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The soft ting, ting of the hand bell echoed through the living room, a sound so familiar that it seemed to blend seamlessly with the other early morning noises—a distant bird's call, the faint hum of the ceiling fan, the quiet creaks of a house slowly waking up.

As Vihaan Randhawa stepped out of his bedroom, each slow, measured step he took was accompanied by the steady thud of his forearm crutch against the cool floor, the rhythm almost as predictable as the bell's chime.

Over the years, that sound had woven itself into the fabric of their mornings, becoming as much a part of the household as the sunlight that streamed in through the windows, casting long, gentle shadows across the room.

It was like the heartbeat of their home, a reassuring reminder that the day was beginning, that life, with all its ups and downs, was moving forward, even if it did so at its own, unhurried pace.

Vihaan paused at the doorway, leaning slightly on his crutch as he took in the familiar scent of sandalwood and incense that filled the air, the fragrance wrapping around him like the warmth of an old, favorite shawl.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the scent that had become as much a part of their mornings as the sight that greeted him now—his sister, Shivangi, deeply absorbed in her prayers, her whole being focused on her Mahadev as if the world outside didn't exist, or at least didn't matter until she had completed this sacred ritual.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched her, sitting cross-legged in front of their small home temple, her eyes squeezed shut so tightly that the small red bindi on her forehead seemed to glow with a life of its own.

Her lips moved in perfect sync with the chant of "Om Namah Shivaay," the words flowing from her with the ease of someone who had recited them countless times before.

There was something both amusing and profoundly touching about the way she approached her morning pooja with such solemnity, as if the entire day depended on these few quiet moments of devotion. And maybe, in her mind, it really did.

Vihaan stood there a little longer, watching as Shivangi carefully placed a belpatra on the Shiva lingam, the leaf's glossy surface catching the morning light as she turned it just so, ensuring that it was placed exactly right.

The bell in her other hand continued its steady rhythm, the sound filling the room with a sense of calm and order.

The sunlight filtering through the windows caught the small red bindi on her forehead, making it sparkle like a tiny jewel, a detail so small yet so significant in this scene of pure peace.

In that moment, Vihaan felt a rush of warmth and affection for his sister, a reminder of the bond they shared—a bond that had only grown stronger with time, weathered by life's challenges but never broken.

This was Shivangi's time, her daily ritual, and Vihaan had long since learned that interrupting it was not just unnecessary but entirely pointless. Not that he ever wanted to—there was something soothing about watching her tend to this small, sacred part of their world with such care and devotion.

It was one of those little things that never failed to bring a smile to his face, even on the mornings when his arm ached more than usual, or when the day ahead loomed large and heavy, casting a shadow over his thoughts before it had even begun.

Even on those tough mornings, when getting out of bed felt like climbing a mountain, there was something about Shivangi's pooja that made everything seem a little less overwhelming.

Her faith, her devotion, had a way of grounding him, reminding him that no matter how slow or difficult life felt, it was still moving forward, just like the steady ting, ting of the bell that filled their home each morning.

"Chai?" [tea?]

Aaradhya's voice gently broke through Vihaan's thoughts, pulling him back from the peaceful comfort of watching his sister's morning pooja.

He turned to his side, and there she was—his wife, standing with a warm smile and a cup of chai in her hands, holding it out to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Aaradhya looked every bit the doctor she was, already dressed for the hospital in her crisp white coat, her hair neatly tied back, exuding that calm, collected confidence that made her so good at her job.

But as Vihaan's gaze shifted to the cup of tea she was offering, a small flicker of doubt crept into his mind.

"Tumne chai banai?" [Did you make this tea?] Vihaan asked, raising an eyebrow as he eyed the cup with mild apprehension.

Aaradhya, bless her heart, was an excellent doctor—one of the best, in fact. But when it came to cooking... well, let's just say that particular skill set had always eluded her.

The two talents couldn't be more different, and unfortunately for Vihaan, chai-making fell squarely into the latter category.

Before Aaradhya could respond, another voice, groggy but playful, cut through the moment.

"Relax bhai, Shivi ne banai hai." [Relax, Bhai. Shivi made it.]

Dhriti's voice, half-asleep and wrapped in a blanket, filled the room as she shuffled in, eyes barely open, her hair a messy halo around her head.

She moved with the deliberate, unsteady steps of someone still half in a dream, her feet dragging slightly against the floor as she made her way to the sofa.

Without another word, Dhriti crashed onto the sofa, pulling the blanket tighter around herself and burrowing deeper into the cushions, as if the world outside her cozy little cocoon was too much to deal with this early in the morning.

She let out a half-conscious sigh, the kind that said, 'I am not ready for today, and nothing you do will change that.'

Aaradhya and Vihaan exchanged glances, then looked back at Dhriti, who was now just a blanket-covered mound on the sofa, completely oblivious to everything around her. A second later, they both burst out laughing.

Day and night. That's what Dhriti and Shivangi were like—two sides of the same coin, but so different it was hard to believe they were best friends.

Dhriti was like the day—full of energy when she was awake, bouncing around the house with a thousand ideas and a million things to say.

Once she was up, there was no stopping her; she could talk about everything from what the ladies were wearing at the wedding to what movie would be a hit without skipping a beat.

But getting her out of bed was like trying to convince the sun to rise an hour early—it just wasn't going to happen without a fight.

And once she did get up, it was usually with the enthusiasm of a kid who'd just been told they had to go to school on a Sunday.

Shivangi, on the other hand, was like the night—calm, composed, with a strength that steadied everyone around her. She was the first one up, the one who made sure the day started on the right foot.

Her pooja was her way of grounding herself, of setting the tone for the day ahead. She didn't rush through anything; everything had its time, its place.

