AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

A sharp, piercing scream ripped through Verma Mansion, slicing the calm like shattered glass.

For a heartbeat, the house froze—then chaos erupted.

Doors flew open. Footsteps thundered down the corridors. Ansh burst out of his room wielding a hockey stick, eyes wild as he yelled, "Thief! Where is the thief?" Mrs. Verma came running from the kitchen, gripping a rolling pin like a weapon, scanning every corner. Mr. Verma stumbled out of his bedroom half-dressed, holding an umbrella and a bedside lamp at the same time, utterly unprepared yet determined. They all collided in the hallway, staring at one another in confusion, hearts racing, trying to place the source of the scream.

Then it came again.

Another cry—raw, urgent, unmistakable.

Everyone turned toward the same direction.

Nisha and Aransh's room.

Inside their room, the bathroom door flew open and Aransh rushed out, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, his hair dripping, his face pale with shock. "What happened? Baby, what happened?" he asked frantically, his voice breaking.

Nisha stood near the bed, gripping the edge for support, her face tight with pain and panic. "M-my water broke," she said, breathless.

That was all it took.

Aransh didn't even blink. He grabbed the hospital bag—already packed and waiting—slung it over his shoulder, and sprinted out of the room. "Let's go! The baby is coming!" he shouted, running at full speed.

He didn't notice that Nisha wasn't behind him.

In the living room, the family watched him rush past like a hurricane. "The baby is coming!" he yelled again, disappearing out the front door.

A stunned silence followed.

Mr. Verma blinked. "What the hell, Aransh?" he shouted after him. "At least take your wife—the delivery is hers, not yours!"

Too late.

Mrs. Verma pressed her palm to her forehead in disbelief and immediately turned back toward Nisha's room. She found her daughter-in-law halfway out the door, struggling, one hand pressed to her stomach, pain written across her face.

Mrs. Verma rushed to her side and held her firmly. "I've got you, baby."

Nisha gasped, managing a weak, furious smile. "M-mom... forgive me in advance. After the delivery, I am going to kill your son."

Mrs. Verma nodded solemnly. "I'm with you. Just tell me where to hide the body."

Despite the pain, Nisha laughed breathlessly.

Ansh ran in and grabbed Nisha's other hand, his face crumpled, eyes already glassy with tears. "Bhabhi... you're not okay. You're in so much pain," he said, voice shaking.

Nisha squeezed his hand gently. "Oh, my baby, I'm fine. Why do you look like you're about to cry?"

"I'm never going to make Jiya pregnant," Ansh blurted out in panic.

Both Nisha and Mrs. Verma stared at him. What? both said togahter."

His face turned red instantly. "I—I mean... my wife. My wife."

They didn't have time to tease him.

Together, they helped Nisha outside where Mr. Verma stood waiting beside the car, keys in hand, worry etched deep into his face. "Come, beta. I'll take you to the hospital," he said softly.

As they settled Nisha into the car, Mrs. Verma suddenly looked around. "Where is Aransh?"

Mr. Verma sighed. "He already left—with his invisible wife."

Everyone let out a collective breath that was half laughter, half disbelief.

The car started, speeding toward the hospital. Just as they crossed the mansion gate, headlights appeared ahead. Another car was coming back toward them.

It slowed.

The window rolled down, and Aransh leaned out, eyes wide with realization. "Mom," he said sheepishly, "I... I forgot my wife in the bedroom."

Ansh stuck his head out too and yelled, "Bhai, Bhabhi is here with us! Follow our car!"

The relief was immediate. Mrs. Verma laughed, shaking her head. Mr. Verma muttered, "This boy is definitely getting killed today."

Aransh turned his car around instantly and followed them.

And just like that—amid panic, laughter, and love—the entire Verma family raced toward the hospital, after months of pain , waiting for new baby, now they are ready to welcome their newest member into the world.

___

The hospital corridor was thick with tension when the Mehra family arrived, breathless and anxious. The lights were harsh, the air smelled of antiseptic, and somewhere behind closed doors, Nisha was fighting the hardest battle of her life.

She was already in the labor room.

Inside, chaos unfolded in the most emotional way possible.

Aransh stood beside the bed, holding Nisha's hand so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Tears streamed down his face without pause, his breathing uneven, his entire body shaking as if he were the one in labor.

Nisha, drenched in sweat, exhausted and in pain, turned her head slightly and looked at him with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

"Baby... why are you crying?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"It's hurting," Aransh sobbed.

The doctors froze mid-movement. One of them actually blinked twice, unsure if she had heard him correctly. is he is the one who is in labour?" they wonder?"

Nisha stared at him. "What?"

"It's hurting," he repeated between hiccups. "Seeing you in pain... it's hurting me."

For a moment, even Nisha forgot her contraction.

"But... baby," she said slowly, "I am the one in labor. Why are you in pain?"

"Because when you're in pain, I'm in pain," he said dramatically, tears dripping down his chin.

Nisha closed her eyes and exhaled sharply.

The doctor stepped forward, professional but firm. "Sir, your wife will experience pain. Your job is to encourage her so the delivery can proceed safely."

Aransh nodded vigorously, wiping his tears. "Yes, yes. I can do that."

He bent closer to Nisha, still crying. "It's okay, baby. Just one day of pain. It will go away. Look at my face. Just look at me."

Nisha glanced at him, then groaned. "Looking at your face is making it worse."

She turned to the doctor, completely done. "Doctor, please start. I'll handle this myself."

The doctor nodded and resumed the process.

Every time Nisha was told to push, she did—groaning, crying out, enduring the pain with raw strength.

But every single time—

Aransh screamed louder than her.

"Aaaah—Nisha!"

