CHAPTER 33 #2
She gently holds the frame in her hand before putting it back on the table.
“Raghav is impossible to figure out,” she continues fondly.
“You know, sometimes even when he’s in Mumbai for work, he doesn’t come home to meet the family.
We keep telling him this is his home too, but half the time he disappears before anyone even realises he’s in the city. ”
I immediately bite back a smile. That sounds exactly like him.
“He’s always been like that,” Meher shrugs. “He acts as if he doesn’t need anyone and keeps everyone at arm’s length. But the moment one of us is in trouble, he’s the first one to stand beside you.”
My fingers tighten around the strap of my handbag.
Yes. I already know that. The man has practically taken a bullet in his arm… for me.
“But now,” Meher says, smiling, “he can’t run away from family obligations as easily anymore. Because now he has you and Aunty.”
I blink.
Me. Mom. Raghav.
Those three names together as a family still don’t belong in the same sentence in my head. Before I can respond, Meher reaches across and squeezes my hand.
“How are things between you and him? If you don’t mind me asking...”
I already know where this is going, so I immediately shake my head. “We can talk about that later. Right now, you should be focusing on tomorrow instead,” I divert smoothly.
She narrows her eyes, and a dramatic sigh fills the room. “Trust me, everyone else is worrying enough on my behalf.”
I laugh.
“Anyway, what am I wearing tomorrow?”
That instantly makes her grin.
“No chance.”
“Meher.”
“Nope.”
“At least give me a hint.”
“You’ll see tomorrow.”
I groan.
Before I can reply, a knock interrupts us, and Ayaan walks in.
“There he is,” Meher announces.
Ayaan reaches us, bends down to kiss her forehead, and then sits beside her. Then his eyes shift to me.
“How are you?”
The question is simple. The answer should be simple too.
“I’m fine.”
My voice comes out too polite and formal.
I see the slight flicker in his expression, as if he’s realised it too. He studies me for a moment before asking, “Still angry with me?”
I meet his eyes.
“No.”
Which probably sounds more like yes.
Ayaan exhales, clearly unconvinced.
The truth is, I’m not angry with him. When I had asked for his help back at RK Estate, he had refused. Now, I understand why. He’s Raghav’s brother, his family. And if our positions were reversed, I would have probably done the same. Still, a small part of me had hoped.
Meher looks between us and wisely decides to rescue the conversation. “Oh, Siya, did I tell you?” She brightens immediately. “My sister-in-law Simran has also designed tomorrow’s outfits for Papa, Ayaan, and Raghav?”
My eyebrows rise. “Really?”
She nods excitedly. “The same design. Different colours. Matching kurtas.”
I stare at her, seriously wondering whether Raghav knows about this. Then again, of course he does. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s currently plotting his escape.
Meher turns to Ayaan. “You are going to love the outfits, King.”
Ayaan smiles instantly.
“I’m sure. Anything that has my Queen’s touch, I’ll love.”
Then leans in and kisses her forehead again.
Queen? I blink.
Ayaan calls her Queen. And Raghav calls me Princess.
What is it with these brothers and their obsession with royal nicknames?
Just as that thought settles in my head, Raghav walks in. His gaze moves over Meher, Ayaan, and then at me. From the timing of his entry, I can tell he has overheard the entire discussion about the matching kurtas for tomorrow. And as expected, his response is immediate.
“I’m not interested in wearing any traditional outfit tomorrow. I know what I have to wear. I’ll wear that.”
I roll my eyes but wisely stay out of it. Meher, however, looks entirely prepared for this battle.
“I knew you were going to say that.” She folds her arms across her chest. “But not this time. You’re wearing what I picked out for you.”
Raghav raises an eyebrow.
“You promised you’d take care of me during this pregnancy,” she reminds him, pointing a finger at him.
“And I have,” he replies. “But not this.”
‘Fine.’ Meher shakes her head in mock disappointment. ‘Before you got married, you used to listen to me and do whatever I asked. Now you’ve changed. You’ve started saying no to me too.’
Raghav stares at her. Meher stares right back. Beside her, Ayaan keeps glancing between the two, clearly trying to hide a grin. The silence stretches on.
And strangely enough, it’s beautiful.
The way they argue. The way Meher knows exactly how far she can push him. And the way Raghav, despite acting annoyed, would probably bring the moon down for her if she asked. That’s how a family should be. I smile as Raghav finally gives up.
“You do realise that once those twins are born, this blackmailing business of yours ends,” he tells Meher, who grins smugly.
He narrows his eyes at her. “You people have literally weaponised pregnancy.”
Meher bursts out laughing, but the moment Ayaan and Raghav look at each other, her laughter dies down.
The tension returns between the brothers.
Neither of them says a word. Neither looks away first. They just stare at each other, still carrying the bitterness between them, still unable to bridge that distance, yet unable to completely look away either.
Meher notices it and immediately claps her hands together.
“Right. Enough.” The tension breaks at once. “Ayaan, I think we should let them rest.”
Ayaan nods. Then Meher turns towards me. “If you need anything at all, just call me.”
“Okay.” I smile.
“And Siya...” Her voice softens. “This is your home too now. You don’t have to behave like a guest here.” She takes my hand. “This family is yours as much as it’s mine.”
My throat suddenly feels tight because she says it so naturally, as if there’s no doubt about it. Before I can respond, she leans forward and kisses my cheek. Then she drags Ayaan towards the door.
“Come on.” Ayaan just shakes his head and lets himself be dragged away.
The door closes behind them, and the silence returns.
I stand there for a moment, smiling. I already like this family. The thought reminds me of something, and I slowly turn towards Raghav, who is watching me. His eyes narrow immediately, sensing trouble ahead.
“I never knew a couch could scare someone this much,” I remark, almost holding my grin. “Especially a mafia prince.”
His jaw tightens, knowing I’m enjoying this. I take a step closer and poke a finger against his chest.
“Good. Biwi ka thoda darr, har pati ko hona hi chahiye.” (Every man should be little scared of his wife.)
His eyes drop to my finger before returning to my face. I can practically see the warning in them. But before he can reply, I disappear inside the bathroom, smiling to myself.
Wait. Did I just call myself his wife? Willingly?
Urgh!