And somehow, she managed to keep that calm even when Dhriti came charging in like a tornado, disrupting the peace with her energy.

But the two of them together? It was like chai and Parle G—one wasn't complete without the other.

"Bhai? Vahini?"

Shivangi's voice was soft, but it carried enough weight to pull their attention back to her. She was standing now, her pooja complete, holding a small bowl of suji ka halwa as prasad in her hands.

"Prasad lejiye, bhai." [Have prasad, bhai.] She offers, holding a spoonful of prasad in her hand, and a steel container in another.

Vihaan smiled softly at his younger sister and moved his left, uninjured arm forward, cupping his hand beneath hers as she placed a small spoonful of the warm, fragrant halwa in his palm.

The sweet, buttery aroma filled his senses, bringing back memories of countless mornings just like this one, where their papa's handmade prasad was the first thing he tasted before the day truly began.

"Har Har Mahadev," Vihaan chanted before popping the spoonful of halwa into his mouth, savoring the comforting sweetness of his Shivi's cooking.

The warm, buttery taste of the halwa melted on his tongue, bringing with it a flood of memories. He could almost hear their papa's voice, deep and steady, chanting the same prayer before offering the first bite to the family deity.

Those mornings had always begun with the same simple ritual—papa standing in front of the little temple, the room filled with the smell of fresh halwa, the promise of a new day wrapped in its sweetness.

"Bohat aacha bana hai, Shivi. Mahadev tujhe humesha khush rakhe." [Very well made, Shivi. May Mahadev always keep you happy.] Vihaan says, smiling at his sister, pride shining in his eyes.

Shivangi beamed at the praise, then turned to Aaradhya, offering the prasad. Aaradhya's face lit up instantly, the tiredness from waking up early fading as she accepted the spoonful of halwa.

"So tasty, bacha," [So tasty, baby.] Aaradhya praised, her voice warm as she savoured the prasad, letting the sweet, taste linger on her tongue. "Kash Papa ji mujhe bhi itna aacha khana banana sikhate." [I wish Papa ji had taught me to cook this well.]

"Papa hote toh fir bhi tumhari cooking ko nahi bacha pate," [Even if Papa was alive, he wouldn't have been able to save your cooking.] Vihaan teased, as he carefully lowered himself onto the loveseat, using his forearm crutch for support.

Aaradhya turned to him with a mock-offended expression, her eyebrows arching as she shot back, "Tum na, jalte ho meri cooking se." [You just burn in jealously because of my cooking.]

Vihaan shook his head, trying to suppress a grin as he replied, "Nahi, nahi. Tumhari cooking se khana jalta hai." [No, no. It's your cooking that burns the food.]

Aaradhya rolled her eyes, pretending to be offended. "Tumhe na, humesha meri cooking ka mazak banana hota hai." [You always have to make fun of my cooking.]

Vihaan leaned back on the loveseat, a playful grin on his face. "Mujhe mazak banane ki zaroorat hi kya hai? Tumhara khana khud hi kaafi hai!" [I don't need to make fun of it; your cooking does that all by itself!]

Aaradhya huffed in mock annoyance, turning to Shivangi with a pout. "Shivi, tu hi bata, kya meri cooking itni buri hai?" [Shivi, you tell me, is my cooking really that bad?]

Shivangi, who had been quietly folding her prayer shawl, looked up, caught off guard by the sudden question. She hesitated, her eyes darting between her brother and sister-in-law.

"Vahini... woh... main... apki cooking..." [Vahini... well... I... your cooking...] she stammered, clearly torn between the loyalty she felt for her sister-in-law and the honesty that was tugging at her conscience.

Vihaan, sensing Shivangi's dilemma, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Bolo na, Shivi. Aaj sach ka din hai." [Go ahead, Shivi. Today's the day of truth.]

Shivangi shot him a look that clearly said, you're not helping, before turning back to Aaradhya. She took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "Vahini, aap doctor bohot acchi hain. Har patient ko thik karne ka talent toh bas aapke paas hai." [Vahini, you're an amazing doctor. Only you have the talent to heal every patient.]

Aaradhya raised an eyebrow, recognizing the clever deflection. But before she could say anything, Shivangi continued, her voice a little quicker now, "Aur cooking... woh toh bas practice ki baat hai. Ab dekhiye na, itni responsibility ke saath, aapko kitchen ka time kahan milta hai?" [And cooking... that's just a matter of practice. I mean, with all the responsibility you have, where would you find the time to be in the kitchen?]

Aaradhya's lips twitched as she tried to suppress a smile. "Mujhe samajh aa raha hai, tu bhi bhai ki side mein hai," she said, a playful edge to her voice. [I get it, you're siding with Bhai too.]

Shivangi finally let out a soft laugh, the tension melting away. "Nahi, vahini. Main toh bas yeh keh rahi hoon ki aapko cooking ka bhi time milega jab aap chahti ho. Aur waise bhi, ab main hoon na, sab manage karne ke liye." [No, Vahini. I'm just saying that you'll find time for cooking whenever you want. And anyway, I'm here now to help manage everything.]

Aaradhya feigned shock, her hand flying to her heart as she gasped dramatically. "Haan haan, sab milke mere khilaf sazish karo. Dekh lena, ek din aisa khana banaungi ki tum log hamesha ke liye yaad rakhoge!" [Yes, yes, you all go ahead and plot against me. Just wait, one day I'll make something so good you'll never forget it!]

Before the lighthearted banter could continue, a groggy voice broke through the early morning calm, barely audible over the hum of daily rituals.

"Arre, mujhe bhi koi prasad de do..." [Hey, will someone give me some prasad too...]

