🩷🩷 ISHANI CHAUHAN 🩷🩷

“Ishu beta… wake up,” a soft voice called out, brushing through the morning haze like sunshine through drawn curtains. Gentle fingers stroked my forehead, and I slowly fluttered my eyes open.

My bhabhi sat beside me, smiling in that calming way only she could. “Aaj aapka entrance result hai, yaad hai na?”

And just like that, the sleep disappeared from my eyes.

I sat up instantly, wrapping my arms around her. “Good morning, bhabhi!” I murmured into her shoulder, a nervous smile already forming. “Bhabhi… do you think I’ll be able to clear the criteria for even one of the top 20 colleges?”

Her eyes softened as she cupped my face. “Beta, ofcourse you will get what you want. Don’t worry, okay? Now freshen up, everyone is waiting downstairs.”

She leaned forward and kissed the top of my head before walking out, leaving behind the scent of roses and reassurance.

The anxiety in my stomach twisted as I walked to the bathroom. A good college... at least if not the top one? I splashed cold water on my face and stared into the mirror. The reflection staring back was nervous but hopeful. You’ve worked for this, Ishani. You can do this.

After a quick shower, I slipped into a fresh shorts and tshirt and tied my half wet hair in a messy braid. The butterflies in my stomach were now doing a full-on dance as I made my way downstairs.

The scent of parathas, ghee, and fresh coriander hit me before anything else.

“Papa!” I exclaimed as I spotted him on the head chair, hidden behind his massive newspaper.

He looked up, folded the paper neatly, and opened his arms.

“Good morning, my princess.” he said, kissing my forehead as I hugged him tightly.

I took my seat beside him just as my bhabhi came out of the kitchen, her dupatta trailing behind her… and my bhaiya following her like a lost puppy, holding the edge of that same dupatta with a ridiculous pout.

I giggled. Pata nahi iss duniya mein hume bhi koi aise chahega ya nahi?

Bhabhi shot him a sharp look, and he instantly dropped the dupatta and took his seat beside her, pretending to be all innocent. The staff followed behind with trays of food, placing it elegantly on the grand dining table.

As the aroma of breakfast filled the air, I couldn’t help but ask, “Papa… mummy kab aayengi?”

He lowered the newspaper and looked at me for a second longer than usual. “Beta… jab aapki mausi unhe aane denge, tab aa jayengi.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just quiet.

Bhaiya, as usual, couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Every now and then, I saw his fingers sneak to bhabhi’s hand or neck, teasing her gently. She kept jerking his hand away with a sharp side-eye that only made him smirk more.

I giggled.

Papa raised an eyebrow. “Kya hua, Isha?”

I looked at bhabhi, who now stared at me with that please don’t snitch expression.

“Bas wo ek joke yaad aaya,” I lied, biting back my smile.

Papa shook his head. “Beta, eat properly. What if you choke on the food, haan?”

“okay papa.” I said with a grin, picking up my paratha and dipping it in chutney. The butterflies were still there, but somehow, around this dining table, everything felt lighter.

We ate in silence… well, as much silence as possible when bhaiya was still busy flirting and bhabhi was still pretending to be annoyed.

Today’s the day, I reminded myself. Everything could change… or maybe nothing would. But either way—this is where my story begins.

The plates were almost empty when papa leaned back in his chair and said, “Trisha beta, aap Ishu ka result check kijiye. Aap to humara lucky charm hai jo bolengi accha hi hoga.”

Bhabhi smiled, wiping her hands on her dupatta. “Papa aap bhi na…”

But she took out her phone anyway. My heart began to race. My fingers were literally trembling beneath the table.

Bhabhi opened the website, her eyes scanning quickly.

And then—her smile slowly faded. Her brows knit together. She looked up at papa… then at bhaiya… and finally, at me.

My heart sank.

“Nahi hua kya, bhabhi?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

There was a beat of silence… then suddenly, bhabhi's lips curled into the widest grin I had ever seen.

“Ishu bacche!” she squealed, almost breathless with excitement, “Tumhara naam Mumbai ke no. 1 Law College—The Institute of Law—ki cutoff list mein hai! Congratulations!”

For a moment, I couldn’t process her words. The institute of what!!? But the next moment—chaos.

Papa stood up and did a clumsy little dance. “Meri beti lawyer banegi!”

Bhaiya picked me up and twirled me in the air. “Yeh hui na Ishani Chauhan wali baat!”

I laughed breathlessly. “Bhabhi! I can’t believe it! Humara sach mei naam hai na?”

Bhaiya shook his head with mock disbelief. “Isha, aap itni padhaku hai? Mujhe toh pata hi nahi tha!”

