Morning arrived softly in the Mehra mansion, as if the sun itself was careful not to disturb what lay inside the bedroom. Pale golden light filtered through the curtains, painting gentle patterns on the walls. The air was calm, warm with the quiet intimacy of a shared space—of a home that had learned to breathe with two hearts instead of one.

On the large bed, chaos and order slept side by side.

Aanya lay sprawled across her half in her usual, unapologetic starfish position—one arm flung above her head, one leg stretched diagonally, claiming territory without mercy. Her hair was a mess of soft waves across the pillow, her face relaxed, unaware of the world. At the far edge of the bed, Ishaan occupied the little space that remained, lying almost like a statue—on his back, hands folded loosely, careful even in sleep. There was barely enough room for him to turn, but he hadn't complained. He never did.

The sharp ring of the alarm shattered the stillness.

Aanya groaned immediately, turning her face into the pillow and pressing it over her head in protest, mumbling something unintelligible. The sound didn't last long. Ishaan stirred, blinking awake, his senses alert before his body fully followed. He reached out, switched off the alarm, and the room fell quiet again.

He turned his head toward her.

A slow, fond smile curved his lips.

She looked completely disheveled—hair wild, pillow half-crushed, breathing deep and peaceful. There was something endearingly chaotic about her, and he loved every bit of it. He checked the time. 8:30 a.m.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

Leaning closer, careful not to jostle her too much, he brushed his lips against her temple, then her cheek, soft and lingering. He whispered against her ear, his voice low and warm.

"Good morning, Rose. Wake up. It's your first day at the office."

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, still heavy with sleep. She smiled at him instinctively, that familiar, sleepy smile meant only for him. "Good morning," she murmured.

Then his words fully registered.

Her eyes flew open.

"What?" she gasped, pushing herself up slightly. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

She turned her head sharply toward the clock. 8:30.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, panic instantly replacing sleep. "I have to be ready, I haven't even started, and I need to leave by 9:30. I'm going to be late."

She shot out of bed in one frantic movement, nearly tripping over the blanket, and rushed toward the bathroom, still talking breathlessly as she went.

Ishaan stayed where he was, watching her disappear behind the bathroom door, amusement dancing in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, a soft chuckle escaping him. The room felt emptier without her presence beside him—but warmer somehow, filled with her energy.

A little while later, the bedroom came alive again.

Aanya stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in soft morning warmth, her hair slightly damp, the faint scent of Rose soap clinging to her skin. A loose robe hung around her, sleeves rolled up as she wiped her hands dry. The room felt brighter with her presence, as if the sunlight had followed her out.

Ishaan looked up from the bed the moment he saw her.

"Come here," she said gently, already reaching for the medicine tray she had prepared earlier.

He sighed, half amused, half resigned, and walked toward her. "You don't miss a single dose, do you?"

"I don't plan to," she replied, narrowing her eyes playfully. "Sit."

He obeyed without argument, settling onto the chair. Aanya handed him the medicine first, watching carefully as he swallowed it with water. Her gaze never left his face, as if she could will him to heal faster just by looking at him.

"Any pain?" she asked quietly.

"Only when you scold me," he said, smirking.

She rolled her eyes but smiled, kneeling slightly in front of him to change the dressing. When she carefully removed the bandage, her expression softened. The wound was healing well—clean, closing, no sign of infection—but it still made her chest tighten. Her fingers trembled just a little as she cleaned it, then applied the ointment with slow, practiced movements.

"You're healing," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

"Because I have a very strict nurse," he replied.

She looked up at him then, their faces close. His voice had dropped, his eyes warm and intent. Without thinking, she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—brief at first, then deeper, lingering. He cupped her face instinctively, thumb brushing her cheek as if committing the moment to memory.

"You worry too much," he whispered against her lips.

"And you don't worry enough," she answered softly.

They shared another kiss—slow, unhurried—until she finally pulled back, resting her forehead against his. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt safe.