Dhriti's muffled complaint came from beneath the blanket she had cocooned herself in. Her eyes were only half-open, and her hair stuck out in all directions, a wild, unruly halo that matched her just-woken state.

As she finally managed to sit up, she looked like she was still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, her movements sluggish and her expression one of reluctant surrender to the day.

Shivangi chuckled, shaking her head at the sight of her best friend in such a disheveled state. Her voice is light but with that familiar tone of someone who knew exactly how the morning routine would go, "Pehle naha ke aa, fir prasad milega." [Take a bath first, then you'll get the prasad.]

Dhriti groaned in response, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, as if to ward off the very suggestion. "Nahana zaroori hai kya? Aise hi de do na, Shivi," [Is bathing really necessary? Just give it to me as I am, Shivi.] she whined, her voice carrying that sleepy, almost childlike plea.

"Chamat khaye gi mujhse subah subah. Chup chap uth aur nahane ja," Shivangi retorted, her tone half-serious, as she placed the steel container of prasad on the table and, with one swift motion, yanked the blanket off Dhriti. [You're going to get slapped by me first thing in the morning. Get up quietly and go take a bath.]

Dhriti peeked out from under her now-missing blanket, her hair sticking up in wild directions, giving Shivangi the most pitiful, pleading look she could muster, her eyes wide and hopeful.

But deep down, she knew better than to push her luck. Her Shivi was the nicest, kindest person in the world, but when it came to her Mahadev, she was as strict as a headmistress in a convent school.

"Please, Shivi? Please, yaar, ek din nahane se prasad nahi milega." [Please, Shivi? Please, yaar, can't I get the prasad without bathing for just one day?] Dhriti tried, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness, as she sat up and stretched her arms out, trying to reclaim her lost blanket with a innocence that might have worked on anyone else—but not on Shivangi.

"Uth. Chal, koi drama nahi chalega tera," Shivangi says, pulling Dhriti by her arm, off the sofa [Get up. Come on, your drama won't work.]

"Yeh kya ho raha hai, bhagwaan? Itna nafrat? Itni beizzati? Aur woh bhi subah subah?" [What is happening, God? So much hatred? So much insult? And that too early in the morning?] Dhriti wailed, going completely limp in Shivangi's arms, her body becoming dead weight as she dramatically resisted the inevitable.

Shivangi clicked her tongue in frustration and smacked the back of Dhriti's head, a quick, light thwack that was more affectionate than anything else.

"Drame mat kar, aur chal," [Stop the drama, and let's go,] she scolded, though her exasperation was softened by the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Dhriti let out a theatrical sigh, her head lolling to one side as if she were on the verge of fainting. "Main yeh sab kis liye jhel rahi hoon, Mahadev? Sirf prasad ke liye itna struggle?" [Why am I enduring all this, Mahadev? Just for prasad, so much struggle?]

"Haan, haan, Ananya Pandey se zyada struggle kiya hai tune," Shivangi retorted, rolling her eyes as she finally managed to get Dhriti on her feet. [Why am I enduring all this, Mahadev? Just for prasad, so much struggle?]

Dhriti couldn't help but burst out laughing, the last remnants of sleep vanishing as she straightened up. "Yaar, Shivi, itna struggle bhi nahi kiya ki tu Ananya Pandey se compare kar rahi hai," [Yaar, Shivi, I haven't struggled so much that you're comparing me to Ananya Pandey.]

"Struggle shuggle chhodo, aur bathroom ke raste par chalo, madam,"  [Forget the struggle, madam, and start walking towards the bathroom.] Shivangi shot back, nudging Dhriti in the direction of the bathroom.

Dhriti, realizing she wasn't going to win this battle, threw her hands up in defeat, but not without one last playful jab. "Bas bas, jaa rahi hoon, tu aur tere Mahadev dono milke mujhe sone thodi na do ge," [Fine, fine, I'm going. You and your Mahadev won't let me sleep anyway.] she said, heading towards the bathroom with exaggerated reluctance, her steps slow and heavy as if she were being led to her doom.

Shivangi shook her head, unable to suppress a laugh. "Aur mat kar drame, warna prasad nahi milega,"  [Stop the drama, or you won't get any prasad] she called out, knowing full well that this was the one threat that would get Dhriti to move faster.

Now that is a crime. Everyone in the family—forget family, everyone in the mohalla—knew how much Dhriti loved food, especially dessert made by Shivangi.

Dhriti, who didn't have much of a sweet tooth, was an oddball Gujju who would rather munch on khakras and thepla than touch doodh pak. But when it came to any sweets made by Shivangi, her resolve melted faster than ghee on a hot paratha.

Dhriti's love for Shivangi's sweets was legendary, and there was no denying it. The same Dhriti, who could pass on laddoos and jalebis without a second glance, would fight even her own Baa for a spoonful of Shivangi's food.

There was that one time, four Diwalis ago, when Dhriti had been caught red-handed, quite literally, with fingers dipped in a steel container, trying to swipe a piece of piping hot, golden-brown besan ladoo.

Baa had walked into the kitchen just in time to catch her in the act, her stern gaze fixed on Dhriti's ghee-smeared hands. But instead of a scolding, all Baa had done was sigh deeply and shake her head, muttering something about "bhukkad bacche" as she handed Dhriti another ladoo, fresh off the pan.

No one could really blame Dhriti, though. Shivangi's cooking had that effect on people. Her sweets weren't just food; they were an experience, something that wrapped you in a warm, comforting hug from the inside out.

Whether it was her halwa, made with just the right amount of ghee and sugar, or her kheer, with the perfect balance of creaminess and sweetness, there was a magic in the way Shivangi cooked that made even the most ordinary dish taste extraordinary.