"Stop! Stop hurting her!"

"Oh God, someone help her!"

Nisha clenched her jaw, her patience snapping. He wasn't helping. He was falling apart. His condition looked worse than hers.

The doctors exchanged helpless looks.

Finally, Nisha exploded.

"Doctor," she shouted, breathless and furious, "either give him an injection and knock him out—or throw him out of this room. He is NOT letting this delivery happen. I cannot tolerate him AND this pain!"

Aransh stared at her, heartbroken, tears still falling. "But baby... I'm helping you."

"Oh please," she snapped. "What you're doing is the opposite of help."

Another contraction hit. She screamed—but before her voice could peak, Aransh screamed even louder.

That was it.

"GET HIM OUT," Nisha yelled. "NOW."

The doctors acted immediately.

Within seconds, Aransh was escorted out of the labor room, still protesting, still crying, as the doors shut firmly behind him.

Outside, the entire Mehra and Verma family stared at him in shock.

"Why did they kick you out?" Ishaan asked, barely holding back his laughter.

"Shut up," Aransh snapped, pressing his ear against the door.

Ishaan chuckled quietly.

Aanya saw that and immediately kicked Ishaan's leg.

"Ouch!" he hissed. "What?"

"You're enjoying this a little too much," she scolded.

"I'm not enjoying it," he said innocently. "I'm feeling pity. Poor guy. His fielding is going to be set after Dii's delivery."

"Stand straight," Aanya warned. "When it's your turn, we'll see how brave you are."

"Yes, ma'am," Ishaan said, sealing his lips dramatically.

Ten minutes later—

A piercing scream echoed again.

Nisha's voice.

And simultaneously—

Aransh screamed outside, even louder.

Then—

A new sound filled the corridor.

A baby's cry.

Cheers erupted. Tears flowed. Smiles broke through the tension.

Moments later, a nurse stepped out.

Aransh sprang up like lightning. "How is my wife?" he demanded. "Why can't I hear her voice? Why isn't she crying?"

The nurse blinked, startled. She had expected a question about the baby.

"Mr. Verma," she said patiently, "you have a son. Congratulations."

Everyone burst into celebration.

But Aransh didn't react.

He grabbed the nurse's arm, panic overwhelming him. "I asked about my wife. Why isn't she making any sound?"

"She fainted due to exhaustion," the nurse replied calmly.

"What?" he shouted. "Why is she unconscious? What did you do to her?"

Before the nurse could finish explaining, Aransh pushed past her and ran into the labor room.

Inside, Nisha lay unconscious on the bed—pale, peaceful, achingly beautiful.

He rushed to her side, holding her tightly. "Baby... wake up. Please wake up."

He kissed her forehead again and again, tears soaking her skin.

A nurse stood nearby holding the newborn, but Aransh didn't even glance that way.

It was as if the world had narrowed to just one person.

The nurse sighed and quietly took the baby outside, handing him to Mrs. Verma. The family gathered around, cooing, smiling, overwhelmed with joy.

Inside the room, Aransh sat beside Nisha, holding her hand, refusing to leave her side.

"Love," he whispered brokenly, "please wake up."

The doctor entered softly. "Sir, this is normal. Your wife is perfectly healthy. She will regain consciousness soon."

Aransh heard the words—but didn't look away from her face.

He pressed another kiss to her forehead, tears still falling.

Outside, a new life was being celebrated.

Inside, a husband waited—helpless, devoted, terrified—until the woman who owned his entire world opened her eyes again.

___

The world returned to Nisha slowly—first as a blur of white light, then as soft sounds, and finally as a familiar presence she could feel before she could fully see.

When her eyes fluttered open, the very first thing she saw was him.

Aransh.

He was seated beside her bed, his head bent close, her hand clutched tightly in his as if letting go might make her disappear again. His eyes were red, swollen from crying, his face etched with exhaustion and fear—but the moment he realized she was awake, everything else vanished.

"Nisha..." he breathed, his voice breaking.

She exhaled deeply, a soft sigh of relief leaving her lips. All the irritation, the frustration, the pain—everything she had felt earlier—melted away the instant she saw his face. This man. Her man.

She lifted her hand weakly and kissed the back of his palm.

"I'm okay," she whispered.

That single sentence shattered him.

Aransh bent forward instantly, his free hand cupping her face, his touch trembling. "Are you in pain? Do you feel dizzy? Are you cold? Do you need water? Should I call the doctor? Why didn't you wake up sooner—you scared me, Nisha—"

She smiled gently, interrupting him by pressing her fingers lightly against his lips. "Breathe," she murmured. "I'm fine."

His breath hitched, tears spilling over again despite his efforts to stop them. He pressed his forehead to hers, holding her hand like a lifeline.

"You have no idea," he said hoarsely, "how scared I was. I thought... I thought something happened to you."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm still here."

" I love you. He whispered."
" I love you too, she replied."

For a moment, they just stayed like that—connected by touch, by breath, by the silent relief of still having each other.

Then her expression softened even more, a new awareness flickering in her eyes.

"Aransh," she said quietly, "did you see our baby?"

He stiffened.

"He's so cute," she continued with a faint smile. "I saw him for just a second before I passed out."

She looked at Aransh closely then, noticing the hesitation, the way his gaze dropped.

Her smile faded into disbelief.

"Don't tell me," she said slowly, "you haven't seen him yet."

Aransh's lips parted—but no words came out.

Tears welled up again, slipping down his cheeks as his grip on her hand tightened.

"I couldn't," he admitted in a broken whisper. "I was scared, love. I saw you unconscious and... nothing else mattered. I didn't care about anything else."

His voice cracked completely. "I thought I was losing you."

Nisha's heart clenched.

