[76]
The Bullet’s engine thrummed low and steady on the peaceful country road leading out of the city. No traffic, no honking, just open sky and endless green fields stretching on both sides.
Farms rolled by—golden wheat swaying gently, sugarcane standing tall, the occasional cluster of cows grazing lazily under neem trees.
Abhiraj rode with his usual quiet confidence, hair ruffled by the wind.
The Bullet’s deep rumble matched the calm rhythm of the countryside.
Amisha sat behind him on the pillion seat, both hands resting lightly on his shoulders for balance. One hand stayed there, fingers curled against his shirt, while the other rested in her lap.
Her hair flew behind her in dark, wild waves, catching the golden afternoon light. She wore a simple cream kurti and jeans, dupatta tucked safely around her neck so it wouldn’t fly away.
The road was almost empty. Every now and then a tractor passed, or a villager on a bicycle. Each time someone recognized them, they would slow down, fold their hands, and call out warmly.
“Namaste Sarpanch ji!”
“Namaste Bhabhi ji!”
Abhiraj raised one hand in silent acknowledgment each time, never breaking speed. Amisha smiled and nodded back, waving gently with her free hand.
The wind was cool and sweet with the smell of earth and cut grass.
Amisha rested her chin lightly on Abhiraj’s shoulder, voice soft against the rumble of the engine.
“Bachche theek honge na?”
Abhiraj’s lips curved slightly.
“Haan… theek honge. Megna ke ghar pe toh hain.
Maje kar rahe honge Tara ke saath.”
Amisha nodded against his back.
Her fingers tightened a little on his shoulder.
The road curved gently ahead, farms giving way to more open land dotted with trees.
She closed her eyes for a second, breathing in the clean air, feeling the warmth of his back, the steady vibration of the Bullet beneath them.
Everything felt right.
No chaos.
No children tugging at her.
Just them.
The road.
The wind.
And each other.
??
T
he Bullet slowed as they entered the city limits. Traffic thickened instantly—cars honking, scooters weaving between lanes, autorickshaws darting like insects, people crossing roads without a care.
The peaceful farms and open sky were replaced by tall buildings, neon signs, and the constant hum of urban life.
Abhiraj navigated the chaos with calm precision, one hand on the throttle, the other resting on the tank. Amisha sat behind him, one hand still lightly on his shoulder for balance, the other in her lap.
Her hair flew wildly in the wind, cream kurti fluttering against her back.
He raised his voice slightly over the engine and traffic noise.
“Kahan jaana hai, batao.”
Amisha leaned forward a little, chin near his shoulder.
“Main toh pehli baar aayi hu… aapko pata hai yahan kya kya hota hai.”
Abhiraj chuckled once, the sound low and warm.
“Mall, restaurant, cinema, garden… highway… aur bhi bohot kuchh.”
Amisha thought for a second, then smiled against the wind.
“Chalo pehle mall mein jaate hain… ghumte hain.”
He nodded.
“Thik hai.”
After some time—fighting through signals and crowded roads—they reached the big mall in the city center.
Abhiraj parked the Bullet in the designated two-wheeler area, killed the engine, and stepped off first. He turned and offered his hand to help Amisha down.
She took it, hopped off lightly, and adjusted her dupatta.
The mall entrance was grand—glass doors, bright lights, air-conditioning blasting out cool air as soon as they stepped inside.
Amisha held her dupatta in one hand to keep it from slipping, walking a little ahead.
Abhiraj followed slightly behind and to her side, hands in his pockets, eyes on her.
He watched the way she moved—free, happy, eyes wide and curious like a child seeing everything for the first time.
A small smile stayed on his face the whole time.
He spoke softly.
“Chalo… kuch kharidi karte hain.
Tumhare kapde, bachhon ke, sabke… kuch pasand aaye toh.”
Amisha nodded, smiling.
“Haan.”
They walked through the mall—past perfume counters, jewelry shops, shoe stores. Amisha looked at everything, sometimes stopping to touch a dress or look at a display, sometimes just licking her lips at the smell of food from the food court.
Finally, her eyes landed on one particular shop.
It looked luxurious—glass walls, soft lighting, mannequins dressed in elegant clothes—but the clothes themselves looked comfortable and pretty, not too heavy or showy.
Amisha’s face lit up.
She immediately grabbed Abhiraj’s hand and dragged him inside.
“Chalo yahan!”
The shop was huge—sections for women, men, children, older people, everything. Racks of kurtas, sarees, lehengas, shirts, dresses, everything neatly arranged.
A
misha looked around, excited.
“Kahan se shuru karein, pehle bataiye.”
Abhiraj glanced around once, then spoke calmly.
“Pehle tumhare kapde lete hain.”
He walked toward the women’s section.
They found a quiet corner with cushioned seats near the saree displays.
Both sat down.
