Tu Chahiye

"Namaste, Bhabhi ji!" Shiv chirped from the other end of the call.

"Khush rahiye, devar ji," I replied, unable to hide the smile stretching across my lips or the warmth blooming on my cheeks.

Of course I was his bhabhi. At least in my head, in my delusional little universe where impossible things somehow felt one prayer away from reality.

"Aur bataiye," I leaned back against my pillow, twirling a strand of hair around my finger, trying-and failing-to sound casual. "Unka aaj ka routine kya hai?"

By now, this had practically become a ritual. From stalking him through every social media update to now having an actual insider report his day to me like some exclusive subscription service I was emotionally dependent on.

But this time, the other end fell silent.

I frowned, sitting up straighter. "Hello? Shiv? Kya hua?" I asked, my voice still light and bubbly, though threaded with a flicker of concern.

A beat passed.

"Looks like you're a little too eager to become Shiv's bhabhi, Miss Nervous."

The world stopped.

Not literally, of course. The fan was still spinning lazily above my head, the city outside was still breathing, cars still moving, people still existing. But my heart? Oh, that traitor had forgotten its basic biological function.

Because that voice-low, slightly raspy with sleep, and dipped in shameless amusement-did not belong to Shiv.

It belonged to him.

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Experience this absolutely "butterfly to stomach giving" journey of Avir Rathore and Vaanya Yadav in the own delulu world of your author. 🤫💋
(Ongoing)