19
I scooped up my sleepy Sheraa, who yawned dramatically and clung to me like a baby. We went into my room - the only place where I could truly breathe without the world watching. I placed him gently on the bed, and he instantly curled up like a little snowball.
I lay back beside him, still in my white blouse and with half the ink marks clinging to my skin. I didn't care.
My phone was still in my hand. I unlocked it, and my thumb hovered over the screen for a moment... then, without thinking much, I opened his chat and typed a simple message.
I stared at the screen, half expecting silence. But within seconds, the typing dots appeared.
I smirked involuntarily.
There was a pause. Then:
The dots appeared, paused, then appeared again. It took him longer this time.
My chest tightened a little. I stared at the screen, not blinking, not breathing.
I locked my phone slowly, placed it on the nightstand, and looked at Sheraa sleeping peacefully beside me.
But somehow, the soft buzz in my heart... wasn't from him.
I woke up in the morning to what can only be described as full-blown Choudhury-style chaos. Why, you ask?
Well... Bhairava Bhaiya is getting married tomorrow!
Yes, you heard that right. The ever-ruthless, brooding mafia boss is finally tying the knot with our very own Arya bhabhi.
Why so sudden, you ask? Oh, just a tiny little reason...
YAAAYYY!
I'm going to be a Bua! A whole actual Bua! Me! Katha Choudhury - the most feared lawyer in the country, the woman who tears courtrooms apart and rips opponents to shreds - is going to be a tiny little baby's Bua! I'm so excited I could scream.
And the best part? When Arya bhabhi dropped the news last night in front of the whole family, do you know what happened?
The Almighty Bhairava Choudhury FAINTED.
Yes. Fainted. Right there. Mafia king, the most feared man in the underworld, passed out like an old Bollywood heroine.
Everyone froze. Papa almost spilled his tea. Dyan bhaiya thought he had a heart attack. Gyan bhaiya stood there blinking like someone had unplugged his brain. And me? I was laughing so hard I almost choked on my ladoo.
And when we all helped him up - still dazed and looking like someone told him aliens had landed - he stared at Arya bhabhi, eyes welling up, and cried. Like actual happy tears.
He pulled Arya bhabhi close and cried into her lap, repeating "I'm going to be a dad" over and over again like a child who just got his dream toy.
And of course, that meant wedding bells the very next day. Because, obviously, Bhairava bhaiya being Bhairava bhaiya, wasn't going to let the mother of his child remain unmarried for even a second longer.
So now here we are, in a storm of decorators, caterers, priests, bodyguards, florists, and Sheraa - who is very upset that no one is giving him attention in this chaos.
Let the madness begin. The Choudhurys are about to throw the wedding of the century.
I wore a simple bottle-green kurti and black leggings - nothing too fancy, just comfortable enough to run around and manage the chaos that was currently erupting across the entire Choudhury haveli.
I tied my hair into a messy bun, slipped on some flats, and marched down like a general entering a battlefield.
Because that's what it was.
A full-fledged wedding war zone.
The living room was filled with decorators shouting over one another, trying to hang ten different types of flowers in ten different styles.
Sheraa was having a full-blown meltdown in the center, growling at one poor guy who dared to hang marigold garlands above his spot on the sofa.
Dyan bhaiya was chasing after Sheraa yelling, "Tere ko itna gussa kyun aata hai, tujhme toh maa ki mamta honi chahiye!
" (Why do you get so angry? You're supposed to have a mother's nurturing instinct!
" )while Sheraa leaped over sofas like a jungle cat.
In the middle of this circus, Utsav came down wearing a purple kurta with bright yellow pyjamas, proudly posing and asking, "Ladle ka outfit kaisa hai?"(How's your precious boy's outfit?)
I blinked once. Twice. And said, "Tu ladoo hai ya Diwali ka phooljhari?"( Are you a sweet laddu or a Diwali sparkler?)
Before I could say more, Gyan bhaiya entered with a plate full of gulab jamuns meant for the puja. But bam - he tripped on Sheraa's tail and the entire plate went flying... and landed perfectly on Dyan bhaiya's chest.
Sticky, syrupy, warm gulab jamuns. On Dyan bhaiya. The most terrifying of all of us.
Dead silence.
Dyan bhaiya looked down at his jamun-covered kurta, then up at Gyan bhaiya with the look of a man who just got betrayed by his own blood.
Gyan bhaiya: "Bhai... accident tha."
Dyan: "Tu bhi gulab jamun ban gaya ab."(Congrats. You've become a gulab jamun now too." )
I choked back my laughter and screamed, "BASSSS! Ek shaadi hai, World War 3 nahi! Sab chupp ho jao warna main kisi ke bhi shaadi mein ice cream nahi doongi!" ( ENOUGH! It's just a wedding, not World War 3! Everyone shut up or I'm cancelling ice cream at the wedding!")