After securing the fresh dressing, Aanya stood up and took a step back. "Now sit quietly," she ordered, pointing toward the bed. "I have to get ready."

"Yes, boss," he replied, mockingly obedient.

She moved to the wardrobe, pulling out a few suits and laying them on the bed. Ishaan walked over slowly, leaning against the frame as he examined her choices.

"Not that one," he said, tapping the first suit. "Too serious."

She glanced at him. "It's an office, not a date."

"I know," he replied, lifting another suit. "This one. It suits you. Confident, calm... dangerous."

She laughed softly. "Dangerous?"

"Very," he said, eyes dark with meaning.

She chose the suit he suggested, changing while he respectfully turned away—though the mirror betrayed him, catching the brief, helpless glance he stole when she wasn't looking. When she finished, he stepped behind her without a word, his arms sliding around her waist, his presence steady and grounding. His chin rested lightly on her shoulder as if it belonged there.

"You look incredible," he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

She began applying light makeup, her hands calm despite the nervous flutter in her chest. Ishaan stayed behind her, holding her gently, watching her reflection with quiet pride. Every movement of hers seemed to settle something restless inside him. When she reached for her earrings, he lifted his hand.

"Wait," he said softly.

He brushed her hair back himself, fingers careful, almost reverent, and took the earrings from her. One by one, he fastened them, his touch unhurried, intimate. Aanya's breath hitched; she turned her head slightly and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, overwhelmed by the tenderness in such a simple act. He smiled faintly but said nothing.

Then he moved to the dresser, opened a small box, and picked up a delicate pendant. Stepping in front of her, he lifted it, meeting her eyes.

"This," he said quietly, "is perfect for today."

Before she could reply, he placed it around her neck himself, fingers brushing her skin as he secured the clasp. The cool metal rested just above her heart. She closed her eyes for a moment, emotion swelling in her chest, then leaned forward and kissed him—slow, grateful, full of everything she couldn't say aloud.

Ishaan exhaled softly, resting his forehead against hers, then reached for another box. Inside was an elegant, expensive watch. Without asking, he took her wrist and fastened it there.

"So you don't forget the time," he said, teasing lightly, then added more seriously, "and so you remember—you're not alone." and you have to come to me on time."

She laughed softly, blinking away sudden tears.

When she sat on the edge of the bed to wear her shoes, Ishaan immediately stopped her. He knelt down in front of her, taking the shoes from her hands.

"Ishaan—" she started.

"I know," he said gently. "But let me."

He slid the shoes onto her feet, fastening them with slow, careful movements, as if grounding her before she stepped into a new battlefield. She watched him quietly, her heart full.

Once she was ready, he stood and took her hands in his, squeezing them firmly.

"Listen to me," he said, his tone calm but unwavering. "Don't take stress. You're good at this—better than you think. I trust you completely. Mehra Co is in safe hands with you."

She nodded, swallowing her nerves.

"And if anything feels off," he continued, "anything at all—you call me. No hesitation. I'm right here." He tapped his chest lightly. "I've already briefed Sunny. He'll guide you through every project, every file. You won't be alone for a second."

Her shoulders relaxed, his words settling over her like armor.

"I'll handle it," she said softly.

"I know you will," he replied, leaning down to press a final kiss to her forehead. "And I'll be right here, waiting for you to come back."

It was a quiet morning—no chaos, no danger—but in those small, deliberate gestures, their bond felt deeper than ever. Not forged in blood or battles, but in trust, care, and the certainty that no matter where the day took them, they stood together.

They stepped out of the room together and made their way downstairs, their presence instantly drawing warm smiles from everyone seated at the dining table. The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows, soft and golden, wrapping the family in a calm, homely warmth. Ishaan moved instinctively, pulling out a chair for Aanya before she could do it herself. She sat down with a small, breathless smile.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Breakfast was already laid out, but the clock on the wall read 9:20. Aanya glanced at it and immediately began eating faster than she meant to, trying to be discreet but failing miserably.

