'Ishan Oberoi' - The name that echoes success, power, and resilience. A rising billionaire who carved his empire with his own hands, refusing to ride on his father's wealth. Yet, he never turned his back on his responsibilities as a son. Balancing h...
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AUTHOR'S POV :
The girls woke up with pounding headaches, but for Aaradhna, it wasn’t just the hangover. A blunder had happened last night.
She got her periods. While she was drunk.
And it wasn’t her who handled the mess—it was her husband who cleaned her up. Even though they had a three-year-old child together, the humiliation clawed at her chest. Embarrassment flooded every corner of her being.
More than embarrassed—she was furious. Irritated. Frustrated. Maybe it was the mood swings, maybe it was the vulnerability of being seen so raw, so exposed. All she knew was that she wanted the earth to swallow her whole. That’s why she had been ignoring him completely, avoiding his gaze, his voice, his presence.
Carrying a few clothes in her hands, she entered their room. She carefully placed them inside the cupboard, then slammed the door shut with deliberate force. Her husband didn’t even look up. His eyes remained glued to his laptop screen, as if nothing had happened.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood in front of him, her anger simmering. The words slipped out of her mouth before her mind could even process them. “I want a divorce.”
The sound of her own voice startled her, but she didn’t take it back. Not now.
Agastya finally lifted his head, his expression calm, almost amused. He passed her a small smile—one that only stoked her irritation further.
“Haso mat aur woh–woh wali flirting line toh bilkul mat bolna,” she snapped, pointing a finger at him.
(Don’t laugh. And don’t you dare say that flirting line either.)
Agastya bit the inside of his cheek, trying to control the smile threatening to tug at his lips. Rising from his chair, he tilted his head.
“Konsi line?”
(Which line?)
Her eyes widened, heat rushing to her cheeks. She took a step back, “Wahi wali ke sardiyon mein toh bilkul nahi dunga.”
(The one where you say you’ll never give me a divorce in winters.)
“Acha?” His voice softened, teasing. In one swift move, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.
(Oh really?)
“Haan, hato ab jaane do mujhe!” She struggled, wiggling in his grip, trying to free herself.
(Yes, now let me go!)
But his hold only tightened, grounding her in place. His eyes locked on hers, unwavering. “Biwi ho tum meri. Mere bache ki maa. Jitni zarurat jeene ke liye mujhe tumhari sardiyon mein hai, utni hi saal ke har din hai. Kuch nahi hoon main tumhare bina.”
