[38] VOLCANO
The door was ajar.
Inside, Abhiraj stood like a storm trapped in human form: kurta sleeves shoved up, jaw clenched, fist resting on the desk hard enough to make the wood creak.
He was muttering into the phone, voice dangerously low.
“Kuch toh gadbad hai… in madarch— ”
The door opened fully.
Amisha stepped in, soft cotton saree, pallu tucked at her waist, round belly proudly on display and shining with fresh coconut oil.
Morning light poured over her like liquid gold.
One second.
That’s all it took.
The curse died mid-sentence.
The phone slipped from his hand and clattered onto the desk.
Anger evaporated like mist in sunlight.
He blinked, swallowed the gaali that was already on his tongue, and just… stared.
Amisha tilted her head, eyes big and worried.
“Kya hua? Itne gusse mein kyun ho aap?”
He opened his mouth.
“Bas kuch madar—”
She raised one delicate eyebrow.
He shut his mouth instantly, gulped the word back down like it burned, and cleared his throat.
“Bas… kuch dhokhebaaz log hain. Reports jhoothi, paise dubaye, ab muh utha ke baat kar rahe hain.”
Amisha walked closer, placed a gentle hand on his tense forearm.
“Kyun na aap ek baar bahar jaake company check kar lo?
Jo log achhe nahi kar rahe, unki job nikaal do. Sab saaf ho jaayega.”
Abhiraj’s face turned stubborn (like a child being told to share his favourite toy).
“Nahi jaana mujhe.”
Amisha blinked.
“Arre… main toh aur 6 mahine aise hi ghar pe rehne wali hoon.
Aap kaam kab karoge?”
He folded his arms, jaw set.
“Nahi jaana mujhe.
Biwi ko akela chhod ke kahin nahi jaunga.”
She tried not to smile.
“Abhi toh sirf ek-do din ki baat hai.”
He shook his head, actually pouting now.
“Nahi. Door jaunga toh tum mujhe miss nahi karogi.”
Amisha laughed softly, cupped his cheek.
“Of course karungi! Bahut miss karungi.
Par kaam bhi toh zaroori hai na?”
He leaned into her palm, eyes narrowing.
“Dekhte hain… jaana hai ki nahi.”
Then, like a grumpy lion who had just been scratched behind the ears, he wrapped his arms around her oiled belly, rested his forehead against hers, and muttered,
“Pehle yeh tel poora sukha doon… phir sochunga company ka.”
Amisha giggled, fingers threading through his hair.
“Theek hai, hukum.
Pehle pet, phir company.”
And just like that, the angry sarpanch was officially tamed (again) by the glowing, oil-shining, six-months-pregnant queen of his heart.
Amisha tugged his hand gently.
“Chalo… aapki champi kar deti hoon.
Sir ko araam milega, saara gussa nikal jaayega.”
Abhiraj’s scowl softened at once.
“Haan… kar do.”
Two minutes later they were back in their room, curtains half-drawn, soft winter sunlight filtering in.
Amisha settled on the wide velvet couch, legs stretched out, a pillow behind her back for the bump.
Abhiraj didn’t hesitate.
He sat on the floor between her knees, rested his head in her lap, and let out a long, tired breath the moment her thighs cradled his cheeks
Her small, soft hands came down instantly.
Warm coconut oil on her palms (leftover from her belly massage), she started with his temples, slow, firm circles.
Then forehead.
Then the tight spot at the base of his skull.
Her fingers moved like magic: pressing, kneading, smoothing every knot of tension.
Abhiraj’s eyes fluttered shut.
A low, involuntary groan escaped him.
“Amisha… yahin swarg hai kya?”
She smiled, kept going, nails lightly scratching his scalp now, sending shivers down his spine.
Minutes passed in perfect silence (only the faint rustle of her bangles and his steady breathing).
Her hands slowed… slowed… then stopped.
Abhiraj waited for the next stroke.
Nothing came.
He turned his head slightly and looked up.
Amisha had fallen asleep (just like that).
Head tilted back against the couch, lips slightly parted, one hand still loosely resting on his forehead, the other limp on his chest.
Peaceful.
Glowing.
Completely knocked out without warning (classic pregnant-wife energy).
Abhiraj stared for a long second, then chuckled (soft, helpless, utterly in love).
“Ek minute bhi nahi dekh sakti bina soye,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Carefully, he lifted her hands, slid out from between her legs, and stood.
He scooped her up (effortless, like she weighed nothing), carried her the three steps to the bed, and laid her down gently.
Pulled the light razai over her shoulders, tucked a pillow under her bump, another under her knees.
Then he sat on the edge, brushed the hair from her face, and just watched her sleep.
A minute turned into five.
Finally he leaned down, kissed her forehead, and murmured against her skin
“Tu soi ja, meri neend.
Main company waalon ko phone pe hi dhamka doonga.”
And with that, the angry lion stayed right where he was (beside his sleeping queen),
because some things (like her peaceful face and the tiny life under her heart) were far more important than any cheating company in the world.
Abhiraj was still sitting on the bed’s edge, thumb brushing Amisha’s cheek while she slept, when his phone buzzed angrily on the side table.
He glanced at the screen:
“Vikas – Jaipur Office”.
He sighed, stood up carefully so the mattress wouldn’t shift, and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door softly behind him.
The moment he accepted the call, the man on the other end started spilling everything in a panicked rush.
“Sir… bill of lading fake tha… teen container khali bheje gaye… accounts mein 42 crore ka hole dikh raha hai… manager aur accountant dono milke…”
Abhiraj’s face turned to stone.
His voice dropped to that terrifying whisper that made grown men cry.
“42 crore?
Aur tum log ab bata rahe ho?
Main abhi aata hoon.
Jisne bhi haath saaf kiya hai, uski saari zindagi ki kamai aaj nikaal doonga.
Samjhe?”
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t need to.
Every word was ice-cold steel.
The man stammered apologies.
Abhiraj cut the call with one brutal swipe.
For three full seconds he stood completely still in the corridor, fist clenched so tight the phone creaked.
Then he exhaled through his nose, turned, and punched the wooden pillar once (hard enough that the entire corridor vibrated).
THUD!
From downstairs, Minakshi Ma’s amused voice floated up.
“Arre waah! Puri haveli hil gayi Abhiraj ke gusse se!
Shanti, beta, shanti!
Amisha aur pota-potii ko bhi hila doge!”
Megha, somewhere near the staircase, added in a sing-song.
“Bhaiya, chill karo! Baby ko gussa aayega toh apke jaisa gunda banega!”
Abhiraj closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead, and actually let out a small, reluctant chuckle despite the volcano inside him.
He looked back at the closed bedroom door (behind which his wife and his baby’s entire universe was sleeping peacefully).
The volcano cooled (just enough).
He took a deep breath, muttered under his breath
“Shanti… haan theek hai.”
Then, instead of storming out to burn the company down, he opened the door quietly, slipped back inside, and sat on the chair beside the bed again.
Phone on silent.
Hand gently placed on Amisha’s sleeping belly.
He would handle the betrayal.
But right now, the only thing that mattered was the tiny heartbeat under his palm and the woman carrying it.
Everything else could wait.
(Or burn later.)