Everyone gasped.
Even Sheraa froze mid-growl.
Utsav: "Not the ice cream, Di... I mean, Queen of Justice."
Bhairava bhaiya, in the background, was just sitting like a statue, staring at his wedding clothes. Probably still processing the fact he's about to become a dad.
I clapped my hands, "Chalo, everyone - stations! Decorators, pick one flower. Not the whole forest. Caterers, final tasting at 5. Papa, please for the love of god stop bribing the priest to make sure Arya bhabhi says 'yes' again. She's already pregnant, she's not going anywhere!"
And with that, your one and only event manager, damage controller, and future Bua - me, Katha Choudhury - took charge once again.
I was already on edge. Between the decorators messing up the stage, Sheraa acting like a grumpy landlord, and Bhairava bhaiya still fainting randomly out of pure emotion - my stress level was boiling. But what really pushed me to the edge?
The Flower Fiasco.
A disaster authored, directed, and performed by none other than Gyan bhaiya.
I was carefully carrying a large brass bucket filled to the brim with delicate, handpicked rose petals - these were meant for Arya bhabhi's entry tomorrow. I'd planned every single detail. And in that moment, the roses were like gold in my hands.
Just as I took a calm step forward near the living room...
SMACK!
I collided - no, crashed - into Gyan bhaiya, who was wandering around again with a plate of gulab jamuns, looking completely spaced out like he was on a honeymoon in his head.
The result?
The entire bucket of rose petals flew into the air like slow-motion confetti, did one final somersault midair, and then...
SPLAT.
Scattered all over the floor.
I blinked.
He blinked.
And then, I exploded.
"GYANNNNNN BHAAAAIIIYAAAAA!!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the haveli like a war horn.
Gyan bhaiya gave me that sheepish grin of his, still clutching the plate of gulab jamuns. "Arre princess... yeh to bilkul Bollywood scene ban gaya," he said cheerfully.
("Princess... this turned into a total Bollywood scene!")
I stared at him, murder in my eyes. "Main na yahi phool utha ke muh mein daal dungi Apke!" I snapped.
("I'll shove these same petals into your mouth!")
He blinked, taken aback.
I narrowed my eyes further, fuming. "Aur sun lo - agar maine aap ko dobara gulab jamun ke plate ke saath dekha na... toh permanent ban laga dungi tumpe! No more gulab jamuns for life!"
("And listen carefully - if I ever see you again with a plate of gulab jamuns... I'll permanently ban you! No more gulab jamuns for life!")
And with that, I stormed off - my dupatta flaring behind me like a cape, swearing in my head that one day, I would write a book called: "How to Organize a Choudhury Wedding Without Losing Your Sanity."
Step one? Hide all the gulab jamuns.
Step two? Handcuff Gyan bhaiya.
Finally. After what felt like fighting a hundred wars - one with the caterers, one with the decorators, one with Bhairava bhaiya's sudden emotional outbursts, and about seven with Gyan bhaiya alone - everything was finally done.
The stage was set. Lights fixed. Mehendi cones lined up. The sangeet playlist was finally locked after everyone almost came to blows over the last dance song.
I. Was. Done.
Mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.
I dragged myself to the living room and dropped on the sofa like a lifeless rag doll, landing right against Papa's chest.
He immediately smiled and held me gently, "Tired, princess?
"
"Beyond tired," I groaned, eyes half-shut.
"I feel like I fought the Mahabharat... with dupattas and marigolds. "
Just then, I felt a sharp presence.
I slowly opened one eye and turned my head - and there he was.
Sheraa.
My darling snow leopard cub.
Sitting on the floor.
Fluffy paws crossed.
Glaring. At. Me.
Like a betrayed husband in a dramatic soap opera.
His ears were slightly down, and his tail was thumping the floor lightly with irritation.
"Arrey... what happened to my baby?" I asked dramatically.
Sheraa let out the tiniest grumpy growl.
Papa chuckled. "Looks like someone's upset you forgot his bedtime belly rub."
I gasped and sat up. "Oh no... Sheraa baby, no! Mama was busy, I swear!" I bent forward, trying to coo him.
Sheraa turned his head away like a drama queen.
Now everyone in the room was watching this live soap unfold.
Even Gyan bhaiya whispered, "Heroine fail ho gayi Sheraa ke samne."
("The heroine failed in front of Sheraa.")
I dramatically slid down to the floor, holding my ears, "Sheraa baby... sorry! Mama sorry!"
He finally looked at me, stood up, trotted toward me, and flopped onto my lap with a soft grumble.
I smiled like I'd just won the biggest award in the world and started petting his soft belly.
"Victory," I whispered.
Papa shook his head, smiling, "You'll never win an argument in this house - not with your leopard.
"
And I just grinned, completely exhausted but with my fluffy baby back in my lap.
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