TWELVE YEARS LATER

"Aryaman, stand straight!" Pashmina scolded the fifteen-year-old teenager, who was being impatient as he tried to do too many things at once while she carefully adjusted the handkerchief in his pocket."

"Mumma, I'm not three years old! Stop scolding me," he said, setting his hair and applying gel to his long, messy locks that almost covered his forehead.

Pashmina sighed, stepping back with her arms crossed. "Well, you're certainly acting like one," she said, giving him a pointed look. "You can’t even stand still for two minutes."

Aryaman rolled his eyes, smoothing his blazer before checking himself in the mirror. "I just don’t see why this stupid handkerchief has to be perfect. No one’s even going to notice."

Pashmina raised an eyebrow. "It's not about who notices. It's about presenting yourself well. First impressions matter, Aryaman."

He groaned dramatically. "First impressions, last impressions—Mumma, it's just a farewell, not my wedding."

Pashmina sighed, smoothing out an invisible crease on Aryaman's blazer. "Maybe not, but it's your farewell. Your last day as a schoolboy. That's special."

Aryaman scoffed, adjusting his cufflinks. "Special? Mumma, it's just a bunch of speeches, some overdramatic crying, and a DJ who plays the same old songs every year."

She chuckled. "Still, you'll look back at this day one day and realize how much it meant. You won't get this time again."

Aryaman gagged dramatically. "Yeah, right. As if I'd ever miss school. It was hell. If it weren't for Jaymeet, I wouldn't have survived."

Pashmina rolled her eyes, lightly smacking his chest. "You're such a party pooper."

He laughed, dodging her next playful hit. "I'm just being honest! Anyway, you should be happy—I made it through without getting expelled."

She shook her head with an exasperated smile. "Barely."

Aryaman smirked, leaning in slightly. "Actually... I kinda made that barely a mission sometimes. You know, just to see how close I could get to suspension." He winked at her.

Pashmina's eyes widened in shock. "Aryaman! You seriously did that?"

"Yes, Mumma," he admitted with a shrug. "I mean... I just wanted some time to focus on cricket, you know? But school made it their mission not to give me any holidays."

Pashmina stared at him in disbelief. "Why would you do that? You loved school! I still remember how excited you were on your first day. What happened?"

Aryaman chuckled, grabbing his deodorant and spraying it over his blazer. "I grew up."

Pashmina studied Aryaman for a moment, her eyes scanning the boy—no, the young man—standing before her. He had grown taller, his features sharper, his confidence bordering on recklessness. Yet, no matter how much he insisted he had "grown up," she still saw traces of the little boy who once held her hand on his first day of school.

She exhaled, shaking her head. "Growing up doesn't mean turning into a rebel, Aryaman."

He grinned, adjusting his blazer one last time in the mirror. "It means figuring out which rules are worth breaking."

Pashmina narrowed her eyes. "And you decided school rules were a good place to start?"

Aryaman shrugged, grabbing his phone. "Well, I survived, didn't I?" He gave her a cheeky wink before glancing at his phone and sighing. "Jaymeet—never on time."

Pashmina rubbed her temples and sighed. "You and your father are an absolute headache, to be honest."

Aryaman smirked, shoving his phone into his pocket. "Ah, so it runs in the family. No wonder I turned out this way."

She shot him a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. "That is not something to be proud of."

Just then, Shubman walked in, holding a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He raised an eyebrow at the two of them, his tone half-exasperated, half-teasing. "Can you two go a single morning without arguing?"

Pashmina turned to him with an unimpressed look. "It's not arguing; it's parenting."

Aryaman smirked as he playfully poked Pashmina's arm. "Papa, what can I do? Your wife is not a chill person!"

Shubman let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by his son's antics. But the moment Pashmina shot him a sharp, knowing look, he immediately cleared his throat, masking his laughter with a sip of coffee. Without another word, he settled into his rocking chair, pretending to be deeply engrossed in his newspaper.

Pashmina crossed her arms. "That's what I thought."

Aryaman chuckled, shaking his head. "Poor Papa. Even he knows better than to mess with you."

Shubman, still hiding behind his newspaper, muttered, "Smart men learn from experience."

Before Pashmina could throw sharp words at Shubman, Aryaman quickly stepped in to his father's rescue.