She lifted her hand with effort and cupped his face, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You didn't lose me," she said softly. "And now... you have gained something."

She smiled through her own tears. "You're a father, Aransh."

That did it.

He broke down completely, bowing his head and pressing his face into her palm, sobbing quietly. "I'm a dad," he whispered, as if saying it out loud made it real. "We made a human, Nisha. A tiny one. He's ours."

She laughed softly, despite her weakness. "Yes. And he's probably wondering where his dramatic father is."

Aransh let out a shaky laugh through his tears.

A moment later, the door opened gently, and the nurse stepped in—this time carrying a tiny bundle wrapped in soft blue.

"Are you ready to meet your son?" she asked with a warm smile.

Nisha's eyes lit up instantly. "Yes."

Aransh froze for a second, then slowly turned.

When the nurse placed the baby in his arms, the world shifted again.

He looked down—and stopped breathing.

So small. So perfect.

His fingers trembled as they brushed the baby's tiny hand, and when the baby curled his fingers around his, Aransh gasped softly.

"Oh God," he whispered. "He's real."

Nisha watched them with tears in her eyes, her heart overflowing. "That's our son."

Aransh looked at her then—his wife, pale but smiling, strong and glowing even after everything.

"Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "For him. For surviving. For being so brave."

She smiled back, exhausted but peaceful. "We did this together."

The room filled with quiet happiness—soft breaths, whispered promises, and the gentle cry of a newborn who had already changed their world forever.

___

One week later, the Verma mansion felt fuller than it had in years—not just with people, but with warmth, laughter, and a happiness that lingered in the air like a soft glow.

The Mehra family had come over for dinner, and the house buzzed with life. The dining table was crowded, voices overlapping, plates clinking, elders discussing traditions while the younger ones teased and laughed. Nisha sat at the center of it all, her glow unmistakable even in exhaustion, her son sleeping peacefully in her arms. Aransh barely moved from her side, his protective presence constant, as if even now he feared she might vanish if he looked away for too long.

Every few minutes, someone leaned in to admire the baby. Compliments flowed endlessly—his tiny fingers, his soft lashes, the way he looked exactly like his father. Aransh listened quietly, a proud, emotional smile never leaving his face. Each praise felt personal, sacred. This was his family now. His world.

Across the room, Ishaan and Aanya exchanged glances, their smiles softer, quieter. This was not their home, yet it felt familiar—safe, lived-in, real. Aanya excused herself after dinner, saying she needed to check something upstairs. Ishaan followed a few moments later, unnoticed by the elders deep in conversation.

Aanya's room was calm, filled with her presence—subtle fragrance, neatly arranged books, soft lighting. She sat by the window, exhaling slowly, the sounds of laughter downstairs floating faintly upward.

"You okay?" Ishaan asked, stepping closer. 

She nodded, smiling. "Just... happy. Everything feels complete today."

He leaned against the door, watching her the way he always did—like she was something precious, something grounding. "You look beautiful when you're like this," he said casually, but his eyes said far more.

She rolled her eyes lightly. "You flirt even in serious moments."

He walked closer. "Especially in serious moments."

Their conversation drifted naturally—about family, about Nisha, about how strange and beautiful life felt lately. Somewhere between words and pauses, Ishaan reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Aanya stilled, her breath hitching slightly.

They were standing too close now.

Neither of them noticed when talking turned into quiet laughter, and laughter into silence. Ishaan's hand rested at her waist, gentle, familiar. Her fingers curled into his shirt without thought.

And then—his lips brushed her forehead.

Aanya looked up.

He smiled softly. "Sorry. Habit."

She didn't pull away.

The next kiss was unplanned, unannounced—soft, slow, natural. The kind that didn't ask permission because it already belonged.  their lips meet Time slipped unnoticed, the world shrinking to warmth and closeness.

Until—

Crash.

Something fell outside.

They froze.

Aanya turned toward the door just as it opened.

Jay stood there.

One hand held a plate of snacks. The other hung frozen mid-air. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with familiarity rather than surprise.

"Oh," he said flatly. "Again."

The room went dead silent.

Aanya stepped back instantly, her face burning. Ishaan groaned loudly, running a hand through his hair.

"Ugh—Jay!" Ishaan snapped. "Why is it always you?"

Jay looked between them, unimpressed. "Maybe because every time you two get romantic, I magically appear. Destiny, I guess."

"This is not funny," Aanya muttered, covering her face.

Jay shrugged. "Relax. This isn't the first time. At the Mehra mansion, at this mansion—same story. You should really put up a warning sign."

Ishaan groaned again. "Get out."

Jay smirked. "I came to talk to my bhabhi. But clearly... bad timing."

He turned to leave, then paused and added calmly, "By the way, dinner's almost done. And everyone is asking where you both disappeared."

The door shut behind him.

Silence followed.

Then Aanya burst out laughing, burying her face in her hands. Ishaan laughed too, helplessly, shaking his head.

"One day," he said, smiling at her, "we will finish a moment without an audience."

She looked up at him, eyes still bright. "Maybe that's what keeps us grounded."

He stepped closer again, softer this time. "Or maybe it's just Jay's curse."

Downstairs, laughter rose again, the family still together, still whole. And upstairs, despite embarrassment and interruption, two hearts remained exactly where they belonged—entwined, amused, and quietly in love.

__

The living room slowly settled into a comfortable rhythm, the kind that only family gatherings create—soft lights, half-finished cups of tea, and conversations overlapping in gentle chaos. Everyone was seated together now, not randomly, but instinctively, couple by couple, as if the room itself had arranged them that way.

