CHAPTER 4! BROOM ROMANCE
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The descent was slow, as if even the aircraft was reluctant to enter the storm waiting in Mumbai.
Aadhira pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Below, the city shimmered beneath the monsoon rain, amber lights flickering through drifting clouds like dying embers.
Raindrops raced across the window pane while her thoughts drifted toward the one man she wasn't ready to face.
Aryav Rai Shinghania.
Even after five years, his name felt like a blade inside her throat.
Five years of absolute freedom in Milan. There, she wasn't a pawn trapped between dynastic empires.
She had her own apartment, her own career, her own life.
But still She knew One day she would wear Aryav's ring. Not because of love-love was a concept that withered and died within a ten-mile radius of that man. It was a transaction.
The memory of the call that had shattered her Milanese sanctuary tightened in her chest.
Shaurya.
Her brother never begged.
Shaurya Agrawal was the kind of man who gave lethal orders without ever raising his pitch.
Cold.
Controlled.
Aryav's world had carved something dangerously sharp into his bones.
But that day, the steel in his voice had cracked.
"Aadhi... it's been five years. Waise kaafi accha hoon main. Mom-dad ki saari attention mujhe milti hai ab."
She had laughed weakly through her tears. Then came the heavy, weighted silence. And finally-
"But... come back. Mom and Dad miss you."
No manipulation.
Just her brother admitting the house was too quiet.
And Aadhira could never say no to Shaurya.
"Cabin crew, prepare for landing."
She opened her eyes.
The wheels hit the tarmac with a violent, wet thud.
Aadhira exhaled slowly.
She was back in his territory.
Back in his air.
The terminal was a humid, roaring vortex of Mumbai chaos. But the moment Aadhira stepped into the arrival lounge, her eyes locked onto him instantly.
Shaurya Agrawal never blended into a crowd.
He stood near a marble pillar, encased in a dark, flawless suit, hands in his pockets.
He didn't look like a waiting relative; he looked like the calm before an execution. He was sharper than she remembered. Colder, too.
Aadhira stopped in front of him. For a long heartbeat, Shaurya said nothing.
His eyes scanned her face, analytical and clinical, checking for vulnerabilities before emotions. Then, the ice broke.
He stepped forward, pulling her into a hug so fierce it emptied her lungs.
He still hugged her like a brother, but she noticed his eyes tracking the airport exits over her shoulder.
The paranoia of working with the devil.
"Finally," he muttered against her hair. "The plague has returned."
Aadhira laughed through the sudden sting in her eyes. "I missed you too, Bhai."
He pulled back, his gaze narrowing aggressively. "Kitni moti ho gayi ho. Poora Milan akele kha ke aayi ho kya?" (How fat have you become. Did you eat the whole of Milan alone?)
"Aur aap?" she shot back instantly.
"Adrak ki tarah har taraf phail rahe ho. Bade aaye mujhe mota bolne wale!" (And you? You're spreading out in all directions like ginger. Look who's calling me fat!)
She rolled her eyes. "The Aryav Effect, I assume."
Shaurya's expression didn't change at the mention of the name.
He simply grabbed her luggage and led her toward the armored black sedan.
The Agrawal estate had survived political scandals, corporate espionage, and Padmini Agrawal's brief, terrifying experimental cooking phase.
But nothing had prepared it for Aadhira's return.
The front doors had barely swung open before a human tornado collided with her.
"AADHI! MERI BACCHI!"
Padmini Agrawal crashed into her daughter with the force of a runaway freight train.
Before Aadhira could recover, Veer Agrawal joined the fray, trapping her in a suffocating, emotional sandwich.
Padmini gripped Aadhira's cheeks with dramatic violence. "Look at you! Sookh kar lakdi ho gayi hai! Milan mein khana nahi khilate the kya? Bhookha rakha meri beti ko un firangiyon ne! Baddua dungi main poori Italy ko!"
"Maa..." Aadhira wheezed, her vision blurring. "Main dusre desh mein thi, dusre planet pe nahi. Khana milta hai wahan."
"Exactly!" Padmini cried. "Toh phir healthy kyun nahi hui? Veer dekho iski halat! Hawa chalegi toh udd jayegi!"
Veer laughed softly, rescuing his daughter from her mother's iron grip. "Let her breathe, Padmini. She just got here."
"I brought gifts!" Aadhira shouted, breaking free and dragging her suitcases up the stairs. "Italian leather for Shaurya Bhai, educational toys for Ayaan, and enough chocolates to give the entire household diabetes!"
She collapsed face-first onto her lavender-scented bed and instantly passed out.
Aadhira woke up at noon looking like a raccoon that had survived a tactical explosion.
Her hair was a bird's nest, her eyeliner had migrated to her cheekbones, and her silk pajamas looked like they had lost a physical altercation.
Dragging her feet downstairs, she found Shaurya sprawled across the sofa, watching a cricket match with criminal intensity.
"Shaurya Bhai," she croaked, her voice dry. "Remote do."
"No."
"Bhai."
"Last over chal raha hai. India ko eight runs chahiye. Hato saamne se."
Aadhira's eyes narrowed.
Emotional manipulation: Activated.
"I've been gone for five years," she whispered, her voice trembling dramatically. "Five years of isolation. Five years of agony. Five years without my loving, caring brother-"
"Haan theek hai," Shaurya deadpanned, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Ab side ho ja."
Aadhira lunged.
She kicked his shin.
Nothing.
The man was built like a brick wall.
He calmly extended his arm, using his unfair six-foot advantage to hold the remote near the ceiling.
"Give it!"
"Grow taller."
"I hate you."
"You're fun-sized.