“Kya bhaiya!” I smacked his arm playfully and threw myself into a hug with him.

Papa pulled me into a warm embrace next. “Meri princess lawyer banegi ab!”

Bhabhi joined us, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “Proud of you, Ishu,” she whispered.

I grabbed my phone, my hands still shaky, and dialed the most important number in my life.

“Mummy!” I shouted the moment she picked up.

“Ab kya kar diya aapne?” she asked teasingly.

“Mummy!!! Humara naam The Institute of Law ki cutoff list mein aa gaya hai!” I screamed, jumping in place.

“Arey waah!” she exclaimed. “Hum aaj hi aa rahe hain… arey Aaj kya, abhi aa rahe hain! Sab ready raho, mandir jaake bhagwan ka dhanyawaad karna hai!”

“Theek hai mummy!” I laughed. “Khush raho meri jaan.” she said before hanging up.

I stood there, grinning from ear to ear, as my heart danced inside my chest.

This was it.

I had made it.

After the call with mummy, I practically danced my way back to my room.

Clad in a beautiful orange suit that made my skin glow, I twirled in front of the mirror, my smile stretching from ear to ear. My little victory dance was clumsy, a mix of happy hopping and terrible twirls—but who cared? I had made it! The Institute of Law, Mumbai’s top college—I was going to be a student there!

Still beaming, I picked up two pairs of earrings—one gold, one diamond—and made my way to bhabhi’s room. As always, her opinion was final when it came to fashion.

I knocked on the door gently. “Bhabhi, it’s me!”

“Come in, beta!” her soft voice came from inside.

I pushed the door open and stopped, instantly smiling at the sight that greeted me—my bhaiya, down on one knee, carefully straightening the pleats of bhabhi’s saree like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Bhabhi, you look so so so beautiful!” I gushed.

She looked up, laughing warmly. “And you look like our sweet little sunshine.”

“Bhabhi, I need help,” I said, stepping in and holding out the earrings. “Gold or diamond? I’m confused!”

She took both, examining them with her usual thoughtful look, then shook her head. “None.”

I blinked. “None?”

“Wait here,” she said with a wink, heading to her closet. After a moment of digging through her wardrobe, she returned with a small velvet box. Inside was a pair of stunning emerald earrings that shimmered like little drops of royalty.

“Wear this,” she said, holding them out.

“Wow, bhabhi! I love you so much!” I squealed, hugging her from the side.

Before I could step back, bhaiya joined the hug from the other side. “I love you more than her,” he said dramatically.

Bhabhi rolled her eyes but giggled. “Jaldi ready ho jaiye varna mummy bata dengi kaun kitna pyaar karta hai!”

Laughing, I rushed back to my room with the earrings clutched to my chest.

I slipped them on and admired myself in the mirror. A little kajal, a tiny bindi, and there I was—ready to take on the world. Around my neck, my delicate butterfly pendant glinted gently in the sunlight.

It was my first gift from papa. He had given it to me the day I was born, and even after 17 years, it still looked brand new—just like his love. Timeless. Strong. Always close to my heart.

Just as I finished fixing my dupatta and giving my hair one last gentle pat, I heard papa’s voice echo up the stairs.

“Ishani beta! Jaldi neeche aao, surprise hai tumhare liye!”

Surprise?

I quickly slipped on my sandals and rushed down, the soft tinkle of my anklets following me. As I reached the final steps, my eyes widened—and my breath caught.

“Mummy!” I gasped, joy flooding my chest.

There she stood—my mother. Draped in a beautiful maroon saree, her face glowing with a warm smile that I had missed for weeks. I ran into her arms, wrapping myself tightly around her like a child.

“Mummy! Aap aa gayi!”

She stroked my head fondly, pressing a kiss on my hair. “Kaise naa aati? Meri beti ne Mumbai ke sabse bade law college mein naam jo kama liya hai.”

I grinned, tightening my hold for a second before finally letting go. Papa stood beside us, his hands joined behind his back, eyes soft with pride.

“Chalo sab log, mandir jaana hai.” he said with a gentle clap of his hands. “Aaj ka din bhagwan ka dhanyawaad karne wala hai.”

The family gathered at the entrance. Bhabhi quickly adjusted the pleats of her saree, and bhaiya grabbed the car keys. The staff handed over the prasad and offerings for the temple, and soon, we were on our way.

The temple wasn’t far, but the calmness of the road felt different today. Peaceful. Like even the air was blessing me.

When we arrived, I stepped out and looked at the ancient stone steps leading up to the temple.

