Author's pov-
The kitchen battle had ended, leaving behind a clan of exhausted warriors. Everyone retreated to their rooms, dragging their feet like soldiers returning from war. Mahir and Siara stepped into their bedroom, the door shutting behind them with a soft click.
Siara turned to look at Mahir. His shirt was dusted with flour, a few specks still clinging to the sharp edges of his jaw. His hands bore the angry red marks of oil splashes, his fingers lined with shallow cuts. His usually intense, all-consuming gaze was dimmed by exhaustion, dark circles resting beneath his eyes. Yet, even in his most worn-out state, he exuded dominance-like a king who had fought battles for his queen without expecting anything in return.
Siara should have said something. Anything. But emotions were dangerous territory-one wrong step, and she could lose herself in them.
Tonight, she had seen something she never expected. A sight so absurd, so chaotic, yet so deeply unsettling in the way it stirred something inside her. The Sehgal family, utterly clueless in the kitchen, had thrown themselves into an impossible task-not for themselves, not out of obligation, but for her.
There was warmth in their madness, an unspoken belonging woven into their laughter, their bickering, their relentless determination. And yet, her heart refused to yield. The walls she had built weren't just defenses; they were survival. Every past experience whispered the same warning-trust was a luxury she could never afford.
Because in the end, love didn't shelter. It betrayed.
Mahir, as if sensing the storm in her mind, took slow, deliberate steps toward her. He didn't speak. Instead, he lifted his hand, his fingers grazing her cheek as he wiped away the faint smudge of flour, his fingers lingering just a second too long against her skin.
She didn't push him away. Instead, her gaze dropped to his hands- bruised, marred with small cuts. Without thinking, she grasped his wrist, her fingers tracing over each wound with an almost unbearable softness.
Mahir stopped breathing. The ever-present smirk, the confidence he wore like a second skin-gone. Her touch was a fire, burning through his resolve, his control. It wasn't soft. No, Siara wasn't soft. It was cautious, testing, as if she wasn't sure if she wanted to touch him. But the moment she did, he was ruined. His entire world narrowed to the delicate press of her fingertip. Before he could react, before he could pull her closer the way his instincts begged him to, she stepped back. The air between them grew cold. Without a word, she turned, walking towards the cabinet.
Mahir exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on where she had walked away. A slow, wicked smirk played on his lips as he murmured, "This doctor....will be the death of me."
She fetched the medical kit with an efficiency that told him this was a habit. Treating wounds. Fixing what was broken. But she couldn't fix herself till now.
She returned, gesturing for him to sit. And for once, he obeyed.
Her fingers moved with practiced precision, dabbing antiseptic onto Mahir's wounds, her touch lighter than air. She worked in silence, methodical, unaffected. Her focus was sharp, precise-on the task at hand.
Mahir, on the other hand, had abandoned all pretense of caring about his wounds. His focus was solely on her-the way she held his hand, the fleeting warmth of her skin against his. She didn't realize it, but she was touching him with care, with something dangerously close to concern. It was a silent admission she would never speak aloud.
And he would take every silent admission she unknowingly gave.
When she was done, she stepped away, as if catching herself in the act of being too close. But her presence lingered-on his skin, in his veins, inside the very marrow of his being.
Mahir's lips curled into a tired smirk, his voice low, teasing. "If this is how you will treat me... then I wouldn't mind getting injured every day."
Siara remained impassive, arms crossing over her chest, her expression unreadable. "You're delusional from lack of sleep."
Mahir didn't argue. Instead, he stood. The space between them disappeared in an instant. She inhaled sharply, but didn't move back. A mistake.
His fingers trailed along her wrist, a barely-there touch that sent something electric crackling in the air between them. His voice was smooth, dark, dangerously hypnotic. "Tell me something... am I making you nervous, doctor?"
Siara didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped forward, erasing the last sliver of space between them. Now, they were close-too close. Close enough that she could see the way his pupils darkened, the way his jaw tensed ever so slightly. She had turned the game on him.
She tilted her head, a slow smirk curling on her lips. "Tell me, Am I making you nervous, Mr. Rock King?"
Mahir tilted his head, watching her with sharp amusement. A slow, knowing smirk pulled at his lips as his lips hovered dangerously close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered, "This little game of yours won't work on me my dear wife" His fingers traced the curve of her jaw, the touch so gentle it was maddening. "I see exactly what you're trying to do."
His smirk deepened,"The day you'll come close to me, not to challenge, not to defy, but because you want to..." He exhaled slowly, savoring the moment. "That's the day you'll make me nervous, Mrs. Rock."
His hand slid down her arm, stopping at her fingers. He lifted her palm, turned it over, and pressed a slow, lingering kiss at the center. "You can fight me, Siara. Fight the world if you want. But you can't fight this-" his finger pressed lightly over her heart, where her pulse betrayed her. "And you sure as hell can't fight my love."