It's adorable."
"I am NOT fun-sized! You're just unnecessarily gigantic!"
She scrambled onto the back of the sofa, clawing at his hand while Shaurya effortlessly kept her at bay with one palm shoved against her forehead.
"Honestly, Bhai," she snapped, "even a street dog is more loyal than you."
Shaurya finally looked offended. "Did you just compare me to a stray dog?"
"No," Aadhira corrected sweetly. "I said the stray is better."
War began.
Cushions launched through the air, Aadhira attempted to literally bite his bicep, and Shaurya aggressively ruined her already destroyed hair.
"AADHIRA! SHAURYA! BAS!"
Both froze instantly.
Padmini Agrawal stood at the edge of the hallway, looking seconds away from executing them both.
Shaurya still had Aadhira locked in a ruthless headlock.
Aadhira's leg was cocked mid-kick.
"Yes, Mummy," Aadhira squeaked innocently.
Padmini pointed at the overturned furniture. "You come home after five years and start WWE in my living room? Clean this mess. Right now."
"But Mom, he-"
"No 'but'! Jo failaya hai woh saaf karo!"
Aadhira immediately dropped her arms. "I'm technically a guest."
"And technically, you're a migraine," Padmini snapped, turning her glare to her son. "Aur tum! Nawab-zade! Kahaan bhaag rahe ho?"
Shaurya stopped mid-escape, his face a mask of corporate dignity. "Mom, I earn billions."
"Aur itne paise kama ke bhi apna alag ghar nahi liya tumne. Mop uthao." (And despite earning so much, you haven't bought your own house. Pick up the mop.)
Defeated, agonizing silence.
Ten minutes later, Shaurya was leaning against a mop like a man re-evaluating every life choice that had led him to this moment, while Aadhira held a broom like a royal sceptre.
"Put on music, I can't do work without music" she ordered.
"We clean in absolute shame."
"Music. Or I tell Mom you were the one who broke her vintage crystal vase in 2019."
Shaurya's head snapped toward her, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "You wouldn't."
"Try me bhai."
The television came alive.
A loud, high-energy Bollywood item song exploded through the silent house.
"Mera Aashiq Jallah Wallah..."
A dangerous, feral grin spread across Aadhira's face.
Shaurya's soul left his body.
"No. Aadhira. Don't."
Too late.
She grabbed the broom handle and began dancing around the shattered living room like a heroine possessed by pure chaos.
"OH HO HO!" she yelled, spinning wildly. "Mera aashiq jallah wallah!"
She dipped the broom, flipped her bird-nest hair, and added dramatic, aggressive thumkas with horrifying emotional commitment.
Shaurya tried to maintain his stone-cold lawyer persona.
He failed miserably.
Within seconds, he was laughing so hard his shoulders shook. He grabbed the mop bucket, beating it like a dhol while Aadhira slow-danced with the broom.
"Mom!" she shouted over the music. "Meet your damaad! He's hardworking, silent, and never talks back!"
"I'm the best man at this wedding!" Shaurya shouted back, completely giving in to the madness.
Then-
The air vanished.
It didn't just grow quiet; the room experienced a sudden, violent atmospheric drop.
The molecules in the room seemed to freeze solid, turning the humid Mumbai air into jagged shards of ice.
Aadhira felt the hair on her arms stand up before she heard the sound.
"MAMA!"
Ayaan's horrified, high-pitched voice sliced through the music.
Both siblings froze mid-step. Aadhira's broom was raised above her head like an offering.
Shaurya was holding the mop like a cricket bat.
Slowly-with the sickening dread of convicts facing a firing squad-they turned around.
Ayaan stood at the double doors, looking deeply, psychologically traumatized.
And right behind him stood the entire Rai Shinghania Dynasty.
Rajendra Vikram, his face etched in iron. Mrinalini Devi, reading the room with cold, unreadable precision.
Vikrant and Ishaani, standing like statues of old money. The cousins-Arjun, Aarush, and Reyansh-staring at the scene with wide, blinking eyes.
But it was the silhouette at the very back that made Aadhira's heart stop beating entirely.
Aryav Rai Shinghania.
He leaned casually against the mahogany doorframe, his hands tucked into the pockets of his charcoal trousers.
He didn't look angry. He looked profoundly, devastatingly bored.
His obsidian eyes slid once toward the broom clutched in Aadhira's hands.
Then, they shifted slowly to Shaurya.
The look was simple, yet it carried the weight of a death warrant: This is the sister you emotionally blackmailed into returning? This creature?
And the fact that shourya looked proud.
The silence became radioactive.
The item song was still blaring from the television speakers, making the horror beautifully absurd.
Aadhira stood frozen.
Her hair pointed in three different directions.
Her face was flushed scarlet.
Her pajamas were wrinkled, and her dignity had effectively committed suicide.
Beside her, Shaurya didn't move a muscle. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead and whispered out of the side of his mouth, his voice a flat, hollow rasp.
"You just proposed to a cleaning tool in front of your future in-law's. Congratulations little sis."
Aadhira stared at the broom.
Then at the freezing glare of the elder Shinghanias. Then, finally, her eyes met Aryav's.
He didn't blink.
He just tilted his head slightly, a microscopic, cruel curve touching the edge of his lips.
He was enjoying her humilation.
It entertained him.
Aadhira's knuckles turned white around the broom handle.
"Radha Rani..." she whispered internally, her soul weeping. "Agar aap mujhse thoda sa bhi pyaar karti hain... toh zameen abhi ke abhi phat jaye, aur main usme sama jau." (Radha Rani... if you love me even a little bit... let the earth split open right now and swallow me whole.)
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