SUNAINA'S POV

It was around 8 am when the shrill sound of my alarm woke me up. Stretching my arms, I turned it off, still cocooned in my husband's arms.

A smile tugged at my lips as I looked at him, sleeping like the most innocent baby. I couldn’t help but wonder—was this really the same man who stole my breath last night with just a kiss?

Carefully slipping out of his hold, I went to freshen up for the day. It was Sunday, which meant no office work—a blessing in itself.

After a refreshing shower, I quickly did my basic skincare, added a touch of makeup with my favorite lip balm and vermillion. For my hair, I simply brushed it through and tied it up in a messy bun.

He was still sleeping so peacefully that I didn’t have the heart to wake him. Leaning down, I placed a soft kiss on his forehead before making my way downstairs.

“Good morning Chachi,” I greeted, stepping into the kitchen where she was frying puris.

“Good morning sunu,” she replied with a warm smile.

“Kya bana rahe ho?” I asked, hugging her from behind.

(What are you making?)

“Aaloo puri. It's been so long since we had it. The aachar I made last week is ready too, so it will be perfect,” she said, patting my cheek gently.

“Wow, sounds so tempting… mai aapki help kardu?” I asked, my stomach already grumbling.

(Can I help you?)

“It's almost done, just help me plate the utensils,” she said, frying what was probably the last batch of puris. I nodded, did as she asked, and helped her arrange the mouth-watering food.

“Aap baitho, mai chai bana kar laati hu,” I said. She smiled and nodded.

(You sit, I'll got make some tea.)

Back in the kitchen, I placed a pan on the stove, added the ingredients, and let the tea simmer gently over the flame.

Just then, a hand slipped around my waist, and by the scent, I knew exactly who it was. With his other hand, he tilted my chin, turned me slightly, and pressed a quick kiss on my lips before pecking my forehead… and walking away as if nothing had happened.

My eyes widened at what had just occurred, my cheeks instantly warming. The chai almost boiled over if I hadn’t turned off the stove in time.

Taking a steadying breath, I strained the tea into cups and carried them to the dining table where the family was already seated, waiting.

“Good morning,” I said, my cheeks still pink as my eyes met his, twinkling with a mischievous glint.

The others, blissfully unaware of the storm he had stirred in my heart, returned my greeting with their usual cheer.

Setting the chai on the table, I sat down in my place, right next to him.

“Hi,” he whispered, leaning ever so slightly toward me.

“Hi,” I replied softly, unable to stop the shy smile tugging at my lips.

“Ahem,” Pari said, her eyes dancing mischievously. Eshu shook her head at Pari.

“Kya hai,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at her.

(What?)

I smacked his arm lightly and said, “Don’t ‘kya hai’ her.”

(Don't 'what' her.)

He sighed and nodded, while Pari burst out laughing, making me shake my head at both of them in amusement.

“Kids, your Renu Mausi is coming today,” Chachu said, taking a sip of his chai.

The youngsters groaned, making Chachi chuckle and Chachu shake his head.

“What happened?” I asked, confused, looking around for an explanation.

“Mai batati hu bhabhi, Renu Mausi is tayi ji's cousin and she always taunts Adi bhai and Eshu di for no reason whenever she comes here… sometimes she taunts Mumma too.” Pari explained, sighing dramatically and making all sorts of faces.

(I'll tell you bhabhi,)

“Why is she coming, by the way?” Ved asked, serving both of us some puris while I poured sabzi into our bowls.

“To congratulate you on your wedding,” Chachu said. Eshu chuckled, Ved hummed in response, sighing.

Aane do uss chudail ko, mai bhi dekhti hu kaise bolti hai woh.

(Let that witch come, I'll see how's she going to talk rubbish today.)

And just like that, our breakfast turned unusually quiet, everyone probably preparing themselves for the witch who was about to grace us with her presence.

After finishing breakfast, Chachi retired to her room with a headache, while Chachu and Ved went to discuss something in their office. Pari, Eshu, and I helped the househelps clean the table.

Just then, the doorbell rang—

“Aa gayi chudail,” Pari muttered, wiping her hands with a towel, making Eshu and me chuckle at her words.

(The witch is here.)

“Let's go, jaan,” Ved said, entering the kitchen. I nodded and followed him along with the girls.

“Ignore her words, okay?” he muttered softly.

“If it's about me, I will,” I replied with a sarcastic smile. He shook his head, and we walked to the living room.

There sat a middle-aged woman, acting as if she owned the couch. Looking sharp yet oddly older than her age, her face was caked with unblended foundation and streaks of poorly applied color corrector.