"Okay, okay! Calm down, Mumma. Alsooo... Pappaaa," he sang, stretching out the word dramatically. "Can I take your car keyssss?" He clasped his hands together, giving his best innocent smile, hoping his father would give in.

Shubman, without even lowering his newspaper, responded with a firm and loud, "NO!"

Aryaman's hopeful grin immediately dropped into a deep frown. "But Pappaaa," he whined, trying again, only for Shubman to cut him off mid-sentence.

"A no is a no," he said, turning a page in the newspaper. "You're not 18 yet."

Aryaman huffed, running a hand through his hair. "But most of my classmates are driving, Papa! Please?"

Shubman remained unmoved, still focused on his newspaper. "I don't care what others do. I care about you and what you should be doing."

Aryaman groaned. "Come on, Papa! I know how to drive. I'm responsible."

Shubman finally lowered his newspaper slightly and gave Aryaman a firm look. "You drive under my surveillance. Just because I taught you doesn't mean you get the keys. And no arguments—that's final."

Aryaman gulped, shutting his eyes briefly. He knew that when his father gave a strict no, there was no point in pushing further—especially since Shubman usually gave in to his demands most of the time.

With a dramatic sigh, he muttered, "Fine... at least send the driver with me."

"Why the driver? I'll drop you myself," Shubman said, setting his newspaper aside.

Aryaman immediately shook his head, wagging a finger at his father. "And that's a big no from me."

Shubman raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Aryaman groaned. "I really don't want the girls from my batch fawning over you. I mean, it's so cringe to have them gushing over my father."

Shubman smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Ah, so that's the real problem."

Aryaman rolled his eyes. "Papa, you don't get it. It's embarrassing! They keep saying stuff like 'Oh, Aryaman, your dad looks so young!' 'Oh, Aryaman, your dad is so handsome!' Like, ew. I can't deal with it."

Wanting to tease Pashmina even more, Shubman smirked and ran a hand through his hair. "What else do they say about me, Aryaman?" he asked, sneaking a glance at his wife.

Aryaman groaned. "Oh god, Papa, please don't make this worse."

Shubman chuckled. "Come on, beta, I'm curious. Do they just call me handsome, or is there more?"

Aryaman rolled his eyes and dramatically mimicked the girls. He pitched his voice higher, clasping his hands together. "Oh my god, have you seen those biceps? Same biceps that go rigid while hitting those straight sixes!"

Pashmina smirked, crossing her arms as she turned to Aryaman. "He's purposely doing this, you know," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Your papa just loves teasing me."

Aryaman sighed dramatically. "Oh, trust me, Mumma, I know. And he's enjoying it way too much."

"And I can tell you all about his fawning over me," Pashmina said smoothly, turning to Shubman with a triumphant smirk.

Shubman, caught off guard, immediately gulped, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Pashmina..." he warned, but his voice lacked its usual firmness.

Aryaman's eyes widened in delight as he pointed at his father. "Ohhh, now this is interesting! Papa, are you blushing?"

Shubman quickly picked up his newspaper, pretending to read. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Pashmina leaned back with a knowing smile. "So, your Bua was telling me—this was before we even started dating—how your papa used to blush just from looking at my earrings. He even described me like Kashmir itself."

Aryaman gasped dramatically. "Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me that the Prince of Cricket—the same man who has girls and women fawning over him—was out here blushing like a lovesick hero over my Mumma's earrings?"

Shubman groaned, lowering his newspaper just enough to glare at Pashmina. "You really had to bring that up?"

Pashmina grinned. "Of course. It's my duty as your wife."

Aryaman burst out laughing. "This is gold. Absolute gold! Papa, you're worse than those girls in my batch."

Shubman threw the newspaper at Aryaman, who caught it effortlessly. "Guess the cricketing genes run strong," Aryaman said with a smirk.

Shubman narrowed his eyes. "Wait till you fall in love, Mr. Too-Cool-for-Romance. Then we'll see who's blushing."

Aryaman scoffed, tossing the newspaper aside. "Please, Papa. I'm not going to turn into some filmy hero who loses all sense over jhumkas."

"We'll see," Shubman said, smirking knowingly.

Aryaman shrugged. "That'll take time because, right now, cricket is my priorityyy." He stretched the word dramatically before turning to Pashmina with a grin. "And till then, I've got my lovely Mumma."

Before she could react, Aryaman pulled Pashmina into his arms and planted a loud kiss on her cheek, bending down slightly to do so.