"Rose," Ishaan said gently, watching her with amused concern, "relax. Eat slowly."

"I don't have time, Ishaan," she replied between bites. "It's already 9:30."

She finished the last bite in a hurry, took a long sip of juice, and stood up at once. Ishaan rose with her, his eyes following every movement.

"I have to go," she said, checking her phone. "Mattio is already waiting outside."

She walked toward Mrs. Mehra first and wrapped her in a warm hug. Mrs. Mehra instinctively placed a hand on Aanya's head, blessing her.

"Thank you so much... Mom," Aanya said naturally, without hesitation.

The room went still.

Ishaan froze mid-step. Mrs. Mehra froze too—then her eyes filled with tears. It was the first time Aanya had ever called her that since the wedding. Emotion broke through her composure as she pulled Aanya back into a tighter hug, her hands trembling slightly.

Ishaan watched the scene with a quiet, glowing smile—the kind of smile a man wears when he feels like he has won everything in life.

Aanya moved on, hugging Sikha next, who blessed her warmly, then Dinesh, Karan, and finally Jay and Jiya, who hugged her excitedly and wished her luck. Surrounded by love and encouragement, she finally turned to leave.

Ishaan took her hand, and together they walked outside, fingers intertwined. Behind them, the family stood smiling, pride and affection evident in every face.

Outside, Mattio stood beside the car. He waved when he saw Aanya, and she waved back before turning to Ishaan. She hugged him tightly.

"You're going to rest," she warned softly. "Eat on time. No working. The home office stays closed."

"Yes, ma'am," Ishaan replied obediently, a teasing smile on his lips.

Then he kissed her—slow, unbothered by the fact that Mattio was very much watching.

Mattio's eyes widened. He had never seen his boss like this—so gentle, so openly affectionate. He shook his head slightly and muttered under his breath, "Boss is completely gone for Mrs. Mehra."

The kiss deepened, neither of them in a hurry to let go, until Mattio cleared his throat loudly, reminding them of time.

They broke apart. Ishaan shot him a sharp glare. Aanya turned red, embarrassed but smiling.

Ishaan leaned in once more, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you," he said quietly.

"I love you too," she replied without hesitation.

He wished her luck one last time and finally let her go. She got into the car, waving at him through the window. Mattio started the engine, and as the car pulled away, Aanya kept looking back until Ishaan was out of sight—while Ishaan stood there, watching her leave, a soft smile still etched on his face.

__

The car came to a smooth stop outside Mehra Co., the tall glass building standing proud against the afternoon sky. Aanya stepped out, adjusting her blazer instinctively as the familiar weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders. Mattio moved beside her at once, his presence steady and reassuring, as they walked toward the entrance together.

The moment they reached the main gate, Aanya slowed in surprise.

The entire staff was waiting.

They stood in neat rows, faces attentive, respectful, and curious. At the front stood Sunny, holding a bouquet in his hands, his expression calm but welcoming.

"Welcome to Mehra Co., Mrs. Mehra," Sunny said with a polite smile and give the bouquet, inclining his head slightly.

Aanya returned the smile, a little overwhelmed but composed.  excepting the bouquet"Thank you, Sunny."

Without wasting time, Sunny turned and began guiding them inside. Mattio followed closely at Aanya's side, his eyes already scanning the surroundings out of habit. The atmosphere inside the building was different today—focused, alert, almost reverent. Word had spread quickly that Mrs. Mehra was stepping in.

Sunny led them straight to Ishaan's office.

The door opened to a space that still carried Ishaan's presence—orderly, powerful, and precise. Aanya paused for a brief second, taking it in, before stepping forward and taking her place behind the desk. Mattio stood beside her, silent but attentive.

Sunny placed a neatly organized schedule in front of Mattio. "This is today's agenda. I'll stay for the first half of the day to guide you both," he said professionally. "After that, I'll return to my usual responsibilities."

Aanya nodded. "That will be helpful."

