Drunken crybaby

The small beachside restaurant was a hidden gem, nestled between swaying palm trees and the gentle lapping of the ocean waves. Built entirely of weathered wood, it had a rustic charm that blended seamlessly with its natural surroundings.

A wooden platform extended from the restaurant toward the beach, where tables were set up under strings of fairy lights and leafy canopies.

The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the beachside dinner setup, their golden light flickering against the white canopy that swayed gently in the breeze.

A bonfire crackled nearby, sending embers dancing into the night as laughter and music filled the air.

Mama Carmen and Elena sat at a beautifully decorated table near the platform’s edge, bathed in the soft glow of the lanterns.

Carmen, exuding elegance, wore a flowing deep red dress that draped gracefully over her full figure, while Elena, youthful and radiant, sported a delicate blue sundress with floral embroidery along the hem. Their laughter floated through the air as they chatted, basking in the warm, familial atmosphere.

Meanwhile, Joel was a whirlwind of energy, darting from table to table, adjusting placements, ensuring every candle was lit just right, and nervously checking the time. His excitement was palpable.

“Mijo, sit down,” Carmen called, shaking her head fondly. “You’re making me tired just watching you.”

Joel paused, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"I can’t, Mama Carmen. This is my first time spending time with family like this. I want it to be perfect."

His eyes sparkled with excitement, and before Carmen could protest further, he spotted Aryan and Ishan approaching.

"They’re here!" he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

Aryan and Ishan walked toward the restaurant, their outfits unintentionally matching in a way that made them look like they’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.

Aryan wore a crisp white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with caramel-colored trousers that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame.

His hair was slightly tousled, and the faintest hint of stubble lined his jaw, giving him a relaxed yet commanding presence.

Ishan, on the other hand, looked effortlessly stunning in a long, white flare maxi dress that swayed gracefully with each step.

His pearl earrings and matching necklace glistened under the lantern light, while his soft, pink glossy lips and subtle eyeshadow enhanced his delicate beauty.

There was a newfound confidence in the way he carried himself, the weight of the breast forms making him feel more complete, more himself.

Despite their composed appearances, Carmen could sense the tension between them.

As they reached the table, Aryan wheeled himself toward one side, expecting Ishan to take the seat beside him.

But without hesitation, Ishan walked past him and sat beside Mama Carmen, directly facing Aryan.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Aryan’s face before he schooled his expression into indifference.

Ishan, however, didn’t bother hiding his emotions—his cold stare said everything.

He turned to Aryan and, with a sincere nod, added,

“Mr. Aryan, if you’re still upset about me kissing your wife’s hand, I apologize. I understand the cultural differences, and I’ll be mindful of them in the future. But you shouldn’t direct your anger at your wife like that.”

“Ohh, he’s not the one angry here!” Ishan shot back before immediately catching himself. He forced a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Joel, it’s not about today’s incident…”

"No, don’t stress about it," Aryan chimed in awkwardly, forcing a smile. "It’s just a daily quarrel between husband and wife."

He glanced at Ishan, who was still red with anger, and quickly looked away.

"Okay then," Joel said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Anybody fancy a whiskey? It’s not much, but it’s stronger than the whiskeys you might be used to."

"I don’t prefer drinking," Aryan said, lifting his hand to stop Joel from pouring whiskey into his glass.

"Oh, really?" Ishan crossed his arms, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Because the last time I remember, you were drunk out of your mind on our first night—" He paused, realizing how that sounded, and quickly corrected himself. "I mean, the day of our wedding."

He continued, his voice sharp, "Or do you feel uncomfortable drinking with a faggot?"

Before anyone could respond, Ishan snatched the bottle from Joel, poured a large amount into his glass, and downed it in one go.

He coughed hard, his eyes watering from the strength of the whiskey.

"How many times do I need to say sorry about that?" Aryan finally shot back, his voice tight.

"Do you know how stressed I was that day?"

“Oh, sure. I totally understand.” Ishan’s voice dripped with mock sympathy. “I mean, I only had to pierce my ears, carry around a thirty-kilo lehenga, and commit to being someone’s wife for an entire year, but you were the one who was stressed.”

His tone turned sharper as he switched to Hindi, ensuring no one else would understand. Even in his anger, he still protected Aryan’s reputation.

Aryan’s fingers tightened around his glass.

“Oh, yes. Wearing a lehenga is definitely tougher than having your entire body paralyzed so a random stranger could do whatever they wanted to you.”

He reached for the bottle, finally pouring himself a drink. Subconsciously, he poured some for Ishan as well.

"Mama, should we stop them?" Elena whispered to Carmen, worried the fight might escalate.

“Oh, don’t worry.”, Carmen chuckled, shaking her head. “These kinds of arguments always lead to amazing sex.”

Elena choked on her drink. “Mama!”

“I’m serious! Your father and I had a massive fight the day you were conceived.” Carmen smirked. “I’m pretty sure Baby Raichand is on his way.”

Elena groaned and nudged her mother playfully. Meanwhile, Ishan, who had unfortunately overheard, flushed bright red.

In embarrassment, he grabbed his glass and downed another shot.

For the next ten minutes, neither Ishan nor Aryan spoke to each other. But as the night progressed, the tension slowly began to melt away. The restaurant buzzed with laughter, the strumming of the guitar picking up in rhythm.

Plates of freshly grilled seafood, aromatic rice, and tropical fruit platters made their way to the table.

Joel moved from guest to guest, making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink. Carmen and Elena were lost in conversation, sharing stories from their shopping trip.

At some point, Ishan glanced up and caught Aryan’s gaze across the table.

He expected to find lingering frustration but was met with something softer—something hesitant, almost regretful. And to his surprise, a tiny part of him wanted to forgive.

Just a tiny part.

Ishan looked at Aryan, who was also looking back at him awkwardly. His sharp jawline, usually tense with restrained anger, was softer now, his eyes glassy, a bit unfocused. Ishan felt those butterflies again though he wasn’t sure if they were from the whiskey, the music, the food, or none of the above.

‘Nope. Not happening. No existential crisis tonight.’

He grabbed his lipstick from the table, twisting it open with unsteady hands. As he tried to touch up his lips, the tip smudged across his cheek. He frowned, swiping at it clumsily.

When he looked up again, Aryan was still staring at him. He looked...  like a baby on the verge of crying.

“What happened to you, you little crybaby?” Ishan slurred, narrowing his eyes mockingly.

"You know, you never asked about how I got paralyzed, did you?" Aryan said, wiping his running nose and his eyes with his cuff. "You never actually cared about me..."

Ishan’s hands paused mid-air, lipstick still clutched between his fingers. His brows furrowed.

“I asked you like fifteen times,” he shot back. “Every damn time I tried, you just said it wasn’t my concern!”

"Oh... yeah, I remember," Aryan said, his voice quieter now. "Do you want to know now?"

"Yes!" Ishan leaned forward, suddenly on the edge of his seat. "Go on."

"It was the day I found out",Aryan took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he switched to Hindi. "... that I’m adopted."

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How about some background lore about Aryan's Accident before we go to full on fuck fest. 😅.

This is one part of my chapter which I was supposed to publish today.. but that chapter went beyond 3000 words so I had to cut it into two... The next part will be published tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

Please share your comments on where their conversation will go from here.