Bella sat curled slightly toward Karan, her shoulder resting against his arm while he pretended to listen to the conversation, his attention clearly divided between her expressions and the teasing flying around the room. Nisha sat beside Aransh on the sofa, the baby asleep in her arms, her head leaning lightly against Aransh's shoulder. One of his hands rested protectively around her, the other occasionally brushing the baby's back, as if reassuring himself again and again that both were real and safe.

Ishaan and Aanya sat close, not touching much, but close enough that their knees brushed. There was an unspoken ease between them now—less nervousness, more belonging. Aanya's fingers played absentmindedly with ishaan ring while Ishaan leaned back, relaxed, his gaze drifting between her and the rest of the room.

Across from them, Jiya sat beside Ansh, still adjusting to the fact that they no longer had to hide. Her smile was shy but bright, and Ansh looked absurdly proud, his arm stretched casually along the back of the sofa behind her. Every now and then, he glanced at her as if checking whether this new reality was still intact. It was. Very much so.

And then there was Jay and Suzy.

They sat next to each other, technically, but everything about them suggested opposition rather than togetherness. Jay was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, irritation written plainly on his face. Suzy sat upright, arms crossed, chin lifted, her expression sharp and unapologetic.

"I'm just saying," Jay snapped, "you didn't have to change the entire plan without telling anyone."

"And I'm just saying," Suzy shot back coolly, "if you actually listened instead of assuming you're always right, you would have known."

"Oh, please," Jay scoffed. "You make decisions like the rest of us don't exist."

"And you act like chaos is a personality trait," she replied without missing a beat.

A quiet chuckle rippled through the room. This—this—was familiar. Predictable. Almost comforting.

Aanya glanced at Nisha, lowering her voice with a small, curious smile.
"So..." she began softly, eyes flicking toward Jiya and Ansh before returning to Nisha. "How does it feel? Seeing everyone like this. All of us... together."

Nisha followed her gaze, taking in the room—the couples, the laughter, even the bickering. Her eyes softened, a quiet emotion settling over her face.

"It feels unreal," she admitted gently. "For so long, everything felt uncertain. Broken, even. But right now..." She smiled faintly. "It feels complete. Messy, loud, imperfect—but complete."

Aanya nodded, understanding more than she said. "I used to think happiness had to be calm. Silent. But this..." she gestured subtly toward Jay and Suzy mid-argument, "...this feels more real."

At that exact moment, Jay threw his hands up in frustration. "Why do you always have to contradict me?"

Suzy raised an eyebrow. "Why do you always give me reasons to?"

"See?" Ishaan muttered under his breath, grinning. "Pure romance."

Bella laughed openly. Karan shook his head, amused. Even Aransh smiled faintly, pressing a soft kiss to Nisha's temple.

Jiya watched the scene with wide, shining eyes, then leaned toward Ansh and whispered, "Is it always like this?"

Ansh smiled. "Worse. And better."

Bella's voice cut gently through the lingering laughter.

"So, diii..." she said, leaning forward with a teasing smile, eyes fixed on Nisha. "Have you decided the baby's name yet?"

The room fell unusually quiet—just for a second. It was the kind of silence that made everyone realize something all at once.

One week.

One whole week had passed since the baby was born, and yet everyone still called him the baby, little one, him. No name. Not a single one.

Aransh blinked. Nisha froze for half a breath.

And then—chaos.

"Oh my God," Karan said dramatically. "The child is nameless."

"That explains why he looks confused," Jay added, nodding seriously.

Suzy rolled her eyes. "He looks peaceful, not confused. Unlike some people here."

"I already have a name," Ansh announced proudly. "Junior Tiger."

Nisha groaned. "Absolutely not."

"What?" Ansh defended. "Strong name."

Bella laughed. "If we're doing strong names, then how about Sheru?"

"That's a dog name," Aanya muttered instinctively.

"Exactly," Jay said. "Very loyal."

Ishaan leaned back, amused. "Why not something modern? Like Aryan, Reyaan,..."

"Those are already half the boys in India," Suzy said dryly.

Jiya  snapped her fingers. "Food names are cute. Ladoo?"

Mrs. Verma gasped. "jiya!"

"What?" she said innocently. "Soft, sweet, everyone loves it."

"And later gets eaten," Jay added.

Bella clapped excitedly. "What about Moon? Or Sunny?"

Mr. Verma cleared his throat. "We are not naming my grandson like a weather report."

The baby stirred lightly in Nisha's arms, as if reacting to the madness around him. Nisha looked down at his tiny face, then slowly lifted her gaze.

Her eyes found Aanya.

Aanya was seated beside Ishaan, quietly talking, their heads close together. Ishaan seemed to be suggesting something, Aanya listening with that thoughtful crease between her brows.

Nisha inhaled.

She cleared her throat.

"I want Aanya to name my baby."

The room stilled completely this time.

Aanya froze.

"M-me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nisha smiled softly, eyes shining. Aransh nodded at the same time, firm and certain.

"Yes," he said warmly. "Both of us want that."

Then, with a faint grin, he added, "My tiger... you're the one who will give our son his name."

Ishaan smiled instantly and squeezed Aanya's hand, grounding her. She looked around—the entire family watching her now, not with pressure, but affection. Every face held encouragement. Trust.

She stood slowly, heart pounding, and gently took the baby from Nisha's arms.

The baby fit against her perfectly, small and warm, his fingers curling instinctively around her finger.

Aanya swallowed, emotion tightening her chest.

She looked down at him, studying his peaceful face, the calm strength in his stillness.

"This baby," she said softly, "came into a family full of noise, love, arguments, and protection."

She glanced at Nisha and Aransh. "He has his mother's quit strenght... and his father's softness."

Her voice steadied as clarity settled in her eyes.