“Lo aa gaye bache,” Chachu said with a wide smile. Her gaze shifted to us, and she immediately made a sour face.

(The kids are here.)

“Namaste,” Pari and Eshu muttered, sitting down in front of her. She only nodded in return.

“Adi, Sunu beta, come on, take her blessings,” Chachi said with a smile.

We nodded and, hand in hand, walked forward to touch her feet. Her face scrunched in displeasure as we bent down.

“God bless you,” she muttered, looking away.

“Um, excuse us, please,” Ved said, holding my hand as we started walking towards the stairs, nodding at the girls, who followed us.

“Kya Adhira bhabhi, aapne itne bhi sanskar nahi die inko ki ghar par mehmaan aaye toh thoda unke saath bhi baith jae, khair aapko bhi kya hi bolu, aap sagi maa thodi thehri, sagi maa ko toh kha gye ye log.” She said loudly, halting us. I clenched my fists, controlling my anger.

(What, Adhira bhabhi, you haven’t even taught them basic manners? When a guest comes home, they should at least sit with them for a while. Anyway, what can I even say to you—you weren’t their real mother after all, these kids practically consumed their real mother)

“Mind your words, Renu,” Chachi said firmly.

“Haa haa bhabhi, mai toh mere words mind kar lu lekin kabhi kabhi meri sweet cousin ki yaad aa jaati hai, aur kaise bichari inki wjh se apni zindagi se haath dho baithi.” She said, wiping fake tears.

(Yes yes, bhabhi, I may try to mind my words, but sometimes I’m reminded of my sweet cousin and how, because of them, that poor woman lost her life.)

“Kaisi aabhagi thi bichari, na pati ne waqt dia, aur bacho ne toh jaan hi leli… upar se bahu bhi dekho kaisi aai hai, jiske maa baap ko farak hi nahi padhta uske hone ka.” She said with distaste.

(How unfortunate that poor woman was—her husband never gave her time, and her children practically took her life… and on top of that, look at the kind of daughter-in-law who’s come, whose own parents don’t even care about her existence.)

“Chup rahiye aap Mausi. Mai kuch bol nahi raha iska matlab ye nahi aap kuch bhi bolti jaengi.” He said coldly, glaring at her.

(Shut up, aunt, If I'm not saying something, it doesn't mean you will keep saying whatever you feel like.)

“Dekho, dekho inko Adhira ji. Aapki sikhai hui tameez bhi nahi yaad inhe ab biwi aane ke baad. Arre mai toh kehti hu inki maa ki jagah inko hi uss din marr—” she started, rising to her feet.

(See, look at them adhira ji, they don't even remember the morals you taught her since the day his wife arrived. Like I said, it would've been better if instead of my poor cousin, they would've -)

“BAS,” I said firmly, unclasping my hand from Ved’s.

(That's it.)

“Ek shabd aur nahi sunungi mai. Bohot bol liya aapne aur bohot sun liya humne. Ghar ke darwaze khule hain, jaha se aayi thi waha se hi bahar ho jaiye. Aur aaj ke baad, dikh mat jana idhar warna lawyer toh mai bhi hu.” I said, walking towards her.

(I won’t listen to another word. You’ve said enough, and we’ve heard enough. The doors of this house are open—leave the same way you came in. And after today, don’t you dare show your face here again, or else remember, I’m a lawyer too.)

“Dhamki de rahi ho?” she asked, glaring at me.

(You are trying to scare me?)

“Haanji. Aap hoti kaun hai mere gharwalo ke baare mei ulta seedha bolne wali? My husband is the world's best son, brother, friend, and husband.

My sister-in-law is the most hardworking and amazing person ever.

My Avi Pa will always be the best person to my Sne Ma and to us.

Aur aap Chachi ki parvarish par zubaan chala rahi thi? Arre kabhi apne pati ke paiso par aiyashi karne ke alawa kuch kiya hai aapne? Inhone sab kuch sambhala hai—ghar, career, and every damn person in this house—bina complaint ke.

Aur rahi baat uss din mar jaane ki, toh woh baat aisi hai na aunty ji, aapki khairat ka nahi kha rahe hain. Mera pati billion-dollar company ka malik hai. Uska bas chale toh aapko chutki mein khatam kar de aur jis bete ke paiso par aap ud rahi ho, na, usko do minute mein khaak mein mila de. Fir bhi chup hai kyunki aap maa se related ho. Isko kehte hain lihaaj karna—jo aap kabhi kar hi nahi paayi. Aur ab nikal rahi ho ya main security bulaun aur kachre ki tarah bahar fikwau?” I spat every word, my gaze firm.