With that he stepped away leaving behind a not so composed siara.
-----------
The air was thick with anticipation as the elders of the Sehgal family scrambled to prepare for the puja. The house, usually alive with the sounds of bickering and laughter, now felt oddly quiet. Rajeshwari moved around the room with a determined grace, barking out orders with her usual no-nonsense tone.
"Flower petals there, incense sticks here-are you all deaf or just blind?" she snapped, glancing over her shoulder at the younger clan.
But today, the younger clan was far from their usual spirited selves. Instead of the usual banter, they appeared like zombies on a caffeine detox. Kabir, usually the first to crack a joke, was rubbing his eyes, looking like he might just collapse right there.
"Someone call siara bhabhi, atleast her glare will wake up my soul" Kabir muttered, stifling a yawn.
Avi, standing beside him, yawned in perfect sync. "What's worse-this or the aftermath of kitchen disaster last night?" he asked, still holding onto the lingering chaos from the midnight.
Meanwhile, Shivani, who had been quietly observing the younger clan's antics, gasped and pointed at Divya. "Divya! Why are you looking... yellow? Are you okay?"
Divya, who had been quietly leaning against the wall, slowly slid down to the floor with all the grace of a deflating balloon. She immediately closed her eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh as though she had just fought a battle and lost. "I gave a tough competition to a sunflower last night, Badi Ma," she said in a voice thick with exhaustion, her tone almost regal. "I'm just resting my eyes. You know, conserving energy for the real battle later."
Shivani, blinking in confusion, bent down to check on her. "Competition to a sunflower? Divya, are you sleepwalking through a field of flowers?"
Divya kept her eyes closed, her hand dramatically waving in the air. "I'm not sleepwalking, Badi Ma. I'm conserving my energy so I can glow like a sunflower once buaji comes. Right now, I'm in my off-season."
Mahir strolled into the hall, looking as cool and collected as ever. He caught sight of Divya still sprawled on the floor, eyes closed, looking like she had just entered another dimension. Without much effort, he walked over and grabbed her shoulder, lifting her up with the casual ease of someone picking up a pillow.
"Open your eyes before your bhabhi shows up," he teased, his voice dripping with playful mischief.
The effect was instantaneous. Divya's eyes shot open faster than a lightning bolt, her body jerking upright like she'd been plugged into an electric socket, and her posture suddenly as rigid as if someone had just pulled an invisible string. Her expression went from 'sunflower-in-hibernation' to full alert mode in an instant.
Myra, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with a smug grin, couldn't help but smirk. "Bhabhi's Aura is undefeated,"
Dadi, as always, was having none of it. "Enough with the whispers, everyone. Start arranging the flowers!" she barked, her tone sharp. "You think this puja will arrange itself?"
This time, the younger clan, seeing the fiery look in her eyes, quickly scrambled to follow her instructions. No protests. No sarcasm. Just the silent hum of obedience as they all moved in sync-well, as much as they could, considering the still-faint exhaustion lingering in their eyes.
After sometime, Siara entered, her presence drawing the attention of everyone in the room. She was wearing a stunning red saree, the fabric flowing with a grace that could rival the most elegant of queens. Her hair was tied into a sleek bun, framing her face perfectly. She looked like she had just stepped out of a dream.
Mahir, who had been scrolling through his phone and clearly lost in the digital world, had no idea what was coming. As he lifted his gaze, his phone slipped from his hand, the device clattering to the ground with a soft thud. His eyes went wide, his jaw dropping ever so slightly as he looked at her. His reaction was pure, unfiltered awe.
Kabir, standing nearby and witnessing his reaction, leaned in, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Bhai," he whispered, nudging Mahir with his elbow. "Close your mouth or I'll put that bulletproof ladoo in your mouth."
Shivay, couldn't resist so he said, "Ice Queen, you look beautiful." There was a playful edge to his voice, but the compliment held genuine admiration.
Avya, followed suit with a more heartfelt declaration. "Yes, bhabhi," she said with a sincere smile. "You look gorgeous."
It was clear that Siara, despite her usual icy demeanor, had an undeniable effect on everyone around her. And Mahir? Well, he was still struggling to piece his jaw back together.
As soon as everyone was gathered, the grand entrance of their bua sent a fresh wave of discipline through the household. Dressed in a regal saree, her presence alone was enough to command attention. Even the most chaotic members of the clan straightened up-at least, for a few moments.
The puja began, and the rhythmic chants filled the air, blending with the soft ringing of temple bells. The elders were deeply engrossed, their expressions serene and focused. The younger clan? A whole different story.
