44
It had been a month since the Sharma case ended, but believe me when I say: their suffering had only begun. Justice wasn't just served-it was roasted, skinned, and served cold. Every scream they let out in that dungeon was a reminder: you don't burn a woman and walk away.
Life at the Choudhury-Agnivanshi mansion had slowly returned to its twisted version of "normal."
Dattatriya-my husband, my mafia king, and the freaking Chief Minister of Rajasthan-had apparently made it his mission to pamper the hell out of me.
And by pamper, I don't mean just flowers and chocolates.
I mean dates every two days, midnight long drives, sudden kisses out of nowhere (like fifty or more a day, not exaggerating), and not to forget. .. the nights.
Oh. My. God.
Getting laid by your dangerously hot, stoic, tattooed mafia-CM husband who worships the ground you walk on? Dream. Come. True. Let's just say, if there's a heaven, I don't need to go-I live in it every night. And yes, I'm serious. And no, don't ask for details-IYKYK.
Meanwhile, Arya bhabhi is five months pregnant, glowing like a literal goddess.
And Bhairava bhaiya? He treats her like royalty.
One would think she was carrying the next heir to the Choudhury throne-which, to be fair, she is.
He won't let her lift a finger. Even when she tries to pour her own water, he's already there like, "Sit. I'll do it."
Now here comes the shocker: Gyan bhaiya and Adya are engaged.
Yes. ENGAGED.
We were all shocked. Turns out, they had this long-ass hidden love story. Dated in college. Adya broke up with him for mysterious reasons. Gyan bhaiya turned into a literal Devdas. Then, boom-fate brought them back together. And now? Ta-da. Engaged.
The twist? Dattatriya was not happy about giving his beloved sister to my brother. He sulked, glared, and almost banned the engagement. But then... Gyan bhaiya dropped the mic.
"We gave you our sister, can't you give me yours?"
Datta froze. Lost the argument. Period. We all knew it. He sulked for hours. Arms crossed, refusing to talk. That night, of course, I fixed his mood. Ahem (iykyk).
Now, flash to today-the chaos that followed.
I was roaming the whole house like a madwoman. Sheraa, my darling snow leopard cub, was missing.
"Sheraa!" I called, almost panicked. "Mera baby! My prince! My puttar! Where are you, love?!"
No reply.
My heart was thumping. My voice echoed through the halls. The staff was terrified of me-and rightfully so.
Then suddenly-a soft growl followed by a whimper.
My blood ran cold. I sprinted in that direction, fear clawing at my chest, only to freeze in horror.
There he was. Sheraa. My baby. In a cage. Standing on his two tiny paws like an abla cub, whimpering, his big eyes filled with hurt.
"OH MY GOD. SHERAA! BACHA! WHO PUT YOU IN A CAGE?!" I screamed in rage.
He let out a cry the moment he saw me. I rushed to unlock it and held him tightly as he clung to me like a child, burying his head in my neck.
"I'm so sorry, my prince, my jaan," I whispered, rocking him gently. "What kind of cruel person did this to you?"
Then I heard it.
"Arre, why did you take him out of the cage?" came the oh-so-familiar voice.
I slowly turned to see Dattatriya standing there, cool and composed, like he didn't just put my baby in a prison.
"You. Did. WHAT?!" I growled.
He blinked. "He scratched up the sofa again, Katha. We had to teach him-"
"By putting him in a cage?" I snapped. "A cage? He's a baby, not a criminal!"
"Katha, I just-"
"Don't 'Katha' me. You may be a mafia king and a CM but you're sleeping alone tonight, mister."
I stood up, cradling Sheraa like he was a literal prince.
Sheraa let out a dramatic huff as if he understood, and glared at Dattatriya too.
"Come, baby. Let's go to our room," I said regally.
Me and Sheraa? We walked off, heads high, tails (his, not mine) up, and pride intact.
Behind me, I could hear Datta sighing.
"Now both my wife and the snow leopard are mad at me. Wah. Shabaash, Dattatriya."
But I didn't care. I kissed Sheraa's forehead and whispered, "Don't worry, my love. Mama's got you. Always."
And just like that, chaos and love continued in the Agnivanshi-Choudhury household.
I was working on my laptop, deep into case files, my reading glasses perched lazily on the bridge of my nose, when the door suddenly burst open.
"Sunshine!!" Dattatriya's voice boomed through the room, and before I could lift my head, he ran in-carrying Sheraa like a literal trophy.
"See, see what he learnt!" he said, beaming like an excited child. That rare smile-wide, almost dimpled-lit up his whole face. My cold-blooded, mafia-CM husband had turned into a golden retriever in human form.
I blinked. "What?"
"Sheraa baby, show Mama who's the good boy, hmm?" Datta cooed.
Sheraa-my adorable snow leopard cub-sat on the floor with perfect drama, lifted one paw proudly, and then with the other, covered his eyes, like a bashful shy prince.
I gasped.
"OH. MY. GOD." I jumped up, my laptop nearly crashing off the table. "My baby!"
I dropped to my knees and scooped him into my arms, cradling him as if he were a newborn prince.
"Yes, love! You're the good boy! You're Mama's brave, precious baby!" I showered him in kisses, planting a dozen soft ones on his tiny head. "Mera beta, mera raja, mera superstar," I whispered proudly.
Sheraa purred happily and curled into me, his tail swaying contentedly.
Behind me, I felt strong arms wrap around my waist, and warm lips brushed against my cheek.
"He's our baby, Sunshine," Datta whispered, his voice soft and full of something almost sacred.
I leaned back into his chest, resting my head against him, our arms wrapped around Sheraa. The three of us-a literal mafia family moment-looked nothing like chaos right now. We looked like peace.
"We're hopeless, aren't we?" I whispered.