Sunny began briefing her immediately—project by project, file by file. He explained ongoing deals, delayed approvals, overseas negotiations, and internal restructuring plans. Many files had been pending for days, some for weeks, all waiting for Ishaan's signature.

"Since you're handling the office temporarily," Sunny explained, "these will now require your authorization."

Within an hour, Aanya's desk was completely covered with files.

She didn't hesitate.

She read each document carefully, asked sharp, precise questions, and signed where necessary. Mattio stood beside her, quietly noting points, handing her files one by one, his trust in her absolute. For him, nothing had changed—she was still his boss, still his mentor's partner, and he wasn't going anywhere.

Soon after, Sunny informed her of the scheduled accountant meeting.

The conference room filled quickly. Senior accountants, department heads, and finance managers took their seats. Aanya entered calmly, Mattio following her, she took the head chair without hesitation.

The meeting began.

Revenue reports were projected onto the screen. Profit margins, quarterly losses, overseas investments, and risk assessments were discussed in detail. Questions were directed at her—some cautious, some testing.

Aanya answered every single one with clarity and confidence.

She asked for explanations where needed, corrected assumptions when required, and approved urgent allocations without delay. Her voice was calm but firm, her presence commanding without being aggressive. Slowly, the room's skepticism turned into respect.

By the time the meeting ended, it was already afternoon.

As the staff filed out, there was a quiet understanding in the air—Mehra Co. was in capable hands.

Aanya leaned back slightly in her chair, exhaling softly for the first time that day. The files were finally in order, the meeting was done, and the office had settled into a steady rhythm. Mattio placed a fresh file on her desk and said calmly, "Lunch is in twenty minutes. I've already arranged it."

She looked up at him and smiled faintly. "Thank you, Mattio."

The word lunch barely finished echoing in her mind when another thought followed instantly.

Ishaan.

Without even realizing it, her hand reached for her phone. Her thumb hovered for half a second—then she typed.

A small smile curved her lips as she saved the file aside and leaned back again, phone in hand.

Rose🫀🌹😘
Good afternoon mr mehra
Did you eat?

She pressed send and waited, eyes flicking to the screen every second. Somewhere, miles away, she imagined him—probably lying on the bed, pretending to rest while mentally running a hundred meetings.

The phone buzzed almost immediately.

Her smile widened.

Shameless man 👀💍
Good afternoon to you too, Mrs. CEO.
And yes, before you scold me—yes, I ate.

She could almost hear his amused tone. She shook her head slightly, smiling as she typed.

Rose🫀🌹😘
I don't believe you.
What did you eat?

Shameless Man 👀💍
Soup.
And fruits.
And some chicken curry
And before you ask—yes, Bella approved.

Aanya laughed softly under her breath. The tension she had been carrying all morning loosened a little.

Rose🫀🌹😘
Good.
Medicine?

She imagined him rolling his eyes.

Shameless Man 👀💍
Taken. On time.
Happy now?

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest.

Rose🫀🌹😘
Very.
How are you feeling? Headache? Dizziness? Anything?

As she typed, her expression softened. No boardroom confidence now—just concern.

There was a slight pause before the reply.

Shameless Man 👀💍
I'm fine.
A little bored.
A little irritated.
And missing my wife.

Her fingers stilled for a second. Her cheeks warmed.

Rose🌹😘
Don't distract me.
I'm at work.

Shameless Man 👀💍
You texted first.

She bit her lip, suppressing a smile.

Rose 🫀🌹😘
How is home?
Are you actually resting... or pretending again?

Shameless Man 👀 💍
I'm resting.
Mostly.
Okay, fine—thinking about you handling my office like a boss.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the glass wall of Ishaan's cabin. Sitting there felt strange—but right.

Rose 🫀 🌹 😘
Your staff is scary, by the way.
They keep staring like I might replace you permanently.

Shameless Man 👀 💍
They're just shocked.
They didn't expect my wife to be this dangerous.

She chuckled quietly, earning a curious glance from a passing employee.