Mahir, seated at the front, was barely holding it together. His head bobbed slightly, his eyelids drooping, but every time he almost gave in, Siara's sharp gaze cut through him like an ice dagger. He immediately straightened up, feigning devotion while stifling a yawn.
Shivay, seated next to him, was slightly less lucky. At one point, his head dropped onto Avi's shoulder.
"Get off me, idiot," Avi muttered, nudging him awake.
Shivay blinked drowsily. "I was meditating," he defended.
"Yeah? Meditating in your dreams?" Divya snickered, biting back a laugh.
Kabir, not one to miss an opportunity, smirked. "Honestly, it's a miracle Mahir bhai hasn't passed out yet."
Mahi whispered, eyeing her husband "You should be grateful I didn't record your snoring."
By the time the puja concluded, the younger ones-including Mahir-were barely holding on, fighting to stay awake. The moment the final aarti ended, a collective sigh of relief passed through the clan.
Dadi shot them a sharp glance. "Don't think I didn't notice you all sleeping throughout the puja," she scolded.
Kabir stretched and smirked, rubbing his eyes. "Dadi, devotion is in the heart, not in how wide your eyes are open."
Shivay, ever the menace, grinned. "Yeah, and our hearts were fully awake. Just... the rest of us wasn't."
Siara, who had been silently observing the mess unfold, gave a quiet shake of her head, but there was a trace of amusement in her eyes.
Shivani, standing beside Rajeshwari, leaned in and whispered, "Maa, you wanted to test Mahir's love, but look at them." She gestured subtly toward the younger clan, who were barely managing to stay upright, their faces etched with exhaustion. "Looks like all of them are proving how much Siara matters to them."
Rajeshwari, who had been silently observing, gave Shivani a knowing smile before turning her gaze to the younger clan's sleepy yet determined faces. "Love isn't always loud," she murmured, her voice laced with wisdom. "Sometimes, it's just staying awake when you'd rather be asleep."
----------
The Sehgal's finally settled at the dining table, the long night of chaos still weighing heavily on their shoulders. But nothing-absolutely nothing-could have prepared them for the sight before them.
The table was overflowing with dishes that looked less like food and more like a geography project gone horribly wrong. There was a halwa mountain that seemed to be collapsing under its own weight, a dish that suspiciously resembled the African continent, and a curry that had somehow taken the shape of Australia.
The younger clan collectively gagged, exchanging horrified glances.
Shivay poked at something that looked like a pathetic excuse of a ghewar but sounded like a rock when his fork made contact. He winced. "Did we cook this... or did we dig it up from an archeological site?"
Kabir, eyeing the barfi that looked harder than his will to live, muttered, "I'm genuinely considering whether my dental insurance covers battle damage."
Their bua, who had been examining the table with a sharp eye, finally spoke, her voice dripping with unimpressed amusement. She smirked evilly before turning to Siara, who had been sitting in silence.
"If you didn't want to cook," she said, eyes twinkling with mischief, "you could have just told us, dear, instead of ruining the food."
Before Siara could even open her mouth, Dadi-the true matriarchal powerhouse-cleared her throat, her authoritative gaze fixing bua in place.
Mahir, meanwhile, was completely unaffected by the chaos, grabbing a spoonful of the mystery kheer. He took one bite, paused, and then casually drank an entire glass of water without blinking.
Myra, reluctantly picked up a spoon. The entire clan hesitated before taking their first bites, bracing themselves for impact.
The instant the food touched their tongues, an urge to spit it out bubbled within them. Yet, not a single one of them betrayed a flicker of distaste. Instead, they wore gentle, supportive smiles, each bite taken with a mutual understanding-they thought that according to the elders, Siara was the one behind this masterpiece, and they can't let her down.
Their Bua couldn't hold it in any longer. With a dramatic sigh and a face twisted in exaggerated distaste, she declared, "Siara, this tastes horrendous!"
Instantly, Divya and Shivay exchanged a conspiratorial glance-time to unleash the most emotionally charged performance of their lives.
Divya clutched the golden platter to her chest like it was her last hope, her lower lip trembling as if she had been gravely wronged. With slow, shaky steps, she approached her Bua, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She sniffled dramatically, her voice breaking as she whispered, "Buaji... Shivay and I... w-we made this by ourselves. N-no one in this house... wants to eat food made by u-us..."
Her chin wobbled, and she let out a small, pitiful sob, clutching Shivay's arm for support. Shivay followed suit, placing a trembling hand over his heart, his face etched with pure devastation.
Their Bua's eyes twinkled as she smiled and replied, "Of course, beta. It's better to eat this than that other abomination."
That, unbeknownst to her, was her biggest mistake.
In perfect unison with their script, the moment she took her first bite, she immediately gagged. "From what poison did you make this?" she spluttered dramatically.
