Mahir's pov-
I was driving the car, my fingers drumming lazily against the steering wheel, while my wife sat beside me, radiating pure, unfiltered rage.
Her expression? A storm brewing on the horizon. A mix of outrage, betrayal, and sheer disbelief-like I had just committed the ultimate crime against her. Her Lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed so tightly it was a miracle they didn't snap, and eyes burning with the kind of silent fury that promised absolute destruction.
She was about to burst.
And honestly? I didn't blame her. But she left me no choice.
She doesn't eat on time. She treats meals like optional suggestions, not necessities. She skips meals like it's a sport, ignores hunger as if it's beneath her, and worst of all? She never complains.
I had seen it before-the way she barely touches certain dishes, forcing herself to eat just enough so no one questions her. But tonight, it wasn't just a suspicion. I saw Mom cooking earlier. And I knew, without a doubt, Siara wouldn't eat enough of it.
If we had stayed home? She would've done what she always did-picked at her plate, claimed she was full, and no one would've noticed. And I wasn't about to let that happen.
So, I took her out. No discussion. No warnings. Just picked up the keys and dragged my furious, starving Siara out of the house.
And now?
Now she was sitting beside me, fuming. She had spent the entire car ride casting me dagger-filled glares in intervals, like she was internally setting a timer. Tilt, glare, huff. Reset.
And here she goes again. Another glare. This one sharper than before.
I bit back a smile, gripping the wheel a little tighter. This wild cat looks cute when she's mad.
I sighed dramatically. "You know, sweetheart, if looks could kill, I'd be dead by now."
She turned back, eyes blazing. "You should thank Dadi that you're still alive. I'm silent for her only-otherwise, she might faint seeing her most cultured granddaughter-in-law strangling her most uncultured grandson."
I let out a bark of laughter. "I'm telling you again, she would be the happiest person alive if she saw you doing that."
Siara narrowed her eyes. "Then maybe I should test that theory."
I tilted my head slightly, casually loosening the collar of my shirt. "Go ahead, baby. Hands around the neck, apply pressure. Let's see if Dadi starts handing out sweets or not."
Well this got me another Ice-dipped glare from her.
We reached the hotel, and I parked the car smoothly. Just as I was about to step out and open the door for her-she, of course, did it herself.
Not just that, but she stepped out like she owned the place. Which Technically she did. Because this hotel? It was ours.
I leaned against the car and watched as she gave a once-over to the grand entrance, taking in the modern chandeliers, the intricate gold-accented architecture, and the sheer elegance of it all.
Then she turned to me, raising an eyebrow. "Are you coming, Mr. Sehgal, or do we need a red carpet for you and your ego?"
I bit back a laugh. "I think my ego is doing just fine, but if you want to arrange a red carpet, I won't stop you."
She rolled her eyes and gestured for me to walk first. I sighed, shaking my head, and guided her inside.
The moment we entered, the staff straightened, alert and professional. A subtle shift in the atmosphere-the kind that happened when power walked into a room.
The manager, a middle-aged man in an immaculately pressed suit, hurried forward. "Mr. Sehgal, Mrs. Sehgal. Welcome."
Siara barely acknowledged him with a nod, her expression impassive. Queen energy at its finest.
I, on the other hand, gave a casual nod. "Good evening. Our table?"
"Of course, sir. Right this way."
He led us through the lavish dining area, past marble pillars and soft golden lighting. The atmosphere was warm yet exclusive, with a faint hum of soft instrumental music in the background. The scent of gourmet cuisine drifted in the air-rich spices, sizzling butter, and something sweet that reminded me of caramelized sugar.
As we walked, I caught how a few guests subtly glanced at us. Some out of curiosity, some in admiration, and some, well... out of sheer intimidation. It wasn't new. Siara had that effect on people.
We reached the private dining section-a secluded space with a panoramic view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The table was set perfectly, candlelight flickering against the delicate porcelain plates, the napkins folded with crisp precision.
I pulled out a chair for Siara, all gentlemanly and proper, but of course, she didn't sit immediately. No, that would be too normal. Too predictable. Instead, she folded her arms, tilted her head, and deadpanned-"Are you sure you have no mental illness?"
Stepping forward, I pulled the chair out even more, just to be extra annoying. "Don't worry baby, My wife is a neurosurgeon, so I'll be just fine."
She narrowed her eyes, a silent threat lurking in them, but finally-finally
-sat down. Graceful as ever, despite the fact that just seconds ago she was diagnosing me with a mental disorder.
I took my seat across from her, watching as she picked up the menu with the same intense focus she probably used in surgery.
"Alright," I asked, lacing my fingers together. "What would you like to eat?"
She didn't even look up. Just casually picked up a spoon from the table and threw it at my face.
I caught it mid-air with perfect reflexes.
Siara, still flipping through the menu like nothing had happened, muttered, "Anything will work."