Rose 🫀 🌹 😘
Dangerous?
I'm very professional.

Shameless Man 👀 💍
You signed files faster than I do.
Sunny already texted me.

Her eyebrows lifted.

Rose 🫀 🌹 😘
You're spying on me?

Shameless Man 👀 💍
Always.
Occupational hazard of being your husband.

Her smile softened into something deeper, more intimate.

Rose 🫀 🌹 😘
I miss you.

She didn't overthink it. Just typed it and sent.

This time, the reply took a moment longer.

Her heart beat a little faster.

Shameless Man 👀 💍
I miss you too.
The house feels too quiet without you shouting orders at me.

Her eyes glistened slightly, though her smile remained playful.

Rose 🫀 🌹 😘
Don't move.
Don't work.
Don't stress.
I'll handle everything.

Shameless Man 👀 💍
I know you will.
That's why I can rest.

She stared at the message for a second longer than necessary.

Rose 🫀🌹😘
Rest properly.
No working anything at all, if you need anything just call nita aunty."
I already asist her everything."

Shameless Man 👀 💍
Yes, boss.
Noted."

She laughed out loud this time, quickly covering her mouth.

Rose 🫀 🌹 😘
I'll call you after lunch.

Shameless Man 👀 💍
I'll be waiting.
Come back safe.

Her smile lingered as she locked the phone and placed it face-down on the desk. The weight of responsibility was still there—but lighter now.

Because no matter how big the office was, no matter how many files waited for her signature—

She wasn't alone.

And somewhere, the man she loved was resting... trusting her with his world.

___

The Verma mansion rested in a rare, peaceful hush after lunch.

Sunlight filtered softly through half-drawn curtains, casting warm patterns on the walls. Everyone was absorbed in their own quiet routines—some reading, some resting, some lost in work. Nisha had stayed home twoday, saying she felt a little off, and Aransh had returned early from work under the excuse of "keeping an eye on his wife." In truth, he sat on the edge of the bed with his laptop open, half-working, half-listening for any sound from the bathroom.

The room was calm. Almost too calm.

Then—

A scream tore through the silence.

" ARANSHHHHHHh!"

Aransh startled violently. His laptop slipped from his hands and hit the bed as he jumped to his feet, heart slamming against his ribs. Before he could even process what was happening, the bathroom door flew open and Nisha stumbled out, her face pale, her hands trembling, her breath uneven. She screamed again—this time louder—and burst into tears.

The bedroom door crashed open almost instantly.

Mr. and Mrs. Verma rushed in, panic written across their faces. Behind them came Ansh, Suzy, and Suzy's mother, all frozen in alarm. The sudden crowd made Nisha cry harder, her sobs breaking out of her uncontrollably.

Mrs. Verma rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her. Her eyes shot to Aransh, sharp and accusing, as if demanding an explanation without words.

"I—I didn't do anything," Aransh blurted out, terrified. "I swear, Mom. I was just working."

But Nisha kept crying, her body shaking.

"Nisha, baby," Mrs. verma said gently as she stepped closer, her voice calm and grounding. "Look at me. Tell me what happened. Why did you scream? Did Aransh do something?"

"What? No!" Aransh protested desperately. "Mom, I promise, I didn't—"

This Mr. Verma's stern glare cut him off. Aransh immediately fell silent, fear knotting in his chest.

Nisha slowly pulled away from her mother-in-law embrace. Tears streamed down her face as she looked up, her lips trembling, her breath hitching with hiccups.

"M-mom..." she whispered.

"Yes, baby," Mrs. Verma said, cupping her face anxiously. "Tell me. What happened?"

Nisha swallowed hard, her hands clutching her kurta as if grounding herself.

"M-mom... I—I am... I am pregnant."

The room froze.

Before anyone could react, Aransh blurted out in pure panic, "I didn't do anything, I didn't make her preg—"

He stopped.

The words finally reached him.

Pregnant.