"Oye, mister! That's my wife!" Shubman protested, feigning outrage.

Just then, seven-year-old Innayat, who had just walked into the room, climbed into her papa's arms. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Don't worry, Papa," she said sweetly, her big eyes twinkling with mischief. "Let Bhaiya have Mumma... you have me!"

Shubman's mock frown immediately melted into a smile as he hugged her close. "Ahh, now that's my girl!" he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "At least someone in this house is on my side."

Aryaman's phone finally buzzed, signaling that Jaymeet was finally ready after what felt like ages.

"About time," he muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket. But before leaving, he turned to his little sister with a mischievous smirk.

"Innuuu," he sang, ruffling her hair as she squealed in protest. "Don't forget—Papa loves me more."

Innayat whined, her tiny face scrunching up in protest as she kicked her legs at Aryaman. "No, he doesn't!" she huffed, flailing her arms in an attempt to swat him away.

Aryaman laughed, easily dodging her kicks. "Oh, he totally does," he teased, winking at her.

Innayat turned to Shubman, her eyes wide and pleading. "Papa! Tell Bhaiya he's wrong!"

Shubman, enjoying the chaos, sipped his coffee leisurely. "Hmm... I don't know. Aryaman is my firstborn..." he trailed off, pretending to think.

Innayat gasped, betrayal written all over her face. "PAPAAA!"

Pashmina sighed, shaking her head. "Shubman, stop teasing her before she actually starts crying."

Shubman chuckled, pulling Innayat closer and kissing the top of her head. "Okay, okay. You're my favorite little princess. Happy?"

Innayat sniffed dramatically and crossed her arms. "Hmph. You better not be lying."

Aryaman grinned, backing away toward the door. "Alright, I'm off! Try not to miss me too much!"

"In your dreams!" Innayat called after him, sticking her tongue out.

"Wait, Aryaman!" Pashmina called just as he was about to step out. "What are your plans after the farewell? Are you eating at home or outside?"

"Uh... not sure. Jaymeet and I will probably just lounge at his house," Aryaman said, adjusting his blazer. "His Nani and Nanu are coming over, and he said his Nani makes some of the best food. So, maybe there only."

Pashmina raised an eyebrow. "Maybe? Aryaman, I need a proper answer. Should I keep dinner for you or not?"

Aryaman grinned sheepishly. "Mumma, I'll let you know once I'm sure, okay?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Fine. Just don't come home starving at midnight and raid the fridge."

Shubman chuckled, sipping his coffee. "You say that like it hasn't happened a hundred times before."

Aryaman laughed. "Guilty as charged. But hey, at least I don't waste food!"

Innayat, still in Shubman's arms, pouted. "Bhaiya always eats my chocolates when he's late."

Aryaman smirked, booping her nose. "That's because they taste better at midnight."

"Innu, hide your chocolates better this time," Pashmina said with a teasing smile.

"Or just eat them before Bhaiya gets home," Shubman added.

Aryaman gasped dramatically. "Wow, betrayal from my own family. This is why I'm better off at Jaymeet's."

Pashmina rolled her eyes. "Go already before you start another argument."

Aryaman grinned, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Bye, Mumma. Bye, Innu. Bye, Pappaaa."

"Drive safe," Pashmina called after him.

Shubman smirked. "He's not driving."

"Ugh, technicalities!" Aryaman groaned before finally heading out.

As Aryaman turned to leave, Pashmina instinctively opened her mouth to remind him to say goodbye to his grandparents—but, as always, he was a step ahead.

With effortless charm, Aryaman strode toward his Daadi, gently taking her hand and pressing a dramatic kiss to it. "Looking as gorgeous as ever, my queen," he declared, making her laugh as she lightly swatted his arm.

He then pulled Daadu into a firm hug, the older man patting his back before placing a proud kiss on his cheek. Just as he stepped away, Daadi cupped his face and kissed his other cheek, making him break into a boyish giggle—the same one from years ago, on his very first day of school.

Pashmina wished for Aryaman's effortless charm and warmth—the way he could make everyone around him smile—to always remain a part of him. She hoped that no matter how much he grew, how far life took him, this light within him would never fade.

But how long before time tried to steal this away from them? How long before Aryaman's laughter, his effortless charm, and the warmth he brought to their home became a distant memory?

They didn't know yet—but time had a way of changing everything, even the things they wished would last forever.