Datta chuckled. "Hopelessly in love with a snow leopard. Definitely."
And in that quiet, love-soaked moment, all the pain, battles, and bloodshed blurred into the background-because this, this was our softest war won.
Together.
____
The pista green saree hugged me just right, the silk soft and flowing like water as I stood in front of the mirror fixing the pleats.
My mangalsutra shimmered against my skin, and the sindoor in my parting added that bold line of power I wore so proudly now.
I slipped on his ring-the one Dattatriya had slid onto my finger with so much love and pain mixed-and smiled faintly.
Today wasn't about us, though.
It was about Adya-the only person who could soften Dattatriya's eyes in one second and silence Gyan bhaiya's wild heart in another. His sister. His soul. My constant companion. And yes, Gyan bhaiya's forever love.
Adya never liked glitter or glam. So we chose her kind of celebration. No chandeliers, no luxury halls. An old age home. Because that's who she is-pure, grounded, and giving.
Just then, he walked in.
Dattatriya.
Wearing a cream kurta, sleeves rolled up slightly, hair combed back, eyes blazing with that lazy intensity that always made my stomach flip. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me.
I turned slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Looking hot, Mr. Agnivanshi," I whispered, strolling up to him and sliding my arm around his waist, "If you weren't my husband, I'd have kidnapped you by now."
He grinned, pulling me flush against him, "You too, Mrs. Agnivanshi," he murmured, voice gravelly against my neck, "I swear to Mahakal, I can't take my eyes off you. You're glowing."
Then, without warning, he kissed me-hard, fierce, and devastating. He kissed me like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning.
And when he finally pulled back, my breath was gone. So was my lipstick. Completely eaten off.
I smacked his chest. "Shameless!"
He smirked. "Only with you, Sunshine. Want me to mess up your hair too before we leave?"
I laughed, hitting him again. "You're lucky you're hot, else you'd be dead."
"Oh I'm very lucky," he purred, leaning close again. "I got the Queen of Justice and the Queen of seduction in one woman."
"Flatterer."
"Truth-teller."
"And yet here I am, still letting you talk."
"And here I am, wondering if I should pull you back inside and cancel Adya's birthday."
"Dattatriya!" I gasped.
He laughed-genuinely-and kissed my forehead. "Let's go before I actually do."
We both got into the car, him holding my hand the whole way.
Next stop: an old age home... for a birthday celebration filled not with noise, but with meaning. The kind of day Adya would remember-not for what sparkled, but for what mattered.
As soon as we stepped into the old age home, the warmth in the air wrapped around me tighter than the softest shawl. And then I saw him-papa. My heart leaped.
"Papa!" I called out, and without a second thought, I launched into his arms.
He caught me easily, lifting me off the ground like I was still a little girl. "Mera sher puttar!" he laughed, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his eyes shining. "You look just like your mother today..."
I blinked away the sudden sting in my eyes and hugged him tighter.
Then Bhairava bhaiya stepped forward and pulled me into a warm, grounding hug. "You're glowing, Katha," he said, brushing a strand of hair off my face. "That's our Agnivanshi effect?" he teased.
I smirked. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just me being awesome as always."
"True," he chuckled. "That's my Bandari."
Then came Dyan bhaiya, who just grunted softly, arms wide open. I walked into his hug and felt him pat my back with surprising gentleness. "You okay?" he mumbled.
"Better now," I replied softly.
And then, from behind, Utsav, my ladla chhota bhai, ran in and clung to me.
"Di! You're here! You know I was checking the gate every ten minutes like a puppy?"
I laughed and hugged him tight. "Aww, my cutie. And here I thought I was your cool sister, not your dog."
"You're both," he said, grinning. "But I love you anyway."
Then Arya bhabhi, glowing with her little baby bump, came forward with the gentlest smile. I cupped her face first.
"Five months in, and you're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," I said sincerely.
"Don't make me cry, Katha," she said, hugging me tight. "The hormones are already making me unstable."
We both giggled.
"Your niece or nephew's been kicking," she whispered as I crouched and placed my hand on her belly.
I smiled. "Hello, my baby. Bua's here. You better be a fighter like your mom and a terror like your dad."
We all laughed as Dattatriya stood beside me, one hand resting on my lower back.
"Gyan bhaiya went to pick Adya," Arya bhabhi said as she straightened. "They'll be here any moment."
And sure enough, just minutes later, they arrived.
The moment Adya stepped in, glowing in a simple pink salwar and holding Gyan bhaiya's hand, we all shouted, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
Even the elders in the home, sweet and wrinkled with time, joined us with toothy smiles and gleaming eyes.
And then, as the day began unfolding, I found myself quietly observing the surroundings. The halls were filled with old laughter, stories, and lonely souls. How could anyone... leave their parents behind here?
How do you grow up in their arms, eat the food they starved to give you, learn to walk by holding their fingers, and then-just leave them when they need your support the most?
When they were your roots, how do you abandon the very ground that raised you?
I clenched my jaw softly. People say karma is a bitch-and for the ones who left their parents to wither alone, I hope karma doesn't forget. I hope their children do the same to them one day. Maybe then they'll understand what true loneliness feels like.
But today was not for bitterness.
It was for Adya, and for these beautiful elders who still had hearts full of love.
We cut the cake, shared food, laughed at old jokes, and danced to old Hindi songs. I sat with an 85-year-old aunty who told me about her days as a freedom fighter, and an old uncle who remembered every lyric of Lata Mangeshkar songs.
And Adya-she shone. In Gyan bhaiya's eyes, she was already a queen. And in ours, she always will be.
It wasn't a fancy party.
No spotlights. No champagne.
Just love.
Just family.
Just hearts that hadn't forgotten how to care.
It was a beautiful day.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Do vote