I stared at the spoon in my hand. Wow. What a wonderful way to reply.
Truly poetic. Shakespeare himself would be jealous of the sheer eloquence of this response.
Meanwhile, Siara continued flipping through the menu like she hadn't just assaulted me with tableware.
I set the spoon down with a sigh. "Who does that on their first date, Siara?"
She finally looked up at me. Gave me the most innocent expression in the world. And then-she threw another spoon.
I caught that one too.
"I do and for your kind information, this is not a Date" she replied.
I let out a laugh. "Right. Of course you do."
I glanced around, half-expecting the manager to rush over and confiscate all cutlery before she started throwing knives next.
Leaning forward, I placed my elbows on the table. "Are we ordering food, or should I start dodging plates next?"
She sipped her water with all the grace of a royal empress and said, "That depends. Will you continue being insufferable?"
I shook my head, amused beyond reason. Did she even realize how completely opposite she was behaving from her usual cold and emotionless self?
But did I mind?
Not at all.
Because whether she realized it or not, she was comfortable around me. And even if it took her a lifetime to trust me, to maybe love me-that was fine. But I would do everything in my power to bring back the life that had been stolen from her.
--------
After an intense back-to-back glaring session from my adorable yet infuriated wife, our food finally arrived.
I watched as she picked up her fork, stabbing the food like it had personally offended her. Then, with slow deliberation, she took her first bite.
I sighed in relief. Finally. She was eating. It was a small victory, but I'd take it.
But Of course, this wasn't a peaceful dinner-not in the slightest. Because convincing Siara to eat enough food was like negotiating a peace treaty with a raging storm.
By the time we finished, I was exhausted from my relentless efforts to make sure she ate enough, while she sat there looking thoroughly unimpressed.
But I didn't mind.
Because no matter how many glares, sarcastic comments, or dramatic sighs she threw my way, she had eaten enough today. And for me, that was enough.
The moment we left the hotel, I did something I knew would not-could not-end peacefully. My voice was smooth, but my words were sharp. Cutting. Deliberate "You know, I think you should not go to the hospital anymore."
Siara turned to me, her gaze burning, daring me to complete my sentence.
I did. "Siara, I earn enough to provide you with everything. It wouldn't be a big deal if you-"
"Stop. The. Car." Her voice was dangerously low, but the fury behind it? Explosive.
"Siara-" I started, but she was beyond reasoning now. So I did as she said. I stopped the car.
She harshly unbuckled her seatbelt, pushed the door open, and slammed it shut with a force that made the entire vehicle tremble. Then she stormed off onto the silent road.
I knew this would happen. I knew she would explode. And yet, I did it anyway. Because I couldn't just sit back and watch her deal with her trauma alone.
I stepped out and ran after her. "Siara, wait." But She didn't stop.
Her steps were fast, her breath ragged. She was angry. And Siara didn't just get angry-she burned.
I moved ahead and gripped her shoulders to stop her, but the moment my hands touched her, she whirled around and roared. "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! THAT'S MY PROFESSION YOU JUST TOLD ME TO DROP!"
And before I could say another word-she slapped me.
Not once.
Not twice.
Three times. Back. To. Back.
Sharp. Stinging. Unapologetic.
But she wasn't done. "You have no fucking right, Mahir Sehgal, to just come and bark your orders! You know what? Leave your goddamn position then! I earn enough! You can fucking enjoy my money!"
Her voice cracked, her body trembling with the force of her emotions. But she was still raging.
"YOU ARE NO ONE TO JUDGE MY PROFESSION!"
Her hand lifted again, another slap coming. But this time, I caught her wrist. With my free hand, I gripped her face and forced her to look at me.
And then I shouted, matching her fire with my own-"EXACTLY! I'M NO ONE TO JUDGE OR TELL YOU TO DROP YOUR PROFESSION!"
She froze. I inhaled sharply, my grip tightening ever so slightly. "It's your life, Siara. YOURS. No one's shallow thoughts should define it."
She was still glaring, still fuming, but she was listening now. "If you can't take a single word against your profession, then why-why the hell did you let someone's words end your Passion?"
I saw the exact moment it hit her. That flicker of realization. Of shock.
I took a step closer, not letting her look away. "Siara, people say things. They do things. But why did you let it end what you loved?"
Silence.
"Your brother said something, and you-you left your passion. But now, when I just said something-what did you do?" I looked into her eyes, letting my next words sink deep. "You slapped me."
I let go of her face, but not before brushing my thumb against her cheek. "That's what you should always do, Siara. Instead of breaking. Instead of letting their words hurt you again and again."
-----------------
Siara's pov-
I blinked once. Twice.
The fire inside me didn't die out completely, but it wavered. Dulled.
My anger dropped. My eyes softened.
And my mind-well, it played its own cruel game.