"I think his name should reflect both of you."

She paused, then smiled.

"Aarish."

Everyone leaned in.

"It means ray of hope," Aanya continued gently, "and leader. Calm, strong, and warm—just like the love he was born into."

Nisha's eyes filled instantly.

Aransh let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Aarish," he repeated softly, tasting the name. Then he smiled, wide and emotional. "Our Aarish."

Nisha nodded through tears. "It's perfect."

The baby stirred again, as if acknowledging his name, and the room erupted—soft laughter, claps, emotional sighs.

Bella wiped her eyes. "Okay, I'm crying."

Jay nodded seriously. "I will protect Aarish with my life."

Suzy scoffed. "You can barely protect your phone."

Aanya handed the baby back to Nisha, her own eyes glistening now. Ishaan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pride written all over his face.

And in that moment, surrounded by laughter, teasing, and quiet tears—Aarish Verma was named. Not just with a word. But with love.

__

The Mehra family stood gathered near the grand gate of the Verma mansion, the night air warm and gentle, filled with the quiet sounds loughter and last goodbyes stretching longer than planned. Smiles lingered on faces that weren't quite ready to part yet.

Ishaan stood slightly apart, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the main entrance.

Waiting.

Aanya still hadn't come.

He checked his watch for the third time, then looked up again, hope flickering every time footsteps echoed—only to fade when it wasn't her.

Finally, she appeared.

But not with her bag.

She walked toward him slowly, her expression soft, almost apologetic. Ishaan straightened instantly, relief flashing across his face—until he noticed her empty hands.

"You're late," he said, then paused. "Where's your bag?"

Aanya stopped in front of him.

"I'm not coming," she said gently.

The words hit him like a silent explosion.

"What?" His brows knitted together. "What do you mean you're not coming?"

"I'm staying tonight," she explained softly. "With my family. Just one day."

One day.

Ishaan stared at her as if she had just told him she was moving to another country.

"One day?" he repeated slowly. "Aanya... you were with them for three days already."

She smiled, trying to soothe him. "I know. But Nisha dii still needs me. And the baby—"

"Our house also needs you," he cut in dramatically. "Your husband needs you."

Behind them, the families exchanged amused glances. Mrs. Mehra bit her lip to hide a smile. Jay elbowed Karan quietly, whispering something that made him snort.

Aanya sighed, stepping closer. "Ishaan, don't be like this."

"Like what?" he demanded, placing a hand on his chest. "Like a devoted husband abandoned at the gate?"

She laughed softly despite herself. "You're not abandoned. I'll be there tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning is a lifetime away," he said seriously.

Aanya reached for his hand, holding it firmly. "It's just one night."

"One night turns into two," he argued. "Two into three. And suddenly I'm eating dinner alone, talking to walls."

"I'll call you," she promised.

"You'll get busy," he countered. "The baby will smile, someone will cry, someone will argue—"

"Ishaan," she interrupted, smiling now, eyes warm. "I'm not going anywhere. This is my family too."

His expression softened for a second... then he sighed dramatically.

"You know," he said quietly, "a man leaves his wife with great difficulty."

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "And a woman returns faster when her husband lets her go willingly."

He looked at her—really looked at her—and finally shook his head with a reluctant smile.

"One day," he muttered. "Just one."

She squeezed his hand. "I promise."

Behind them, applause suddenly broke out.

"Oh wow," Jay said loudly. "Historical moment. Ishaan Mehra letting his wife stay back."

Mrs. Verma laughed. "Don't tease him. It's hard for him."

"Very hard," Karan added. "We might need emotional support."

Ishaan turned, shooting them a glare. "You all enjoy this too much."

Aanya laughed, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek softly. "Drive safe."

He exhaled, eyes soft now. "Come tomorrow."

"I will."

As she stepped back, Ishaan watched her with a mix of longing and affection, while the families around them smiled—knowing this wasn't separation. It was love that missed even a single night.

One day had quietly turned into two. Two had stretched into four.

And somewhere in between, Mrs. Aanya Ishaan Mehra had mastered the art of postponement—with a smile sweet enough to sound convincing every single time.

Every evening, Ishaan would drive all the way to the Verma mansion, hopeful, prepared, heart ready.

And every evening, she would send him back.

"Just one more day, Ishaan."

Sometimes it was emotional blackmail wrapped in sincerity. "I've been so busy with work. I didn't spend enough time with Mom."

Sometimes it was duty. "Dad needs help at work. I can't leave him alone today."

Sometimes it was exhaustion. "I'm so tired. I'll come tomorrow. I promise."

Tomorrow never came.

And today—today had broken him.

When Ishaan called her, fully prepared to bring his wife home at any cost, she had casually dropped the final blow.

"No, Ishaan. Tonight the girls have decided to spend the whole night together. I'm not coming."

That was it.

Which was how Ishaan Mehra, CEO by day and deeply deprived husband by night, found himself standing outside his wife's home—beneath her bedroom window—determined to kidnap his own wife if necessary.

He looked up at the balcony, calculating the climb like a man on a mission. Just as he placed his foot on the railing, a strange awareness crept in.

He wasn't alone.

Slowly, he turned his head to the left.

Another face stared back at him—wide-eyed, equally shocked.

"Karan?" Ishaan whispered harshly. "What are you doing here?"

Karan blinked. "That's exactly what I was about to ask you."

Ishaan frowned. "I'm here to take my wife."

"...Through the balcony?" Karan asked, stunned.

"Yes," Ishaan replied without shame. "She's not willing to leave through the gate, so I'll have to improvise."

He paused, then narrowed his eyes. "Now you. Why are you here?"