A salesman came immediately, greeted them respectfully.
“Namaste sir, ma’am.Kya dikhaun?”
Amisha smiled politely.
“Bhaiya… roz pehen sake aisi simple saree dikhaiye.”
The salesman nodded.
“Okay ma’am.”
He started pulling out sarees—simple border ones, plain with thin zari lines, light pastel colors, soft fabrics.
Amisha checked each one, running her fingers over the material, then passed them to Abhiraj.
“Kaisi hai?”
He leaned close, took the saree from her hand.
Touched the fabric carefully.
“Saree toh achhi hai…”
He turned it over, checked the back side where the print was.
“…par peeche print rough hai. Nahi chalegi...chubegi.”
Amisha and the salesman both looked shocked.they had noticed these much details.
The salesman had shown the saree as premium, but Abhiraj caught the tiny detail in seconds.what will be uncomfortable and irritating.
Amisha passed another one.
Abhiraj checked again.
“Blouse material bhi itna soft nahi… nahi chalega.”
Amisha laughed softly, shaking her head.
“Ab aap hi pasand kar lo… mujhe toh nahi hoga.”
Abhiraj nodded to the salesman.
“Achhe fabric wali saree dikhao.
Looks matters less than comfort.”
The salesman nodded quickly.
He brought out around 12–13 sarees—pastel shades (mint green, soft peach, lavender, baby pink), light cotton-silk blends, simple borders, no heavy work, perfect for daily wear.
He laid them out on the counter.
Abhiraj picked from them.
Amisha’s eyes lit up.
“Arey waah… aap kya London mein saree pehente the? Itni achhi pasand!”
They were beautiful—comfortable, elegant, exactly what she needed.
Abhiraj looked at her.
“Itni sahi hai ya aur lein?”
Amisha laughed.
“Kya itni sahi…?”
He shrugged.
“Haan toh… aur le lete hain.”
She shook her head.
“Are bohot zyada hai… 5 chalengi.”
Abhiraj looked at the salesman.
He pointed to all 12–13.
“Pack kar do.”
Amisha stared at him.
They moved to the other sections.
Simple kurtas and palazzos.
They picked around three kurtas—not more, since she already had enough.
Then 3–4 thin, simple dupattas—light colors, breathable fabrics.
Abhiraj paid without letting her argue.
As they walked out of the shop, bags in hand, Amisha looked up at him.
“Shukriya…”
He just nodded, small smile on his face.
“Chalo… aur kuchh dekhna hai?”
Amisha looked around the women’s section, satisfied with the sarees they had already picked. She turned to Abhiraj with a soft smile.
“Chaliye ab… bachhon ke liye kapde le lete hain.”
Abhiraj nodded.
“Haan chalo.”
They moved toward the kids’ section.
The area was bright and colorful—racks full of tiny dresses, shirts, shorts, jackets, everything in cheerful patterns and soft fabrics.
Amisha’s eyes lit up.
She started browsing carefully, picking out things for their children first.
For Abhira : a few pretty frocks—white with blue flowers, pink with tiny hearts, one yellow sundress with ruffles. She held each one up, imagining how cute Abhira would look.
For Aviraj : crisp shirts in navy and white, a couple of cargo shorts, one black hoodie he would love.
For Aryan : blue jackets with cartoon patches, comfortable t-shirts, jeans with fun prints.
She didn’t stop there.
She also picked for the other children—Yug, Nandini, Tara and more...
A few dresses for Nandini, t-shirts and shorts for Yug, a cute top and skirt set for Tara.
Abhiraj watched her quietly, a small smile on his face as she moved from rack to rack like a mother on a mission.
Then she stopped at one particular dress.
It was beautiful—soft mint green frock with delicate lace on the sleeves and hem, tiny embroidered flowers on the chest. Perfect for Abhira.
Amisha held it up, smiling.
“Ye kitni pyari hai… Abhira ke liye bilkul perfect hai.”
She turned to show Abhiraj.
But he was a few steps away, looking at shirts for Aryan.
“Abhiraj! Ye dekho!”
He looked up, nodded.
“Bahut achhi hai. Le lo.”
Abhiraj called her over.
“Amisha… ye shirt Aryan ke liye theek hai?”
She walked to him, looked at the blue checkered shirt he was holding.
“Haan… bohot achhi hai.lelo.”
She turned back to where she had left the mint green dress.
It was gone.
She blinked.
Looked left.
Right.
Under the rack.
On the floor.
Nothing.
The dress had vanished.
She frowned, confused.
Abhi toh yahan rakha tha…
She turned to another rack, thinking maybe she misplaced it.
Then she looked back.
The dress was there again—exactly where she had left it, hanging neatly.
Amisha’s eyes went wide.
Shock.
What the hell is happening here?
She looked sideways—checked if someone was playing a prank, if some child had taken it and put it back.
No one.