His eyes widened in shock. The room seemed to spin.

Every single pair of eyes turned toward him at once—sharp, stunned, questioning—then slowly shifted back to Nisha.

Mrs. verma stepped forward, her expression transforming instantly. She cupped Nisha's face with both hands, her eyes shining with emotion. "Really, Nisha?"

Nisha nodded weakly, tears slipping down again.

Mrs. verma pulled her into a warm embrace. "Thank you, beta. Thank you so much for this blessing." "Oh my God," she  exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest as tears of joy filled her eyes. "I have to tell Ishwar —she'll go mad with happiness."

The room erupted into overlapping voices—soft laughter, gasps, blessings, congratulations.

Aransh still hadn't moved.

He stood frozen, trying to process the reality crashing into him.

Mr. Verma approached him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations, young man."

That was it.

Something inside Aransh finally broke. Tears welled up instantly as he pulled his father into a tight hug, his shoulders shaking. Mrs. Verma joined them, hugging him from the side, whispering blessings and prayers.

Once the excitement settled, the elders slowly stepped out, giving the couple space.

The room fell quiet again—but this time, it was a different kind of silence. Heavy. Emotional. Sacred.

Aransh turned to Nisha, his eyes glassy. Without a word, he pulled her close and kissed her deeply, fiercely—pouring all his shock, gratitude, and overwhelming love into that single moment.

"Thank you," he whispered against her lips when they finally broke apart. "Thank you so much, love."

Nisha kissed him back just as intensely, her hands clutching his shirt as tears and smiles blended together.

They held each other tightly, foreheads resting together.

"We're going to be parents," Aransh said softly, disbelief and awe in his voice.

Nisha nodded, her tears finally turning into a radiant smile.

"Yes," she whispered. "We are."

___

The Mehra mansion was bathed in the soft amber glow of evening.

The grandfather clock in the living room ticked steadily, each second stretching Ishaan Mehra's patience thinner. He sat on the couch, posture stiff, fingers tapping unconsciously against his knee. His eyes flicked to the main door—again. And again. And again.

Six fifty-eight.

He exhaled sharply and checked the time on his watch for the third time in a minute.

"She should've been here by now," he muttered under his breath.

From the opposite sofa, Karan noticed immediately. A slow, knowing grin curved his lips.

"Relax, bhai," Karan drawled. "The door isn't going to run away."

Ishaan shot him a glare. "Did I ask for commentary?"

Karan raised his hands in mock surrender. "No, but your eyes are doing all the talking. If staring could summon people, Aanya would've teleported home by now."

Ishaan shifted, crossing and uncrossing his arms. His gaze went back to the door.

Mrs. Mehra entered the living room just then, carrying a cup of tea. She paused when she saw her son practically vibrating with restlessness.

"Ishaan," she said gently, "sit properly. You're making the sofa nervous."

That earned a chuckle from Karan.

"I'm sitting fine," Ishaan replied, though he immediately adjusted his posture, as if caught.

One by one, the family gathered—Sikha, Dinesh, Jay, Jiya—drawn by the unspoken entertainment unfolding in the living room. The moment they noticed Ishaan's restless glances, identical smiles spread across their faces.

"Ohhh," Sikha said, settling beside Mrs. Mehra. "So this is what newly married impatience looks like."

Jay leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I give him five more minutes before he walks to the gate himself."

"I'll give him two," Jiya added cheerfully.

"I'm not that desperate," Ishaan snapped, immediately followed by—another glance at the door.

The room erupted in laughter.

Karan clutched his chest dramatically. "He says he's not desperate, but his soul has already moved to the doorstep."

Mrs. Mehra shook her head, smiling softly. "When your father used to wait for me like this, he'd pretend to read the newspaper upside down."

Ishaan froze. "I am not pretending."

"Exactly," Dinesh said with a grin. "That's what makes it worse."