And it wasn't just about the taste. It was the love and care Shivangi put into her cooking that made it special.

Every time she stepped into the kitchen, it was as if she was creating something far more than just a meal—she was weaving together memories, traditions, and a sense of belonging that everyone in the family could feel with each bite.

So when Shivangi threatened to withhold prasad from Dhriti, it wasn't just a joke. For Dhriti, missing out on Shivangi's sweets was like missing out on a slice of pure joy.

And everyone knew it. It was like the time when they were kids, and Shivangi had made her first batch of gajar ka halwa during the winter. Dhriti had practically inhaled the entire bowl, leaving only a spoonful for the rest of the family.

The way she'd licked the spoon clean, as if savoring every last bit of flavor, had become the stuff of family legend, repeated at every gathering with fond laughter.

A loud and obnoxious gasp rang throughout the living room, snapping everyone's attention toward the source. Dhriti, now fully awake and dramatically clutching her chest as if she had been mortally wounded, stared at Shivangi in wide-eyed horror.

"Shivi! Tu sach mein prasad nahi degi?" [Shivi! You really won't give me the prasad?] Dhriti's voice was a perfect mix of shock and betrayal, as if Shivangi had just announced she was planning to get married young and early.

In the background, Vihaan, who had been trying his best to maintain a straight face, finally lost the battle. His laughter burst out like a dam breaking, loud and hearty, filling the room with a sound so infectious that even the walls seemed to join in on the joke.

It was the kind of laughter that started deep in his belly, rolling out uncontrollably and taking on a life of its own. The sight of Dhriti's over-the-top theatrics, combined with the absurdity of the situation, was too much for him to handle.

Aaradhya, seated beside him, rolled her eyes in mock exasperation but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She playfully smacked Vihaan on the arm, her fingers barely grazing him, but the message was clear: Behave yourself.

Not that it mattered much, as Vihaan was already doubled over, tears forming in the corners of his eyes from laughing so hard. His attempts to speak were cut off by hiccups of laughter.

"Ja, jake naha. Nahaegi toh double prasad milega!" [Go, take a bath. If you bathe, you'll get double prasad!] Shivangi declared, her voice firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Double prasad? Yeh toh puraan mein likha hona chahiye tha! Ab toh mujhe nahana hi padega," [Double prasad? That should have been written in the scriptures! Now I have to bathe.] Dhriti lamented, dragging her feet towards the bathroom as if she were being sent to her doom.

But just as everyone thought the drama was winding down, Dhriti suddenly sprang to life. In one swift motion, she bolted towards the bathroom, her earlier sluggishness replaced by the speed of someone who'd just heard they were giving away free gold.

Her laughter echoed through the hallway as she made a beeline for the door, leaving the others momentarily stunned.

Before Vihaan or Aaradhya could even process what had happened, the bathroom door slammed shut behind Dhriti with a resounding thud.

"Yeh ladki bhi na!"  [This girl, I tell you!] Vihaan said, shaking his head in disbelief as the sound of the lock clicking into place reached his ears.

"Dhriti, agar darwaaza toota na toh tu dekhio! Phir tujhe double prasad ke bajay double danda milega!" [Dhriti, if the door breaks, just wait! Then instead of double prasad, you'll get double scolding!] Vihaan warns.

"Pagal hai yeh ladki!" [This girl is crazy!] Shivangi says, finally gave in and burst out laughing.

Her laughter filling the room like the tinkling of wind chimes, light and infectious, making even the walls of their home seem warmer and more alive.

Shaking her head, still chuckling softly to herself, Shivangi turned her attention to her bhai, who had returned to his newspaper, the rustling of pages the only sound in the room besides the fading echoes of laughter.

"Bhai, Vahini, aap dono table pe aa jao, main nashta laga deti hoon," [Bhai, Vahini, both of you come to the table, I'll set the breakfast.] Shivangi calls out, her voice carrying a hint of the familiar comfort and care that she infused into everything she did.

Vihaan looked up from the newspaper, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he exchanged a knowing glance with Aaradhya, who was just finishing the last sip of her chai.

Aaradhya, stretching her arms and placing her cup on the coffee table with a gentle clink, glanced toward the dining table, where the aroma of freshly prepared breakfast was already beginning to waft through the air, teasing her senses.

"Shivi, kya banaya hai nashtay mein?" [Shivi, what have you made for breakfast?] Aaradhya asked, an eager anticipation in her eyes as she scans the dining tabl.

"Arre, Vahini, bhai ke liye poha banaya hai, aapke liye aloo ke paranthe aur Dhriti ke liye uska favorite, masala dosa," [Oh, Vahini, I made poha for Bhai, aloo parathas for you, and Dhriti's favorite, masala dosa.] Shivangi replied, her voice tinged with the pride of someone who knew her family's tastes like the back of her hand.

She moved toward the kitchen with the ease and grace of someone who had done this a thousand times, yet still found joy in every step.

"Aur apne liye?" [And what about for yourself?] Vihaan questioned, his voice gentle as his gaze lingered on his younger sister, a soft smile playing on his lips.

There was something in the way he asked—an unspoken concern, the kind that comes from years of watching out for someone who always seemed to put everyone else first.

Shivangi paused, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she turned back to face her brother. "Arre, bhai, mere liye toh yeh sab hai na." [Oh, Bhai, all this is for me too.] She replied, her voice light, but the sincerity in her words was unmistakable.