No one at all.
From behind, Abhiraj’s voice came.
“Arey kya hua? Kya dhund rahi ho?”
Amisha jumped slightly, turned to him.
She forced a smile.
“Kuch bhi toh nahi…”
She quickly grabbed the mint green dress (again), held it tightly this time, and added it to their pile.
Still confused.
Still wondering how it disappeared and reappeared.
She shook it off.
Then her eyes fell on another there were beutiful saree's for women.
She spotted one for Minakshi Ma—soft peach silk with a thin gold border, simple but elegant.
She picked it up.
“Ye ma ke liye achhi hai.”
Abhiraj looked, nodded.
“Bahut achhi hai. Le lo.”
They added it to the bags.
Suddenly Amisha heard a faint sound—like someone whispering her name.
She turned quickly.
Nothing.
No one there.
She frowned again.
Then shrugged.
Pagal ho rahi hu kya main?
Abhiraj was already at the counter, paying.
Amisha followed him still a little unsettled but trying not to show it.
The salesman smiled politely.
“Anything else, ma’am?”
Amisha shook her head.
“Bas… thank you.”
Abhiraj glanced at Amisha.
“Ab aur kuchh?”
Amisha nodded, eyes scanning the shops.
“Haan… aapke liye.”
Abhiraj shook his head once, smiling faintly.
“Simple kapde hain mere paas. Suits yahan milenge nahi.”
Amisha didn’t listen.
She grabbed his hand and dragged him forward.
“Arey chalo… shayad kuch achha mil jaaye.”
They roamed a little more.
Passed a few sections—casual wear, formal, sportswear.
Amisha stopped at one particular section.
She was looking at shirts—simple, crisp ones that would suit Abhiraj’s everyday style.
Abhiraj stood behind her, arms crossed, watching her browse.
Then he pointed to another side.
“Udhar dekho… hum le lein ye tumhare liye.”
Amisha turned to see what he was showing.
Her eyes widened.
A soft gasp left her mouth.
It was the lingerie section.
Hot nighties, lacy bras, silk slips, delicate panties—all displayed on mannequins and glass shelves.
The lighting was soft, seductive, with a glowing neon sign: “Life is better in Italian Lingerie.”
Amisha’s cheeks went red instantly.
She turned her face back to the shirts, pretending to look at them.
Abhiraj stepped closer, voice low and teasing.
“Kya bolti ho… le le.”
Amisha shook her head fast.
“Nhi… nhi!”
He smiled—naughty, slow.
“Chalo lete hain. Mujhe dekhna hai tumne inme.”
Amisha’s face burned.
She whispered.
“Na… nhi!
Aisi cheezein kyun leni jinka koi use hona ho…
jab kuch cover hi nahi hone wala toh main kyun lu?
Useless hai mere liye.”
Abhiraj leaned closer, voice dropping even lower.
“Par maine liye toh useful hai na?”
Amisha’s eyes widened.
“Kya bole aap?!”
He gave her an innocent, toothy smile—puppy eyes on full display.
“Lelo na…baby”
Amisha turned her face away, cheeks flaming.
“Aapko jo lena hai woh leke aao… jao.”
Abhiraj chuckled softly.
Then—without another word—he walked straight toward the lingerie section.
Amisha stared after him, mouth open.
“Kya insaan hai… chale bhi gaye.
Sharam bhi nahi aayi aise section mein jaate hue.”
She shook her head, still red.
Then turned back to the shirts.
She picked 2–3 simple ones for him—crisp white, light grey, one navy blue—all comfortable and elegant.
After some time, Abhiraj came back.
His hands were full.
Multiple bags—black, sleek, with the lingerie store’s logo.
Amisha’s eyes widened.
“Itna sab?!”
He shrugged casually.
“Haan… tumko roz bhi zarurat hogi na.”
He lifted one bag slightly and pulled out a lacy black underwear set—tiny, delicate, held between two fingers.
“He kabhi kabhi pehen lena.”
He showed another—comfortable bra and panty set, soft cotton, simple colors.
Amisha’s face was now tomato-red.
She nodded quickly—almost ran to the counter.
Abhiraj followed, chuckling behind her.
At the main counter, all the shopping was piled up—sarees, kurtas, kids’ clothes, dupattas, and now… the lingerie bags.
It was a lot.
Amisha stared at the mountain
.
“Ye sab kaise le jayenge hum?”
Abhiraj looked at the salesman.
“Chalo… mera aadmi le jayega.”
They walked out of the shop.
Amisha still flushed.
Abhiraj walking beside her, hands in pockets, small satisfied smile on his face.
The mall lights reflected in his eyes.
And Amisha thought to herself:
Ye aadmi… sach mein…meto nhi pehnungi.par pehn to padega...liya hai to...chalo dekhte hai.
She shook her head.
But the smile stayed on her face too.