The teasing continued, light and relentless, wrapping around Ishaan like a warm, familiar chaos. Yet beneath the laughter, everyone could see it clearly—the way his eyes softened every time the gate creaked outside, the way his shoulders relaxed at the faintest sound, the way his entire presence seemed to lean toward the woman who wasn't even there yet.

Seven o'clock struck.

Ishaan stood abruptly.

"She's late," he said, already moving toward the door.

Behind him, the family exchanged amused, affectionate glances.

"Gone," Karan whispered dramatically. "Completely gone."

But Ishaan didn't hear them anymore.

All he could think about was the moment that door would finally open—and his world would walk back in.

He reached the gate, pushed it open slightly, scanned the empty driveway—and then shut it again with a quiet sigh. No car. No familiar footsteps. No Aanya.

He turned back toward the living room, irritation and longing mixing on his face, and dropped back onto the couch as if the wait itself weighed too much.

Mrs. Mehra watched him with amused fondness.
"Ishaan, will you have some tea?" she asked lightly, very much aware of his state.

Without even thinking, Ishaan replied, "No. I want my wife."

For a second, there was stunned silence.

Then the living room exploded with laughter.

Ishaan froze. Realization hit him hard. His ears burned red as everyone stared at him with wide, teasing smiles.

"Oh my God," Karan laughed, clapping his hands. "Did you hear that? Straight from the heart!"  "Whipped man."

Sikha shook her head, still smiling. "Sit down, Ishaan. She'll be back. Relax."

Ishaan sighed but didn't argue. His eyes, however, returned stubbornly to the door.

Jiya tilted her head, grinning mischievously. "God, bhai. Bhabhi just went to work and you're already like this. What will you do when she goes to her parents' house someday?"

Ishaan snapped his head toward her. "What do you mean by she will go?"

Jay answered casually, "its her home bhai. Verma Mansion obviusly she will go."

"Why would she go to Verma Mansion?" Ishaan asked immediately, brows knitting.

Mrs. Mehra replied gently, "Because that is her home too, beta. Not today, but someday she will go to stay with her parents."

"No," Ishaan said instantly, firmly. "She won't go anywhere. And if she does, I'll go with her."

The laughter returned, louder this time.

"You are impossible," Karan said between chuckles.

Ishaan just shrugged, still staring ahead as if daring the door to open faster.

At that moment, Mrs. Mehra smiled mysteriously.
"When Aanya comes, I have very big good news to tell."

Everyone turned to her at once.

"What kind of good news?" Sikha asked curiously.

"Let her come first," Mrs. Mehra said softly. "It will be nicer when we're all together."

They nodded, anticipation building.

And then—

The main door burst open.

Aanya Mehra stepped inside.

Before anyone could even greet her, Ishaan's world shifted. His eyes lit up as if someone had switched on the sun. He stood instantly and crossed the distance in long, urgent strides.

"Rose—"

Before she could process anything, he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

Aanya froze.

Everyone was watching.

Her cheeks burned as she whispered urgently, "Ishaan... everyone is looking. Leave me."

"So What?" he replied shamelessly, loosening the hug just a little. "I hugged my wife, not someone else."

He finally stepped back, and she smacked his arm lightly. "Shameless man," she muttered, then smiled. "How are you? And who allowed you to run like that?"

"Sorry," he mouthed, unrepentant.

They walked together to the living room and sat down side by side. The family watched them with warmth and quiet happiness.

"Finally you're here, bhabhi," Jiya teased. "If you were any later, bhai would've come to the office himself to bring you back."

Everyone laughed again.

Aanya looked at Ishaan with an amused smile. He smiled back, unapologetic.
"What? I just missed my wife."

Once everyone settled, the room grew calm.

Mrs. Mehra cleared her throat, her eyes shining.
"i was  waiting to tell you guys," she said, looking at Aanya. and then the family.

 "Nisha is pregnant."

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then joy burst through the living room like sunlight—gasps, smiles, soft exclamations, happy tears. Aanya's hand flew to her mouth in shock before she leaned forward, eyes glowing with happiness.