Aaradhya reached out to take Shivangi's hand, her touch soft but firm, a quiet insistence in her gesture. "Shivi, tu kabhi apne baare mein sochti bhi hai? Sabka khayal rakhti hai, lekin tu bhi toh kuch khaya kar. Plus, tu janti hai, teri condition mein tujhe healthy rehna hai." [Shivi, do you ever think about yourself? You take care of everyone, but you should eat properly too. Plus, you know, in your condition, you need to stay healthy.]

"Teri Vahini baar baar bol rahi hai, aur bilkul sahi bol rahi hai," [Your Vahini keeps telling you, and she's absolutely right.] Vihaan added, his tone firm yet filled with brotherly affection.

Vihaan continues, "Itni responsible hai, lekin apne baare mein bhi soch liya kar. Tu sabka dhyaan rakhti hai, lekin yeh zaroori hai ki tu apne liye bhi time nikaale." [You're so responsible, but you should also think about yourself. You take care of everyone, but it's important that you also take time for yourself.]

There was a tenderness in Vihaan's voice, one that spoke volumes of the bond they shared. Growing up, after Shivangi came of age, and Vihaan couldn't take care of the house because of his injury, Shivangi had always been the one to take on responsibilities far beyond her years.

She was the one who made sure their home ran smoothly, the one who always put everyone else's needs before her own. But in doing so, she often forgot that she needed to take care of herself too.

Vihaan always felt guilty. He was the older one, the one who was meant to provide, and he did for some time until the accident left him dependent on his forearm crutch and unable to fulfill those traditional responsibilities.

Shivangi, despite being much younger, stepped into that role without complaint, her quiet strength holding the family together through the most challenging times.

But Vihaan knew that her selflessness came at a cost. He had seen the way exhaustion sometimes crept into her eyes, the subtle signs that she was running on empty but refusing to slow down.

It pained him, knowing that she sacrificed so much for the family, and he wished there was more he could do to ease her burden.

He had tried in countless small ways—offering to help with the household chores whenever he could, encouraging her to take breaks, even suggesting she spend more time with friends.

But Shivangi always brushed off his concerns with a gentle smile and a quick reassurance that she was fine, that everything was under control.

It was that very attitude that both comforted and worried Vihaan. He knew his sister's heart was in the right place, that she was driven by love and a deep sense of duty to their family. But he also knew that such selflessness, if left unchecked, could lead to burnout.

He had seen it happen to others—people who gave and gave until they had nothing left for themselves, their own needs and dreams quietly fading into the background.

And so, each time he watched Shivangi moving through the house, tending to every small detail with a care that bordered on devotion, his heart ached a little.

He wished he could shoulder more of the load, wished that his body would cooperate the way it used to, allowing him to be the big brother who protected and provided, who made life a little easier for her.

But life had a way of throwing curveballs, and the accident had been a cruel one, changing the course of their lives in ways neither of them had anticipated.

As he sat there, watching Shivangi glide effortlessly from the kitchen to the dining table, laying out plates of poha, parathas, and masala dosa with that same practiced grace, he felt a swell of pride mixed with a deep, gnawing guilt.

Pride, because his little sister had grown into a strong, capable woman who handled everything thrown her way with unwavering resolve.

Guilt, because he couldn't shake the feeling that in some way, she had been forced to grow up too fast, to take on responsibilities that should have been his.

Aaradhya was bound to him because she was his wife. The two had been together even before Vihaan left for the Army, having been college sweethearts who found in each other a kindred spirit that only grew stronger with time.

Their love story was one that most people envied, built on mutual respect, and an understanding that ran so deep it often needed no words. Aaradhya had been his constant, the one who had stood by him through thick and thin, even when life had taken that unexpected turn with his injury.

But Shivangi, she was his sister, his little Shivi who had idolized him as a child, following him around the house, mimicking his every move, and clinging to his side as if he were her protector from all the world's troubles.

In many ways, Vihaan felt that Shivangi's devotion to the family was partly because of him—because she saw the struggle he faced every day, trying to maintain a semblance of the life they once had.

And perhaps that was why she worked so tirelessly, why she took on so much, because she believed it was her way of easing his burden, of repaying the love and guidance he had given her in those early years.

Vihaan knew that his injury had changed everything for them, especially for Shivangi, who had been thrust into a role she had never asked for but embraced without hesitation.

It was a role she played flawlessly, with a quiet dignity that often left him in awe, but also with a self-sacrifice that he feared would one day take its toll.

He was grateful, at least, that he didn't have to shoulder the household expenses alone. The pension he received as a former Colonel in the Army, along with the pension from his late father, a Brigadier, provided a solid foundation. Aaradhya's salary as a doctor added to their financial stability, and Shivangi's restaurant, Devi brought in a steady stream of income.

But there were other burdens, the kind that didn't show up on a balance sheet but weighed heavily on the heart.

The worry would creep into his mind at the most unexpected moments—during a quiet evening with Aaradhya, or when he watched Shivangi working tirelessly at the restaurant.

"Bhai. Bhai."

Shivangi's voice broke through his thoughts, gentle but insistent. He blinked, realizing he had been lost in the past.

He turned to see her standing there, a soft smile on her face, her eyes filled with the kind of concern only a sister could have.

"Poha thanda ho raha hai, Bhai," [Poha is getting cold, Bhai.] she said, her voice light, but with that familiar warmth that always managed to pull him back to the present.

"Haan kha raha hoon. Tera khana kaise ignore kar sakta hoon." [Yes, I'm eating. How could I ignore your food?] Vihaan says, turning to the plate of poha in front of him. "Tu bhi baith ja." [You should sit down too.] Vihaan grabs Shivangi's hand, pulling her into the seat on his left side on the dining table.

Shivangi hesitated for a moment but when look at her brother made her pause. She sat down, finally allowing herself a small break, her hands resting on the edge of the table as she looked at the spread of food before them.