Karan sighed deeply, frustration dripping from every breath.
"I came to meet Bella. I've been texting her since morning. No replies. No calls answered."

Ishaan's brows lifted. "Bella is here?"

"Yes," Karan replied. "Not just today. Ever since Aanya arrived. The two of them have been inseparable."

Silence fell between them.

Slowly, realization dawned.

"Oh," Ishaan muttered darkly. "Now I understand why my wife refuses to come home."

Karan nodded grimly. "They're together. Enjoying. Completely abandoning their man's."

They looked at each other—two powerful men, reduced to balcony conspirators.

"This," Ishaan said quietly, "is betrayal."

"Absolutely," Karan agreed.

Above them, laughter echoed faintly from inside the house—carefree, feminine, unbothered.

Ishaan clenched his jaw. "She promises tomorrow every day."

Karan scoffed. "Bella stopped promising."

They exchanged a look of shared suffering.

"Well," Ishaan said, rolling his sleeves, eyes back on the balcony. "Since we're already criminals..."

Karan straightened. "You're thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Operation: Retrieve Our women's."

They had barely taken two steps toward the balcony again when a soft shuffling sound came from the other side.

All three men froze.

Slowly, cautiously, Ishaan and Karan moved toward the sound—only to stop dead in their tracks.

There, crouched near another window, half-bent, one hand gripping the railing, was Jay.

Staring inside.

Both brothers' jaws dropped.

"Jay."
The word left Ishaan and Karan's mouths together—sharp, stunned, perfectly synchronized.

Jay froze mid-movement.

He straightened slowly, as if caught stealing sweets, and turned to his left. The moment his eyes met theirs, he let out a long, defeated sigh and walked toward them like a criminal surrendering voluntarily.

"Jay," Ishaan demanded, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"

Jay ignored him completely and countered, "What are you two doing here?"

Karan raised an eyebrow. "We came to meet our women. You tell us—who did you come to meet?"

Jay shrugged casually, hands in his pockets.
"My woman."

Both brothers stared.

"Your woman?" Ishaan and Karan echoed together.

Jay nodded, completely unbothered. "Yes. Suzy."

He rolled his eyes. "She's angry with me. We fought this morning. She's not answering my calls, so I came to meet her."

Karan scoffed. "You two fight like you're about to murder each other, and now you're climbing balconies just because she's mad?"

Jay smiled faintly. "That's our language of love."

Ishaan shot him a sharp side-eye. "Well," he said dryly, "your language of love is deeply concerning."

"Whatever," Jay replied, waving him off. "Looks like all of us are on the same mission. So why not do it together?"

Karan smirked. "Agreed."

Just as they turned back toward the windows—

"Shhh... shhh... shhh..."

All three heads snapped in the direction of the sound.

Standing a few feet away, arms folded, expressions painfully familiar, were Ansh and Aransh.

The five men stared at one another in complete silence.

Caught.

Aransh sighed, rubbing his temple. "I can already guess," he said tiredly, "you three are here to meet your wives and girlfriends."

No one denied it.

"How do you know?" Ishaan asked suspiciously.

"Because," Ansh said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, "we're here for the same reason."

He cleared his throat."I mean... bhabhi, Jiya, Suzy, Aanya di, Bella di—they're all in Aanya di's room."

Aransh added, "We tried to join them. They kicked us out."

Ansh nodded. "So we thought we'd wait outside. Maybe they'd let us in eventually. Then we heard voices."

Karan sighed deeply.
"Of course you did."

"Since you're all here now," Ansh said hopefully, "we can wait together."

Ishaan didn't answer.

Instead, he walked straight toward Aanya's balcony.

"Ishaan, what are you doing?" Aransh whispered urgently. "Let's wait near the door like normal people."

"No," Ishaan replied firmly. "You said it yourself—they're not opening the door. But look—" he pointed upward, "the window is open light coming out."

A pause.

Then one by one, all of them nodded.

And just like that, five grown men—successful, respected, powerful—began climbing a balcony like teenagers sneaking into a hostel.

They slipped inside Aanya's room quietly.

And then—

They froze.

The room was alive.

Music blasted from the speakers—Shakira, loud and unapologetic. The lights were dim, the curtains drawn. Shoes lay discarded near the bed.

In the center of the room—

Their women were dancing.

Free. Wild. Laughing.

Aanya spun with her hair loose, arms raised. Bella clapped and laughed, matching her steps. Suzy danced without a care, dramatic and bold. Jiya tried copying the moves, giggling uncontrollably. Nisha swayed gently, smiling, one hand on her waist, glowing with joy.

They weren't just dancing.

They were alive.

For a moment, none of the men spoke.

Then Jay muttered softly, almost in awe,
"...So this is why they didn't want us."

Ishaan swallowed hard, eyes fixed on Aanya—her laughter, her freedom, the woman he loved in a moment that belonged entirely to her.

Karan sighed. "We climbed a balcony," he said quietly, "for this."

Ansh smiled faintly. "And I would do it again."

As the music continued and the women laughed, unaware of the audience behind them.

They stood there quietly at first—five men frozen in place—watching their wives and girlfriends dance like the world belonged to them.

Then the song changed.

The first sharp beats of "Chikni Chameli" filled the room.

The reaction was instant.

The women cheered loudly, laughter ringing through the air as if someone had turned up not just the volume, but their joy. Suzy clapped her hands, Bella spun dramatically, Jiya squealed in excitement, Nisha laughed softly while swaying, and Aanya—free, glowing, unapologetic—stepped forward with confidence.

Behind them, the men were completely lost.

Eyes wide. Breath uneven. Pride, admiration, love, and helpless attraction written clearly on their faces.

And then—

As if choreographed by destiny—

All the women turned together, at the exact same moment.