The Mehra house, already full of warmth, overflowed with it now.

And Ishaan, sitting beside his wife, felt something deep and steady settle into his chest—

Home. Family. his own Family. with his Rose.
___

The house slowly grew quiet after dinner. One by one, doors closed, lights dimmed, and laughter softened into peaceful silence. It had been a long day—full of emotions, surprises, warmth, and happiness that lingered gently in the air.

In their room, the new couple finally had a moment to themselves.

Aanya sat on the bed, leaning back into Ishaan, her head resting against his chest. He sat behind her, one arm wrapped securely around her waist, the other resting over her hands as if holding her there, anchoring her. The room was lit softly, the curtains drawn, the world outside fading away.

"So," he murmured near her hair, "first day at Mehra Co. How was it really?"

She smiled, closing her eyes. "Exhausting. Files, meetings, people staring like I was an unexpected storm." She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him. "But... good. I felt strong today."

His chest rose with quiet pride. "I knew you would."

She turned a little, her fingers tracing slow, absent lines over his arm. "And you? Did you behave? Medicines on time?"

He sighed dramatically. "Barely survived without my wife supervising me."

She laughed softly, the sound warm against his skin. "Drama king."

Their conversation flowed without effort, like a quiet river carrying the weight of the day away. Work blurred into family, Nisha's news softened into shared smiles, and soon they were laughing over small, meaningless moments that somehow mattered the most. Every word felt safe here, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. This comfort was not accidental—it was built, earned, forged through fear, pain, and survival.

At some point, Ishaan lowered his face, his breath warm against her skin. His lips brushed her shoulder—barely there, slow and unhurried, as if he were asking permission rather than taking anything. Aanya's body stilled instinctively, her breath hitching just enough to betray her.

"Ishaan..." she whispered—not a warning, not a refusal. Just his name.

He smiled against her skin and kissed her again, this time lingering, moving upward toward her neck. His touch remained gentle, reverent, as though she were something fragile and powerful at the same time.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "you smell like my entire day. Like strength. Like home."

Her fingers curled into his shirt as she turned in his arms, now facing him. Their foreheads met, breaths mingling. She searched his eyes, finding the same hunger there—controlled, careful, filled with emotion rather than impulse.

"You keep saying things like that," she said softly, teasing but sincere, "and expect me to stay calm?"

His lips curved faintly. "I don't want you calm."

Then his mouth found hers.

The kiss began slowly—tentative, deepening with every heartbeat. It was not rushed, not demanding. It carried relief, longing, love, and desire held deliberately in check. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, grounding herself in him as his thumb traced her jaw with aching tenderness.

He broke the kiss only to press his lips along her cheek, then back to her neck, his breathing growing heavier despite his restraint. Instinct pulled him closer, his arm tightening around her as if the world might take her away if he loosened his hold.

And then she stopped him.

Her palm rested gently but firmly against his chest.

"No," she said quietly, her voice warm, steady—full of care rather than denial. "You're not healed properly."

He sighed, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closing. "You are cruelly responsible," he muttered, half-smiling. "Do you know that?"

She brushed her lips against his—soft, brief, deliberate. "And you," she replied, her voice playful but firm, "are impossibly reckless."

They stayed like that—foreheads touching, lips meeting in soft, stolen kisses, murmuring quiet, teasing words meant only for each other. Nothing was rushed. Nothing crossed the line. The closeness itself was enough.

Eventually, the room settled into silence again.

Aanya turned, nestling against him, her head finding its familiar place on his chest. His arm wrapped around her instinctively, protective and sure. Her breathing slowed, syncing with his. His heartbeat became her lullaby.

Wrapped in each other's warmth, surrounded by the stillness of night, they drifted into sleep—not with passion unfulfilled, but with love deeply felt.

Safe. Chosen. And finally, at peace.

Aaah, I love their domestic moments—they’re so cute. I’m really going to miss them. Only two chapters left now.🙃
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Bye bye, take care🫀🫂