As they settled into the meal, Aaradhya, who was busy devouring her paratha, looked up slightly and said, "Aaj yaad hai na tum dono ko, ki chachi ji ke ghar pe jana hai?" [Do you both remember that we have to go to Chachi Ji's house today?]

Before Vihaan or Shivangi could respond, a loud, unmistakable groan filled the room, drawing their attention.

There was no need to turn around to know who it was—Dhriti, with her towel draped over her shoulders, her wet hair still dripping slightly from her recent bath, plopped down dramatically into the seat beside Shivangi, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

"Malvika chachi ke ghar jana padega?!" [We have to go to Malvika Chachi's house?] Dhriti whined, her voice dripping with the kind of dread usually reserved for dentist appointments.

She slumped in her chair, looking like someone had just told her that the Wi-Fi was down indefinitely. The very thought of visiting Malvika chachi seemed to suck the life out of her.

Shivangi, who had seen this drama play out countless times, simply shook her head. With the patience of someone who could navigate Dhriti's theatrics with her eyes closed, she calmly poured a generous spoonful of chutney onto Dhriti's plate, making sure it was just right for the dosa Dhriti had been eyeing since it hit the table.

"Tujhe nahi jana hai, Dhriti. Tujhe Baa, Hetal Maa, aur Manoj uncle ke saath party mein jana hai. Uncle ke business partner ki party hai, yaad hai?" [You don't have to go, Dhriti. You need to go to the party with Baa, Hetal Maa, and Manoj Uncle. It's Uncle's business partner's party, remember?] Shivangi replied, her tone soothing, as if she were dealing with a particularly stubborn toddler.

Dhriti's face twisted into a look of pure horror and disbelief, like Shivangi had just suggested something completely outrageous. "Party?" she groaned, as if the word itself tasted bitter. "Aur woh bhi Papa ke business partner ki?!" [And that too, Papa's business partner's party?!]

Shivangi's lips twitched with amusement, but she kept her voice steady. "Haan, aur itna react mat kar. It's just a party," [Yes, and don't overreact. It's just a party,] she said, handing Dhriti the dosa she knew would take the edge off her melodrama.

"Aur Baa ne specifically bola hai ki tu saath mein jaaye. Ab Baa se kaise mana karegi?" [And Baa specifically said you have to go with them. How are you going to say no to Baa?]

Dhriti rolled her eyes like a teenager being told to do her homework. "Shivi, tu samajhti nahi hai," [Shivi, you don't understand,] she huffed, reluctantly accepting the dosa and sighing as if she had just been given a life sentence.

"Papa ke business partners ki parties are like boring office meetings with samosas. Last time, Papa ke friend ne mujhe poora financial year ka report samjha diya! Mujhe kya karna uss report ka, Shivi?!" [Papa's business partners' parties are like boring office meetings with samosas. Last time, one of Papa's friends explained the entire financial year's report to me! What am I supposed to do with that report, Shivi?!]

Shivangi couldn't help but laugh, watching Dhriti dig into the dosa even as she complained. "Arre, tu apna dosa kha aur tension mat le," [Just eat your dosa and don't worry,] Shivangi said, still chuckling. "Baa, aur Hetal Maa ke saath rehna, aur chup chap snacks enjoy karna. Waise bhi, free ke snacks kaun miss karta hai?" [Stay with Baa and Hetal Maa, and quietly enjoy the snacks. Anyway, who misses free snacks?]

"Yeh Baa bhi na, hamesha mere hi peechhe kyun padti hai? Tu aaja na mere saath." she muttered, stuffing her mouth with a big bite of the dosa. [Baa always targets me. Why don't you come with me instead?]

The warm, crispy dosa seemed to ease her soul a bit, even if the thought of the party still loomed over her like a dark cloud. The universe had personally conspired to ruin her day.

"Chup kar aur party pe jaa. Aur waise bhi, main kya karoon gi party mein? Mere paas aur bhi kaam hai—pehle market se Devi ke liye samaan lena hai, phir aaj Devi mein bhi bohot kaam hai, aur fir ghar aake Malvika Chachi ke ghar bhi jana hai," Shivangi said, clearly used to dealing with Dhriti's endless excuses. [Stop complaining and go to the party. And anyway, what would I do at the party? I have other things to do—first, I need to pick up some items from the market for Devi, then I have a lot of work at Devi today, and then I have to go to Malvika Chachi's house.]

Dhriti looked at her with wide, pleading eyes, like a child trying to get out of going to school. "Kaun dekhe unn sab boring bore logon ko? Aur upar se Baa shaadi ke liye rishte dikhati rehti hai!" [Who's going to deal with all those boring people? And on top of that, Baa keeps showing me marriage proposals!]

"Woh toh bas haath pakadke bolne lagti hai, 'Beta, ye ladka toh kaafi acha hai, videsh mein rehta hai, tum dono kitne achhe lagoge ek saath!'" Dhriti huffed, clearly not thrilled at the prospect of being paraded in front of potential suitors. [She just holds my hand and starts saying, 'Beta, this boy is really nice, he lives abroad, you both would look so good together!']

Shivangi couldn't help but laugh, knowing exactly what Dhriti was talking about. Baa had a knack for finding the most inopportune moments to bring up marriage proposals, usually when Dhriti was least interested.

"Bol toh rahi hoon ki tu apne snacks enjoy kar, aur Baa ki baatein ek kaan se sunke, dusre se nikal dena." [I'm telling you, just enjoy your snacks and let Baa's words go in one ear and out the other.]