Divya burst into full-blown theatrics, tears streaming down her face as if she'd just lost someone dear. Shivay, not to be outdone, teared up as well. Between sniffles, he mumbled, "No one loves us..."
At that point, Rajeshwari turned to her daughter with a mix of sternness and exasperation. "Do not disrespect food! They made it with so much-lov---well, effort. Look, they're crying! Finish it all!"
Cornered by the theatrics, she reluctantly continued eating. She reached for a ladoo, tried to took a bite, and-of course-it didn't break apart just as expected. With a sweet yet bitter smile, she told Divya, "Don't cry, beta. Just Go get me a hammer!"
The entire table erupted in laughter. Divya and Shivay dropped their act for a split second, exchanging sheepish grins.
Amidst all this, Siara sat in complete calm, taking a small, dainty bite of the food. She chewed, swallowed, and-much to everyone's horror-went in for another bite.
The table froze.
Kabir leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, "She's... immune to this food."
Shivay, still reeling from shock, gulped. His gaze darted between Siara and the disaster on their plates before he murmured, "No... she's immune to... us."
And just like that, lunch became another legendary episode in the never-ending Sehgal Chronicles of Chaos.
--------
Siara's pov-
The night had been routine-rounds, paperwork, a few minor surgeries. I sat in my cabin, my expression as impassive as ever, instructing the interns and Sid about their next tasks. They nodded along, taking notes, completely oblivious to the exhaustion threatening to crawl into my bones.
And then, the air shifted.
The door swung open, and in walked Mahir, radiating the kind of presence that could command a battlefield. Sleeves rolled up, veins prominent against his forearms, his coat casually slung over his shoulder. His dark eyes-hooded, unreadable-settled on me with an intensity that could set fire to ice. Wait..why am I describing him. Something is definitely wrong with me. This man has messed up my mind. I didn't blink. Instead, I continued flipping through the file in front of me. "You're in the wrong place, Mr. Sehgal. The psychiatric department is on the second floor."
The interns? They were gaping. Sid nearly dropped his clipboard.
Mahir chuckled, slow and deliberate, stepping further inside. He didn't care for the audience, nor the hushed whispers of the interns. His attention was solely on me.
Sid practically dragged the interns out, shutting the door behind them, leaving only Mahir and me in the quiet of my office.
He placed his coat on the chair opposite mine and leaned in, palms pressed against my desk. His voice was a low drawl, dark and teasing. "You wound me, doctor. Is this how you treat your husband? No warm welcome? No longing stares?"
I simply looked at him, unimpressed. "What do you want?"
Straight to the point. No nonsense.
His lips curved, amused. He murmured, "I came to pick you up."
I raised a brow. "I'm perfectly capable of getting home myself."
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering my words, then shrugged, voice smooth as silk. "I know. But here I am."
Arguing with Mahir is like trying to reason with a storm-pointless and exhausting. So I didn't bother. It wasn't worth the energy.
Without another word, I picked up my bag and walked past him. He followed, a silent shadow, his presence filling the room as we stepped out.
By the time we reached his car, he was already holding the door open for me. I slid in, ignoring the way he watched me with that infuriating, knowing smirk.
The car ride was quiet at first, the low hum of the engine the only sound between us. Then, casually, Mahir spoke. "Look in the backseat."
I turned my head, and my eyes landed on an extravagant bouquet-massive, almost ridiculous in size, filled with rare, deep red roses, interwoven with delicate white orchids. It was excessive. Unnecessary. Total Waste of money. What kind of businessman is he?
I arched an unimpressed eyebrow, my voice dry. "I don't like red roses." I folded my arms and shot him a pointed look. "Did you think I'd gasp and say-oh, Mahir! This is sooo beautiful. Thank you!" My voice dripped with mock enthusiasm as I batted my lashes, perfectly mimicking the women in his office who fawned over him.
Mahir burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he leaned against the seat "Good thing you're a doctor, Acting isn't your career."
I rolled my eyes and flicked a glance at the floral monstrosity. "Did you pick this out yourself, or did you just tell someone to send 'the most over-the-top bouquet you have'?"
His smirk was immediate, his voice laced with something smug yet impossibly soft. "I picked it out myself. For my wife." He paused, tilting his head slightly toward me. "But I already placed a bet on Divya's falling talent that you would reject it."
That earned him a quiet chuckle. Typical.
I exhaled, shaking my head as I looked ahead. "This is what you'll get. Always. Rejection."
Mahir didn't flinch. Instead, he simply turned the steering wheel smoothly, effortlessly in control. His voice dropped lower, more teasing, more resolute. "Baby, I'm all ready to face it."
His eyes flicked toward me briefly, dark and unwavering. "But don't think for a second that your husband will ever stop trying."
.
.
.