(Who do you think you are, speaking about my family like that? My husband is the world’s best son, brother, friend, and husband.

My sister-in-law is the hardest-working, most wonderful person ever.

My Avi Pa will always be the best to my Sne Ma and to us.

And you had the nerve to comment on Chachi’s upbringing? Tell me—have you ever done anything except live off your husband’s money? They’ve held everything together—home, careers, every single person in this house—without a single complaint.

As for that day when someone died, let’s be clear, aunty: we’re not eating your charity. My husband owns a billion-dollar company. If he wanted to, he could end you in a snap, and the son whose money you’re flaunting? He’d be dust in two minutes. Yet he stay quiet because you’re related to the mother. That’s called restraint—something you’ve never shown. Now get out, or shall I call security and throw you out like garbage?”)

She “hmp-ed” and left after grabbing her bag.

“Excuse me,” I muttered and walked off to our room.

Slamming the door open, I paced around to calm my anger. How could she?

How could a woman be so insensitive towards her own cousin's children?

Are we living in the 19th century that you’ll spit whatever rubbish you wish and still expect the young ones to respect you?

“Here,” he said, handing me a glass of water. I gulped it in one go and slammed the glass on the table.

“Calm down, jaan,” he muttered cautiously.

“Calm down my foot! How could that lady speak such words about you and others? Who the hell gave her this authority?” I snapped, my anger spiking at the memory.

“It's okay, jaan, I don't care about it,” he muttered, making me sit on the bed as he crouched in front of me.

“But I care about it. How can she speak that instead of Sne Ma and Avi Pa, you and Eshu should've—”

“How is she so cruel to you and Eshu? It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. How could she be so insensitive? Unke paas dil nahi hai kya? Woh bhi toh ek maa hai. Just imagine the pain Sne Ma would've felt when she saw this from above—”

I stopped ranting when I noticed him smiling softly.

“Kya hai, Ved? Aap sun kyu nahi rahe ho? Mai jabse pagal ki tarah bole ja rahi hu.” I asked, frustrated because of that aunty.

(What's wrong with you Ved? Are you even listening or am I just yapping like an idiot?)

“Aapse pyaar ho gaya hai mujhe… ek baar firse, bohot hi irrevocably wala.” He replied, smiling softly.

(Once again, I am irrevocably in love with you.)

As if on cue, my cheeks heated up immediately at his words. “Shut up! Idhar mujhe gussa aa raha hai aur aap yaha—”

(Shut up, here I'm angry and you-)

“Mai kya, jaan?” he asked mischievously.

(I what jaan?)

“Aap—”

(You-)

“Haan? Mai?”

(Yes? Me?)

“Veddddddd,” I whined. He chuckled softly, getting up and sitting beside me.

“Look at me,” he said. I sighed but met his soft gaze.

“I don't care about what she thinks. She’s just another random person in my life. What matters the most to me is what you think about me,” he explained gently.

“Fine. But I’ll show how it’s done,” I replied, pecking his lips softly before walking off to draft a text for my assistant, assigning her a task.

In the next few hours, I had a file in my hands with information about her husband’s and son’s illegal businesses and activities. Smiling mischievously, I forwarded the file to the ASP of her district before heading off to do my skincare.

When I returned, my husband scooped me up in his arms and sat on the sofa with me on his lap.

“Heyyy, what are you doing?” I asked, looking at him in disbelief.

“Itna zaroori ho gaya tha aapke liye, ki aapne unke pati aur bete ko jail hi pohcha diya?” he muttered, caressing my cheeks softly.

(I became that important to you, that you sent her husband and son to the jail?)

“Bohot,” I whispered, staring into his eyes.

(A lot.)

“I’m going to kiss you, jaan,” he murmured, his gaze intense. I nodded, and the next moment his lips crashed onto mine.

Pulling away from his passionate kiss, I whispered, panting heavily, “To the bed.”

“Are you sure, jaan?” he asked, his breath uneven.

“Yes,” I replied firmly. And that night, our clothes—along with my anger—everything inside me melted away, slowly… touch by touch, kiss by kiss.  I didn’t just feel his love—I drowned in it, in every part of me, in every heartbeat, in every breath.

For him, it was devotion and years of waiting. For me, it was a love so consuming, I never thought I’d ever feel it.

That night, I was his and he was mine—completely, fiercely, irreversibly.

And in that moment, I knew… this was forever, the feelings, the butterflies, the love.. everything.

The end.