"Shivi, tu samajhti nahi hai," [Shivi, you don't understand.] Dhriti said, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Baa ke rishte waale toh har samose ke saath ek naya ladka present kar dete hain. Aur main toh bas bechari baithe baithe hasne lagti hoon, kyunki unko lagta hai main 'ladke ke liye interested' hoon!" [With every samosa, Baa presents a new boy. And I'm just sitting there, trying not to laugh because they think I'm 'interested in the boy'!]

Aaradhya finally joined in, unable to resist. "Dhriti, Baa tumhari bhalaai ke liye hi rishte dikhati hain. Waise bhi, shaadi toh ek din karni hi padegi." [Dhriti, Baa only shows you proposals for your own good. And anyway, you'll have to get married someday.]

Dhriti let out an exaggerated sigh. "Meri Shivi ki jis din shadi hogi na, uske baad dekha jayega." [On the day my Shivi gets married, we'll see what happens after that.]

"Bas bas, meri shatabdi express. Shant ho ja. Thode time ke liye party pe chali jaa, phir main call karke tujhe Devi pe bula loon gi," Shivangi said, trying to pacify Dhriti, who was on the verge of yet another dramatic outburst. [Enough, my express train. Calm down. Go to the party for a little while, and then I'll call you to come to Devi.]

"Pakka? Tu bulayegi na? Mujhe wahan par un 'sundar-sushil ladkon' ke beech nahi rehna hai, jo Baa ke dimaag mein hero ban ke ghoom rahe hote hain," [Really? You'll call me? I don't want to stay there among those 'handsome and cultured boys' who are like heroes in Baa's mind.] Dhriti demanded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she crossed her arms, clearly not willing to let this go without extracting a solid promise from her sister.

"Pakka. Tujhe jitna time wahan rehna hai, rehna, aur jaisi party bore lagne lage, mujhe ek missed call de dena," [Promise. Stay there as long as you want, and when the party starts to bore you, just give me a missed call.] Shivangi said with a chuckle, trying to keep the mood light, but Dhriti only glared at her, not amused in the least by Shivangi's attempt to laugh off her very real concerns.

"Theek hai, par tu promise kar rahi hai, haan? Mujhe wahan phasa ke bhool mat jaana!" [Okay, but you're promising, right? Don't forget about me after trapping me there!] Dhriti warned, wagging her pinky finger at Shivangi, whi shakes her head and intertwines their pinky fingers.

"Pakka." [Promise.]

"Haan aur waise bhu Baa ne Shivi ko kabhi naa bola hai?" [Yeah, and when has Baa ever said no to Shivi?] Aaradhya added with a smile, getting up from her seat and walking to the kitchen to place her plate in the sink.

True. Baa is one stubborn Gujarati woman—stern, strict, and absolutely unyielding when it came to her opinions. Once she decided something, it was like trying to move a mountain.

But somehow, Shivangi had a way of melting that mountain. Whether it was convincing Baa to let Dhriti go on a college trip or subtly steering the conversation away from marriage proposals, Shivangi knew exactly how to handle her.

Baa adored Shivangi. Maybe even more than her own granddaughter, Dhriti. Baa had a special place in her heart for Shivangi, and it showed in the way she would soften her tone when speaking to her, or how she'd sneak an extra laddoo onto Shivangi's plate when no one was looking.

"Baa toh bas naam ki strict hai. Shivi ke liye toh woh butter jaise soft ho jaati hai," [Baa is just strict by name. When it comes to Shivi, she turns as soft as butter.] Vihaan said, chuckling as he remembered all the times Shivangi had managed to get her way with Baa. "Aur Dhriti ka toh bas yeh hi dukh hai ki uski report card ke time pe Baa itni soft nahi hoti." [And Dhriti's only complaint is that Baa isn't as soft during report card time.]

"Haan, kyunki Shivi ne kabhi report card pe laal rang nahi dekha na! Baa ko lagta hai ki Shivi har cheez mein top karti hai, aur main bas drama karti hoon," Dhriti said, rolling her eyes but clearly amused by the comparison. [Yeah, because Shivi has never seen red marks on her report card! Baa thinks Shivi tops in everything, and I just create drama.]

"Toh isme galat kya hai? Shivangi ke report card pe kabhi 85% se neeche marks nahi aayi, aur tere kabhi 85% ke upar nahi gaye," [So what's wrong with that? Shivangi's report card has never had marks below 85%, and yours has never gone above 85%.]  Vihaan teased, unable to resist poking fun at his sister.

"Hawww..." Horrified, Dhriti leans over the table and smacks Vihaan's not injured arm. "How mean. You know what? Main jaa rahi hoon." [How mean. You know what? I'm leaving.]

Vihaan, unfazed and clearly enjoying himself, grinned. "Haan, ab khana kha liya toh jayegi hi na. Waise tu kabhi bina khaye kahin jaati hai?" he teased, knowing full well that Dhriti's love for food. [Yeah, now that you've eaten, you're leaving. Anyway, do you ever go anywhere without eating first?]

"Aap na mujhse jalte ho, I think you are jealous of me." Dhriti accuses, while moving to the living room, to pack her purse. [You know what? You're just jealous of me. I think you're jealous of me.]

"Oh ho." [Oh really.] Vihaan turned around, facing Dhriti, resting his forearm on the table. "Teri kis cheez se jealous hoon main? Tere scooty na chalane aane se? Ya fir teri failed bargaining skills se?" he added, the smirk on his face making it clear he was enjoying this a little too much. [What am I jealous of? Your inability to ride a scooty? Or your failed bargaining skills?]

