"Happy Married Life, Shivya Pathak" I weakly smiled seeing my condition, mangalsutra dangling in my neck, vermilion in hair and both hands filled with gold bangles.
"Come out quickly or do you want me to break the gate," my husband knocked again...
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After knocking on the door for nearly two full minutes, Ashray finally opened it, appearing in front of me in nothing but his boxers, completely unbothered by either his state or the urgency of my presence.
With a teasing smirk playing on his lips, he leaned casually against the doorframe and said, “What’s the hurry this early in the morning? Did Shivya leave you already?”
“Bhabhi. Call her Bhabhi?” I corrected him firmly as I pushed past him and walked into his room without waiting for an invitation.
Closing the door behind me, he let out a small laugh and replied in an easy tone, “Actually, bhabhi herself told me that I could call her by her name since I’m older than her. You know, it’s about respect.”
I turned to look at him, clearly unimpressed, but he only raised his hands in mock surrender before continuing, “Vivaan, on the other hand, outright refused. He said you would probably kill him if he ever tried addressing her by her name, so he decided to stick with ‘bhabhi.’”
Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “But I can do it. It’s not like you can kill me.”
“Who told you that I cannot?” I responded calmly.
He immediately clutched his chest in exaggerated shock, taking a dramatic step back as if wounded. “That’s harsh. I always thought we were best friends,” he said with feigned hurt.
“She is my wife,” I replied, my tone leaving no room for argument.
He paused for a moment before raising both hands again, surrendering with a light chuckle. “Alright, alright. No need to get territorial. ‘Bhabhi’ it is. I have no problem with that.”
He tilted his head slightly and asked, “But why were you practically breaking down my door so early in the morning? What exactly is going on?”
“Put on some clothes first,” I said, giving him a pointed look before continuing. “Yesterday, my aunt brought a man and his mother to the house. Kashish had gone to pick them up. I need to have a conversation with them.”
The lightness in his expression began to fade as he listened “My wife did not like them at all,” I added, my voice hardening. “And from what she told me, I need to understand where they found the audacity to come into our house and disrespect my wife and my sisters.”
Ashray’s posture straightened, the situation now clearly registering with him. “I might need your help during that conversation,” I finished.
Without wasting another moment, he grabbed a T-shirt and slipped it on before saying, “Alright, let’s go.” However, I did not move. Instead, I looked at him in silence, my expression making him pause.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Are you planning to traumatize the entire family by walking downstairs like that?” I said dryly. “At least put on a pair of pants.”