Their eyes landed on the same spot.

Silence.

A heartbeat.

Then—

"AAAAAAHHHH!"

All of them screamed together.

And, like absolute fools, the men screamed too.

Chaos exploded.

Someone ran. Someone tripped. Someone ducked behind the curtains. One hid behind the table. Another tried to squeeze behind a chair that clearly couldn't hide a human being.

Suzy rushed to the speaker and slammed the music off. The lights came on.

The room froze. The men thought they were hidden. They were not. They stood out painfully.

Nisha crossed her arms, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Come out, boys," she said calmly. "We saw you."

One by one, they emerged—Karan first, then Jay, then Ansh, then Arshaan.

But one man was missing.

Jay looked around. "Wait... where is Ishaan bhai?"

Aanya closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "I know exactly where that man would hide." She turned and walked straight toward the bathroom. She opened the door.

And seconds later, she came out dragging Ishaan by his ear.

"Aaaah, Rose, it's hurting!" Ishaan protested dramatically.

"Good," Aanya replied coolly. "That's exactly what I want."

All the men were lined up immediately—hands behind their backs, heads slightly lowered—looking like obedient schoolboys standing in morning assembly.

In front of them stood their women, arms crossed, expressions ranging from amused to mock-angry.

Then Bella burst out laughing. Soon, everyone laughed. The tension melted instantly. "Music on!" Bella shouted. Jiya turned it back on. Suzy dimmed the lights again. And suddenly, instead of punishment—

The women pulled their men forward.

Hands were grabbed. Laughter returned. Music filled the room again. The dance floor became crowded, messy, joyful.

Ishaan's hands found Aanya's waist instinctively. She leaned into him as they swayed, her head brushing his chest.

She looked up at him, eyes shining. "Why did you come like this?" she asked softly.

"To take my wife home," Ishaan replied simply, his voice low, honest.

She smiled, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable."

"And hopelessly in love," he added, resting his forehead against hers as they moved together, lost in the moment.

The night continued in laughter, teasing, music, and warmth—until exhaustion finally claimed them. Slowly, one by one, they retreated.

Jay, Karan, and Ansh shared one room, still arguing softly.

Jiya, Suzy, and Bella collapsed together, laughing until sleep claimed them.
Nisha and Arshaan returned to their room, hands entwined.
And Ishaan and Aanya—finally alone—closed their door behind them.

The mansion fell quiet. But the night remained full—of love, chaos, and memories that would be laughed about for years to come.

___

Morning arrived quietly, carried in on soft strands of sunlight that slipped through the curtains and settled gently over tangled bodies.

Ishaan lay on his back, half-buried beneath warmth—Aanya sprawled over him like an octopus, one arm wrapped tightly around his chest, one leg thrown over his waist, her face pressed into the hollow of his shoulder. She was still, peaceful, breathing evenly, completely unaware of how deeply she had claimed him even in sleep.

His eyes opened slowly. The clock read 8:00 a.m. He didn't move at first. instead, he looked down at her.

Her face, relaxed and unguarded, looked softer in sleep—lashes resting against her cheeks, lips slightly parted, hair scattered wildly across his chest and pillow. For a moment, he forgot everything else. The day. The distance. The waiting.

Leaning down carefully, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead—soft, lingering, full of affection.

He tried to free himself slowly, inch by inch, careful not to wake her. But the moment he shifted, her grip tightened instinctively, as if even asleep she knew he was slipping away.

Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep. "Mmm... why are you getting up so early?" she murmured, voice thick and lazy.

Ishaan smiled immediately. Sitting back beside her, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "I have to go home, Rose," he said softly. "I don't have office clothes here."

She hummed in acknowledgment, eyes half-closed.

"So... I'm leaving," he added gently.

This time, her eyes opened fully. She nodded slowly, understanding settling in.

"You still have time," he said, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "Go back to sleep."

She smiled faintly—then suddenly pushed herself up. "Wait... let me make something for you," she said hurriedly, already trying to sit up.

Ishaan immediately guided her back down. "No," he said firmly but gently. "If I stay for breakfast, I'll get late. I'll go home, get ready, have breakfast and then straight to the office."

She relaxed again, smiling softly. "Okay."

"Sleep," he said, tucking the blanket around her. "I'll leave."

Then, hesitantly, "You'll come home today, right?"

She didn't answer out loud. She only nodded.

He sighed quietly, leaning down to kiss her forehead once more.
"I'll wait," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied, barely audible.

He slipped on his shoes while she watched him the entire time—eyes following his every movement. At the door, he turned back one last time.

She was still looking at him. He winked. And then he left. She smiled to herself—and drifted back to sleep.

Evening came slowly. By 7:00 p.m., Ishaan was pacing. He checked his phone again. No reply. No message. Nothing. He sighed, already knowing the answer.

"Madam isn't coming today either," he muttered to himself. Instead of frustration, something else settled in—determination. He stood up and headed toward the bedroom.

Because if Aanya Mehra wasn't coming home on her own... Then her husband knew exactly what he needed to do next.

__

Mr. Verma was pacing back and forth in the living room, little Arish resting calmly in his arms, tiny fingers wrapped around his grandfather's thumb. The house was unusually quiet when the doorbell rang.

Mr. Verma paused, glanced around, then sighed and walked toward the door. The moment he opened it, he froze.

Ishaan stood there.

That, in itself, wasn't surprising—his son-in-law had been turning up almost every day to take his wife home. What shocked Mr. Verma was the bag hanging from Ishaan's hand.

"Young man," Mr. Verma said slowly, eyes narrowing at the bag, "I understand why you're here... but why this?"