Dhriti narrowed her eyes at him, ready to strike where she knew it would sting. "Nahi ji. Aap jalte ho kyunki Shivi mujhe zyada pyar karti hai," [No. You're jealous because Shivi loves me more.] she said, her voice carrying just the right amount of challenge, knowing this was a sure way to rattle her Bhai.

Vihaan's smirk faltered for just a second, but he quickly recovered, ready to fire back when Aaradhya, who had been quietly observing the sibling war, decided it was time to intervene.

"Oh gaye dono shuru..." [They've started again... ] Aaradhya muttered under her breath, a smile playing on her lips as she walked toward the door, grabbing her car keys from the key holder. "Tum dono bas bina kisi break ke chalte rehte ho." [You two never stop, do you?]

"Yeh dono agar kisi din naa jagde na, toh uss din kuch gadbad hai," [If these two don't argue on any given day, then something's definitely wrong.] Shivangi said, swinging her embroidered sling bag over her shoulder, the blue tassels swaying with each step.

Vihaan grinned at his sister's comment. "Shivangi, tu hi decide kar, kis se zyada pyaar karti hai?" he asked, his tone half-teasing, half-serious. [Shivangi, you decide—who do you love more?]

"Late ho raha hai. Chal Dhriti," [We're getting late. Let's go, Dhriti. ] Shivangi said, skillfully dodging Vihaan's playful challenge.

Shivangi reaches for her umbrella from the stand near the front door, knowing she had to get moving before Vihaan bhai, and Dhriti managed to stir things up even more.

"Bhai, maine apke liye rasoi mein batata vade rakhe hain. Main thoda samaan leke aati hoon, fir ghar aake aap aur main lunch karenge," she added, giving him a quick, reassuring smile. [Bhai, I've kept some batata vada in the kitchen for you. I'll pick up a few things and then we'll have lunch together when I get back.]

Vihaan, still enjoying the banter, nodded but couldn't resist one last bit of brotherly advice. "Dhyaan se jana. Aaj baarish ho gi toh scooty teez mat chalana," he said, his tone shifting from teasing to genuinely caring. [Be careful on the road. If it rains today, don't ride your scooter too fast.]

"Itni bhi careless nahi hoon main, Bhai," [I'm not that careless, Bhai. ] Shivangi replied with a smile, her voice filled with that familiar mix of affection and assurance.

"Dhriti, chal jaldi!" [Dhriti, hurry up!] Shivangi called out, her voice bouncing off the walls as she grabbed both helmets and the keys to her vespa, obviously eager to get going.

Dhriti, still in Shivangi's room, was putting on the final touch of lipstick, her hair still damp from the quick shower she had somehow squeezed in. She checked herself in the mirror one last time, making sure everything was in place.

"Bas, bas, aa rahi hoon!" [Okay, okay, I'm coming!] Dhriti shouted back, hurriedly tossing her makeup into her bag.

Dhriti dashes out of the room, almost slipping on the floor in her rush, her wet hair flying everywhere like a scene out of a soap opera.

As she skidded into the living room, breathless but smiling, she saw Aaradhya leaning down to give Vihaan a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Bye Vihaan, dhyaan rakhna apna. Main aaj 9 baje tak aa jaoongi," Aaradhya said, her voice soft and affectionate as she bid him goodbye. [Bye Vihaan, take care. I'll be back by 9 p.m.]

Vihaan smiled up at her, his expression softening. "Tum bhi apna dhyaan rakhna, aur zyada stress mat lena." [You take care too, and don't stress too much.]

Aaradhya's expression softened as she turned to Shivangi, her voice turning a bit motherly. "Goodbye, bacha," [Goodbye, dear.] she said warmly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Shivangi's ear.

"Apni medicine time pe lena, aur khana time pe kha lena," [Take your medicine on time, and make sure to eat on time.] Aaradhya added, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Aap tension mat lo," [Don't worry] Shivangi reassured her, flashing that beautiful smile of hers that always seemed to put everyone at ease.

"Haan, main hoon na Vahini. Isko das baar phone karke yaad dilaoongi," Dhriti chimed in, while slipping into her sandals. [Yes, I'm here too, Vahini. I'll call and remind her ten times.]

"Janti hoon. Aur tu bhi dhyaan rakh. Aur please, aaj kisi ko mat peet ke aana," [I know. And you take care too. And please, don't get into a fight with anyone today. ] Aaradhya chuckles, knowing Dhriti's fiery temper all too well.

"Hamesha villain banake rakhti ho mujhe," [You always make me out to be the villain. ] Dhriti muttered, rolling her eyes with a grin, no mistaking the affection in her voice.

"Bye Bhaiyya," Shivangi said warmly, waving as she stepped out. Dhriti followed, tossing a quick, "Bye, Bhai," over her shoulder.

Vihaan leaned back in his chair, watching them head out the door, his heart full despite the teasing. "Bye, my Trideviyo," [Bye, my three goddesses.] he called after them with a grin, a deep fondness in his voice.

Shivangi, Aaradhya, and Dhriti step out of the house, their laughter still echoing in the hallway. Vihaan, still grinning, watched them until they were out of sight.

With a contented sigh, he turns back to his newspaper, ready to face the rest of his day. As the door clicked shut behind him, the ordinary rhythm of life took over again—simple, familiar, and filled with the little joys of everyday moments.

And so began Shivangi Randhawa's day, marked by the warmth of family and the promise of another ordinary yet cherished routine.

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Hey choozo, kaise ho?

Hopefully tum logon ko aacha laga. I know thoda boring ho raha hai. But don't worry, Shivangi aur Ishan jaldi milenge.

Agar pasand aaya, toh vote and comment kar dena. Story mein kuch chahiye, toh bata dena.

Aur prem so bolo,

Radhe..Radhe 🙏🏻