of the bed, and after a moment of hesitation, he carefully reached out and began to gently massage her scalp, his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles the way he'd seen his mother do for stress headaches.
The haldi milk sat on the bedside table, slowly cooling.
And gradually, finally, her breathing evened out. The lines of pain on her face smoothed slightly. She fell asleep.
His hand cramped from the angle but he kept massaging gently, kept sitting there, kept watch.
After about an hour, he felt the hot water bag starting to cool. Carefully, moving as slowly as possible so as not to wake her, he lifted it off her stomach.
She stirred slightly, murmuring something, and he froze.
But she didn't wake, just shifted and settled back into sleep.
Veer stood up quietly, picked up the glass of haldi milk, now completely cold, and the hot water bag, and tiptoed out of the room.
He went to the kitchen, emptied the cold water from the bag, refilled the pot with fresh water, and set it to boil again.
While he waited, he drank the cold haldi milk, rinsed the glass, and made a fresh batch, heating the milk carefully, adding haldi and honey, stirring it until it was perfectly warm.
When the water boiled, he filled the hot water bag again, wrapped it in the towel, and carried everything back upstairs.
Shriya was still asleep, curled up now, her hands tucked under her cheek.
He placed the fresh hot water bag gently on her stomach, and she made a small sound of relief even in her sleep.
Then he sat back down on the edge of the bed, the glass of warm haldi milk in his hands.
The hours ticked by...10 PM. 11 PM. Midnight. 1 AM.
Every hour, like clockwork, Veer would get up, carefully remove the cooling hot water bag, go downstairs, boil fresh water, refill it, and bring it back.
And every time he came back, he'd make a fresh glass of haldi milk, just in case she woke up and wanted it.
He stood next to the bed, the glass in his hands, watching her sleep.
His legs ached from standing. His back was sore. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion.
But he didn't sit, he just stood their keeping guard of his wife.
Because if she woke up, he wanted to be ready. Wanted to give her the warm milk immediately. Wanted her to know that he was there, that he hadn't left, that he would never leave her alone like that again.
He continued gently stroking her hair, and head. "Main kabhi... maine kabhi is topic pe soch bhi nahi, baat toh door ki baat hai. Aur isme koi excuse nahi hai," he added quickly when she opened her mouth. "Koi excuse bilkul nahi hai. You're my wife. Tumhe aise situation mein saath dena mera kaam hai. Aur main... I failed."
He hesitiated, before gently taking her hands in his. They were soft, almost like rose petals. He brought them closer to his face before pressing a kiss to the back of both hands.
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