I removed my sandals at the base, joined my hands in reverence, and bent down to touch the first stair with my fingers, whispering, “Thank you, bhagwanji.”

🩶🩶 EKANSH THAKUR 🩶🩶

Birthdays never held much meaning for me.

They were simply a reminder that another year had passed—quietly, without fanfare. No candles, no wishes, no noise. Just time, slipping through fingers I never bothered to clench.

But for my mother, it was different.

To her, my birthday was still the day the universe gave her something precious. And every year, without fail, she called.

And I showed up.

The elevator of my penthouse whispered open as I stepped out onto the ground floor of my building. The morning air was sharp, the Mumbai skyline stretching behind me, but my mind was already elsewhere.

I slid into the back seat of my car. “To home.” I told the driver.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of a place that still smelled like home even though I hadn’t lived there since I was sixteen. The white bungalow stood proudly amidst flowering trees, and from the porch, I could already hear my mother’s voice.

“Ekansh!” she called out as soon as I entered through the gates, her smile wide with the same affection she never hid.

I stepped inside, offering a quiet “Good morning, Maa.”

She didn’t respond with words. Just pulled me into a tight hug.

“ Happy Birthday, beta. You could visit more often, you know,” she whispered, tapping my back gently.

“I do,” I said.

She sighed. “Haan haan, once every full moon.”

My father appeared then, taking me into a light hug. “Let him breathe, love. He came, that’s enough. Happy birthday, my boy.”

“Only because we’re going to the temple today,” she muttered under her breath, leading me to the living room.

My younger brother, Kartik, was slumped on the couch with half-buttoned kurta and a lazy smile.

“Happy birthday, bhai,” he said, raising an imaginary toast with his coffee cup. “Thirty looks good on you. Grim. Like always.”

I ignored him, heading to my room to wash up and change into the plain ivory kurta my mother had left neatly folded on the bed. I didn’t argue. I never did.

By the time I returned, the car was waiting outside. My mother had a thali in her hand, decorated with flowers, incense sticks, and a diya. My father, always punctual, adjusted his watch as if temple time obeyed his.

We sat in silence as the car made its way to the temple.

The temple courtyard was quieter than usual—maybe because it was still early or maybe because the silence inside me made everything else feel faint.

We stepped inside, the scent of incense immediately wrapping around us. My mother handed over the thali to the priest and folded her hands with deep reverence.

“This aarti is for my son,” she said proudly, placing her hand on my shoulder as if I were still her little boy.

The priest began the aarti, the flame flickering as my parents stood with their eyes closed, lips moving in a quiet chant. I stood beside her—rigid, patient, detached.

This ritual wasn’t new to me.

Every year on this day, she offered flowers and prayers at this very temple, asking for my health, my happiness… and now—apparently—my marriage.

“Panditji,” she said after the aarti, her voice laced with hope, “Ekansh ke liye… acchi si bahu mil jaye, yeh prarthana kijiye.”

I exhaled slowly.

The priest smiled. “Didi, 101 nariyal chadha dijiye. Aapke bete ki shaadi pakki samjhiye.”

I turned away for a second, jaw tightening. 101 coconuts and a guaranteed marriage? That’s all it took?

I should’ve been annoyed—maybe I was. But something… shifted.

A sound.

Soft. Crisp. Melodious.

A giggle.

It cut through the smoke and murmurs like wind chimes in a still room.

And I looked.

There she stood—bathed in golden sunlight, wrapped in orange like the first flame of dawn.

She wasn't just beautiful.

She was delicate—like art sculpted by silence. Her skin glowed with the softness of marigold petals, and her eyes... her eyes were wide, wondering, too full of life for a world like this. There was mischief in the curve of her lips, innocence in the way she adjusted the butterfly pendant resting gently at her neck—almost as if she was aware it carried meaning, but didn’t know how much.

Emeralds clung to her ears, catching the sun the way laughter catches in memory. Her presence was… untouched. Not loud, not shy—just pure.

She hadn’t noticed me. Not yet.

She was smiling at something—someone from her family, perhaps—and that smile, that smile made everything else dull.

For a moment, I forgot the priest’s chants, my mother’s calls, the weight of thirty years behind my name.

And then—

Reality whispered.

She’s young. Too young. She did not even looked twenty. She's a child. Fuck you Ekansh! What in the illegal fuck happened to me?

I looked away, jaw clenched, gaze returning to the old marble floor beneath my feet. I did not look at her again. Resisting my desires.

But even as I reminded myself, even as I tried to walk past that fleeting moment...

One quiet thought refused to leave me.

If I see her again—she's mine.