Lucky To Have You

Happy days

ANANYA’S POV

The days slipped into a steady rhythm at Varun’s home. I had gradually fallen into the warmth of the household, feeling more like I belonged here than I’d ever expected.

Every day, I found myself pulled deeper into the little moments that made this family so tight-knit—the teasing exchanges at breakfast, the way Nitika would always set aside an extra plate for anyone running late, the way Kiyansh’s laughter echoed through the halls.

But it was Varun who left me the most conflicted.

One evening, after dinner, as I sat in the living room flipping through a magazine, Varun walked in. He looked a little hesitant but determined.

I glanced up, a bit surprised, and he motioned towards the seat next to me. Without a word, he sat down, and the air between us grew heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“So…” he began, his voice low, “I was wondering. How are you finding it here?”

I smiled softly, unsure how much to reveal. “Honestly? Better than I thought. Your family has been incredibly kind to me.”

He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “They’ve taken a real liking to you. Even Kiyansh, and he’s a tough critic.”

We both laughed, a comfortable warmth settling in. For a second, his eyes lingered on mine, and I felt something shift—something subtle but undeniable.

“Look, Ananya,” he continued, his tone shifting to something more serious. “I know this whole arrangement… it’s unusual. I never planned on doing things this way. But somehow, it’s been… better than I expected.”

I looked at him, my heart pounding a little faster. “I didn’t expect it to feel this… natural.”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t think I’d end up actually caring about what you thought. But here we are.”

There was something vulnerable in his words, something honest that cut through the usual guarded expression he wore.

For the first time, I saw him not as “Mr. Attitude” but as Varun—the man beneath the layers of expectation and reservation.

“Maybe,” I said quietly, “this doesn’t have to be just an arrangement. Maybe we can see where this leads, without the pressure.”

Varun’s gaze softened, and he nodded, reaching out to take my hand for the first time. His touch was warm, grounding me.

And in that moment, I felt a spark of something I hadn’t anticipated—a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t just a duty to fulfill but the beginning of something real.

One afternoon,

while I was helping Nitika Aunty prepare lunch, she suddenly stopped and handed me a piece of dough.

“Here, Ananya beta. Show me how you roll a roti!” She smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I laughed nervously. “Oh, I don’t know if mine will turn out round like yours, Aunty!”

She chuckled. “Who cares about round? The secret ingredient is love.”

As we laughed, I felt a warmth spread through me. It was moments like these, with her easygoing warmth, that made me realize how much I valued being part of a family like this.

Aunty gave me tips on cooking, and soon, I had a small stack of rotis next to hers—imperfect but filled with a happiness I hadn’t known in a long time.

When lunch was ready, we gathered at the table, and Kiyansh immediately noticed my “not-so-round” rotis. He poked one and made a face.

"Ananya, did you make these?”

I nodded, a little embarrassed. “Yes, don’t look at them too closely, Kiyansh. They’re a bit… artistic.”

Everyone burst out laughing, and even Varun, who usually sat across from me quietly, gave me a smile. I found myself looking at him, feeling an unfamiliar flutter.

Kiyansh took a big bite of the oddly-shaped rotis, his face lighting up with delight. “Mmm! Auntie Ananya, these are amazing! Even if they look... um, a little funny!”

The whole table chuckled, and I gave him a playful glare. “Thanks for the honesty, little critic. Guess I need to work on my ‘presentation skills.’”

Varun leaned forward, smirking. “Yeah, maybe a bit. But don’t worry, not everyone can make ‘perfect rotis’ like you do either.”

I rolled my eyes, catching the sarcasm in his tone. “Alright, Mr. Chef. I’d like to see you make them yourself sometime.”

Varun shrugged, taking another roti, examining it with exaggerated interest. “Maybe I will. Though I’m not sure if I’d manage this level of… creativity. Are they all supposed to be different shapes, or was that just an artistic choice?”

Before I could retort, Varun’s dad chimed in, giving Varun a playful nudge. “Son, don’t tease her too much. I remember your first cooking attempts—didn’t you burn water?”

Everyone laughed, and Varun held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I guess we’ve all had our moments. But, Ananya, I must say, these rotis have… character.”

Shweta leaned over, winking at me. “Don’t let him get to you, Ananya. I think he’s just trying to hide the fact that he’s already eaten three of them.”

Varun gave her a look, caught with a mouthful. “I’m just making sure they’re, you know… edible for everyone else. Safety check.”

I raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “Really, Varun? You’re doing this as a service for us?”

He winked back, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping so only I could hear. “Well, someone has to look out for you, right?”

I felt my cheeks heat up as he grinned, and the rest of the table was blissfully unaware of our little exchange.

But the warmth of the family around me, the gentle teasing, and even Varun’s mischievous jabs, all made me feel like I truly belonged here.