[61]NAMING CEREMONY
The living room was full to the brim-guests seated on every available sofa, chair, and floor cushion, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers, incense, and the sweets being passed around on silver trays.
The pandit had just finished the final blessings, the small fire in the havan kund still crackling softly.
Everyone's eyes were bright with anticipation.
The star of the day, little Aviraj, slept peacefully in Amisha's arms as she sat in the large central armchair.
Abhiraj stood behind her, one hand resting lightly on the back of the chair, the other occasionally brushing her shoulder (protective, proud, eyes soft whenever they fell on her or the baby).
Only they knew the name.
The rest of the family and guests waited eagerly.
Megha, who had been bouncing with nervous energy all morning, finally stood up in the centre of the room.
She cleared her throat dramatically.
"Amm... toh naam hai..."
Everyone leaned forward.
Megha took a deep breath, cheeks pink.
"Aviraj.
Aviraj Abhiraj Singh Shekhawat."
Silence for half a second.
Then the room erupted.
Dadi clapped her hands, eyes shining.
"Hayee... Aviraj! Kitna sundar naam!
Bilku Shekhawat ke liye perfect!"
Minakshi Ma smiled wide, tears in her eyes.
"Aviraj... bahut achha.
Veer aur raj-mera pota toh veer hi banega."
Rajveer Papa nodded proudly.
"Aviraj Abhiraj Singh Shekhawat...
badhiya hai."
Karishma and Shushila both cooed,
"Kitna pyara naam!"
Mihir and Shatish grinned, giving Megha thumbs-up.
The guests murmured approval.
"Bahut sundar naam hai."
"Bilku sarpanch ji ke bete ke liye."
"Long live Aviraj!"
Megha beamed, relief and happiness flooding her face.
Amisha looked up at Abhiraj, eyes soft.
He smiled down at her, fingers brushing her shoulder.
Perfect.
The pandit announced the name officially for the records.
Then the mood shifted to celebration.
Servants began serving the grand feast-puri, aloo sabzi, kheer, gulab jamun, and more.
Guests congratulated the parents, touching Aviraj's feet, offering small gifts and envelopes.
Vedant stepped forward last, holding a beautifully wrapped box.
He handed it to Amisha with a grin.
"Badhaai ho, bhabhi.
Aur yeh mere taraf se chhote sher ke liye."
Amisha smiled warmly.
"Dhanyavaad, Vedant bhaiya."
Abhiraj clasped his shoulder.
"Shukriya, yaar."
Vedant winked at the baby.
"Aviraj... naam bhi mera suggestion tha na?"
Megha protested immediately.
"Nahi! Mera tha!"
Laughter all around.
The naming ceremony was complete.
The food was served.
The haveli rang with joy.
And little Aviraj Shekhawat-officially named-slept through it all,
safe in his mother's arms,
with his father's hand never far away.
The guests had left hours ago, the naming ceremony a joyful memory of blessings, laughter, and too many sweets.
Now only the close family remained, gathered around the massive teak dining table for a quiet late dinner.
The room was warm (heavy winter curtains drawn, a small heater humming in the corner), the air thick with the lingering scent of rich Rajasthani food-dal baati, gatte ki sabzi, ker sangri, and bowls of steaming rice.
Half the table was empty, chairs pushed in.
At one end: Dadi, Minakshi Ma, and Rajveer Papa, talking softly about tomorrow's temple visit.
On the other side: Mihir, Karishma, Shatish, Shushila, and Megha, laughing over something Megha had said about Aviraj's future mischief.
And at the corner, facing each other across the narrow width of the table:
Abhiraj and Amisha.
Aviraj was sleeping.
It should have been calm.
It wasn't.
The space between them was heavy (hot, charged, silent).
Amisha was still angry.
Very angry.
And she had decided to make him pay.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Abhiraj's gaze was fixed on her.
He had thought the anger had cooled after the ceremony.
Who was he kidding?
She was teasing him (mercilessly, perfectly).
Her pallu had "slipped" just enough (one side fallen low, leaning forward as she ate, giving him a perfect, private view down her blouse).
Her breasts (fuller now, pressing together with every breath) rose and fell in slow rhythm.
His eyes roamed (helpless, hungry).
From her eyes (killer, dark, knowing exactly what she was doing).
To her lips (soft, curved in the tiniest smirk).
To her beautiful neck (smooth, unmarked-yet).
To her collarbone.
Then lower.
To the deep shadow between her breasts, squeezed together, rising and falling.
He swallowed hard.
Under the table, her bare foot brushed his leg (slow, teasing strokes of her toes along his calf).
Innocent face above (eating calmly, talking to Minakshi Ma when spoken to).
Below (pure torture).
Then she gathered her long hair, pulled it over one shoulder (exposing the full length of her neck, the curve of her shoulder).
His vision hazed.
He gripped his spoon tighter.
She reached for her glass, leaned forward again (pallu slipping further).
He thought (prayed) she would adjust it.
Instead, she casually opened one more hook of her blouse (just one, hidden from everyone else).
He only wanted to two things right now.break the bed with her or adjust that pallu.
But Only he could see.
His eyes widened.
Breath caught.
Don't worry-no one else noticed.
The angle was perfect.
Only him.
Front row to hell.
Amisha looked up, met his gaze.
Innocent eyes.
Tiny smirk.
She took a slow bite of baati, licked a drop of ghee from her lip.
His control snapped (just a little).
He shifted in his seat.
The heavy, hot silence between them stretched.
The family talked on, oblivious.
Dadi laughing at something Megha said.
Minakshi Ma serving more dal.
But at their corner of the table?
War.
Silent.
Burning.
And Amisha was winning.
Beautifully.
Abhiraj's eyes promised revenge.
Later.
When they were alone.
For now, he suffered (gladly, helplessly).
Because even her anger was the hottest thing he had ever known.
She had been eating slowly, pallu "accidentally" slipped low, leaning forward every time she reached for something.
Abhiraj had stopped eating minutes ago.
His spoon lay forgotten beside his plate.
He couldn't taste anything anymore.
Only her.
Now she stood up gracefully, plate in hand.
"I'll get water."
She leaned across the table toward the steel jug placed near him (slow, deliberate, body arching forward).
The movement gave him the perfect, private view.
Her saree pallu fell further aside.
Her blouse stretched tight, breasts hanging heavy and soft as she leaned (full, round, the deep shadow between them visible only to him).
The scent of her (mogra from her hair, rose from her skin, and that warm, milky sweetness that was only hers now) drifted straight to him.
His breath caught.
He forgot the room existed.
Forgot the family.
Forgot his own name.
Amisha took the jug, poured water into her glass, all while giving him that view (knowing exactly what she was doing).
Then she straightened, turned, and walked away toward the wash area at the end of the room (hips swaying just a little more than usual).
Abhiraj stood immediately (almost knocking his chair).
Rolled his shirt cuffs higher (slow, deliberate, like he was preparing for something).
And followed her.
The family didn't notice (or pretended not to we doesn't know who noticed).
His reflection in the mirror above the basin met her eyes.
She raised an eyebrow.
He smirked (dark, hungry).
Game on.
Round two had just begun.
And this time, he wasn't planning to lose.