Ishaan smiled—a soft smirk touching his lips. "Because my wife doesn't seem very interested in coming back to her sasural," he said honestly. "So I thought... I'll come to my sasural instead. I can't leave her alone like in this situation anymore. No matter how much she pretends she's fine."

Mr. Verma studied him for a second, then asked, "So you're here to stay?"

"Absolutely," Ishaan replied without hesitation, gently tickling Arish's cheek. The baby giggled, completely approving of this decision.

Mr. Verma sighed, shaking his head in amused surrender, and stepped aside.
"Welcome home, then."

Ishaan didn't waste another second. He walked straight to Aanya's room, placed his bag neatly on the bed, and paused. From the bathroom came the faint sound of running water.

Five minutes later, the door opened.

Aanya stepped out, towel around her hair—and froze.

"Mumma—!" she gasped, clutching her chest. "Oh my God, Ishaan! You scared me!"

He chuckled softly. "Why? Were you expecting someone else?"

"No," she replied quickly. "I wasn't expecting anyone. Especially not you."
Then her eyes fell on the bag. "What's that?"

"My clothes," he said simply.

She stared. "Your clothes... why?"

"Because my wife clearly has no intention of returning to her husband anytime soon," he said calmly. "So I decided to come to her."

She shook her head, half exasperated, half smiling. "You are really impossible."

She paused, then softened. "Actually... I was planning to come after dinner today. But since you're already here—and clearly planning to stay—let's stay together for two more days. Mom was saying that after the wedding, neither of us really stayed here properly. Let's make her wish come true."

Ishaan looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. We'll stay."

That night passed quietly—dinner with the Vermas, laughter around the table, and long moments spent with baby Arish, whose tiny presence filled the house with a new kind of warmth.

By the time they returned to their room, it was already nine.

Aanya stood by the window, gazing at the moon, its silver light spilling softly across her face. Ishaan walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close.

"You're shining like the moon tonight," he murmured.

She smiled, resting her hands over his. His palm lay gently against her abdomen, protective, tender—full of unspoken promise.

"Do you ever think about how it all started?" she asked quietly. "So much chaos... so many misunderstandings... and now we're here."

He rested his chin on her shoulder.
"Yes. And sometimes I still can't believe we made it through everything."

She turned slightly, leaning into him.
"We didn't just survive," she said softly. "We chose each other. Again and again."

Ishaan tightened his embrace.
"This isn't the end," he said. "It's just the calm after the storm. The beginning of something steadier. Stronger."

She closed her eyes, breathing him in.
"With you," she whispered, "everything feels like home."

He slid his hand gently over her abdomen, his touch slow, reverent, as if he were afraid of disturbing the quiet miracle beneath his palm.

"How's my little bean doing?" he asked softly.

Aanya smiled, her expression glowing with a warmth that came from somewhere deeper than joy. "Your little bean is doing perfectly fine."

"And their Mama?" he asked, his voice tender.

"Their Mama is doing well too," she replied, leaning back into him, "because their dad is here to take care of her."

Ishaan turned her slowly, carefully, as if the moment itself were fragile. His eyes softened as he looked at her—really looked at her. He brushed his fingers over the gentle swell of her baby bump once more, then pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Thank you, love," he whispered. "For everything. For forgiving me. For accepting me. for giving me second chance,  For loving me... and for this." His hand lingered there on her baby bump, protective, full of awe. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me."

Her eyes shimmered. "Thank you to you too," she said quietly. "Our journey started with a forced marriage. Sometimes I think—if none of that had happened, if you hadn't married me against circumstances, we might never have met. We wouldn't be standing here today, like this."

She took a breath. "The beginning wasn't beautiful. But the outcome... it's extraordinary. We found each other in the strangest way."

He nodded, emotion thick in his voice. "I regret so much of what happened. I will never call it right. But somewhere, in all that chaos, I found you. And for that... I'm grateful."

"Yes," she whispered.

"I love you, Rose," he said softly. "And I promise—I'll love you more every single day."

"I love you too," she replied.

He leaned in slowly, giving her time, space, choice. Their lips met in a soft, gentle kiss—unhurried, filled with promise rather than urgency. It wasn't a kiss of passion alone, but of faith, of healing, of forever.

A kiss that didn't mark an ending.

A kiss that marked a beginning.

Once, from this very window, the story of Aanya Verma had begun—uncertain, broken, thrust into a life she never chose.

And today, standing before that same window, her story came to a close.

Not as Aanya Verma.

But as Mrs. Aanya Ishaan Mehra—

a woman who found love in chaos, strength in pain, and a home in the arms of the man who chose her, every day, again and again.

And their journey... had only just begun. 💛

---

Not every love story begins with choice.
Some begin with fear, resistance, and unanswered questions.
Some begin where hearts are unwilling, and destinies are forced together.

This story was never about a perfect start.
It was about imperfect people learning to stay.
About mistakes that left scars, and forgiveness that turned those scars into strength.
About two strangers bound by fate, who slowly, painfully, and beautifully chose each other.

What began as obligation became understanding.
What felt like captivity became comfort.
And what looked like an ending revealed itself as a beginning.

Because love does not always arrive gently.
Sometimes it arrives like a storm—
shaking lives, breaking walls, and leaving behind a truth no one expected.

Aanya and Ishaan did not win because they were flawless.
They won because they fought, fell, forgave, and still held on.

And maybe that's the most honest kind of love there is.

This is not the end of their story.
It is the end of the struggle... and the beginning of forever.

***

THE END

So, this is where it ends.
Thank you so much for reading and for giving your precious time to this story.

Bye-bye. Let’s meet in another story.
Until then, take care of yourselves.
I love you, my lovely readers 🫀🫂✨