Of all the things I could have felt in this moment-rage, frustration, resentment-I felt sorry. Sorry for slapping him.
The sting of my own palm on his skin was still fresh, and yet, my chest clenched with something foreign, something unwelcome.
Regret. And yet, the worst part? He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt.
He started it. I tried to convince myself, to reignite the anger, but it didn't work.
I inhaled sharply, trying to steady myself. But his words had already sunk in too deep, pulling at wounds I had long buried.
He was right. And I hated that he was right. His words...They had hit the right place.
Because he wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong when he said I had let someone else's words dictate my life.
That I had given up.
But how could I explain it to him?
How could I tell him that dancing, something I once loved, now felt like a knife twisting inside me?
I clenched my fists, looking anywhere but at Mahir. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to push when I was perfectly fine the way I was?
He let out a sigh, shaking his head like he was reading every thought I refused to say aloud. "I'm not asking you to wake up tomorrow and forgot your past, Siara." His voice was gentle now, but firm. Unyielding.
"All I'm asking-" His fingers brushed mine again, barely there. "Is that the next time you think of giving up on yourself... you remember this moment."
I could feel the weight of his gaze, waiting for me to say something. To do something. I frowned, crossing my arms. "You crazy man, you could have used a civilized way to speak instead of getting slapped."
He had the audacity to smile. Actual smile, completely unfazed. "You don't understand the language of civilized people after living with our circus."
I opened my mouth. Shut it. Opened it again.
Damn it. He had a point.
I glared. "Excuse me? Why are you bringing circus in it?"
He tilted his head, looking far too smug for someone who just got slapped three times. "Tell me I'm wrong. You've lived with your brother and my siblings. Half of them function on violence, the other half function on sarcasm. And One functions solely by tripping over flat surfaces. There was no way you were going to sit down and have a heart-to-heart over chai."
I can't deny it, he was right again.
------------
After the very eventful dinner, we reached home. The moment we stepped inside, I froze. Mahir sighed.
The whole damn clan was sitting there with popcorn. Not just sitting-waiting. Like they were watching a full-fledged Bollywood premiere.
Divya was the first to see us. Her eyes lit up like she'd just spotted an escaped prisoner. "BHABHI CAME BACK!"
Before I could react, she and Shivay charged at me like wild bulls.
"NO-WAIT-" was all I managed to say before BAM!
We all crashed to the floor. I was flattened under two overenthusiastic lunatics while Mahir just stood there, looking completely unsurprised like this was a normal Tuesday. And just when I thought it couldn't get worse-
Avi, the human wrecking ball, decided he wanted in on the fun.
With zero hesitation, he leaped onto the pile.
JUMPED. ONTO US.
I am sure I heard something crack. Probably my ribs. Or my soul.
Somewhere above, Mahir's jaw hit the floor. He blinked at the absolute disaster in front of him, then snapped- "WHAT THE HELL?! GET UP, YOU IDIOTS! SHE WILL GET HURT!"
And before I could process the amazing experience, Mahir went full Hulk mode.
With one swift motion, he grabbed, yanked, and threw all three of them off me like they weighed nothing. Divya went rolling across the carpet, Avi landed face-first into a couch, and Shivay-well, just accepted his fate mid-air.
"BHAIIII-!!" Shivay screamed as he hit the floor with a loud THUD.
Avi sprawled upside down on the couch, let out a weak thumbs-up.
Divya groaned from the carpet, "Bhabhi, I think I saw our ancestors."
While Shivay from his starfish position on the floor, muttered, "Worth it. "
Mahir turned to me, his face a mix of concern and pure frustration. "Are you okay?!"
I blinked at him. Then at the pile of idiots groaning in pain.
But something was off. Kabir. Silent.
Thatâs not possible.
I turned to look at him, my eyes narrowing suspiciously. Kabir, silent? In this house? Thatâs like saying Shivay would willingly do household choresâit just doesnât happen.
And just as I was about to check if he had a fever, he finally spoke.
Bursting into full-blown laughter, munching on popcorn like he was watching a prime-time soap opera, he leaned forward."Did you guys fight? Like, punches thrown? Did Ice Queen beat you up, Mahir bhai?"
Mahir, the absolute menace, nodded casually. "Three slaps. Back to back."
The way he said it. So calmly. Like he was reporting the weather.
Kabir grinned. "Good. You deserves it."
Mahir, the brilliant idiot that he is, turned the tables. "What happened on your first date with Mahi?"
Kabir's smirk faltered. Mahi, who had just entered with a glass of juice, raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Kabir looked at Mahir. Then at Mahi. Then back at Mahir. "She gave me mental peace."
Mahir blinked. Then slowly turned to look at me, his expression nothing short of betrayal. "She gave me injuries. Threw spoons at meâ"
Before he could finish his tragic sob story, I casually nudged him in the stomach. He immediately shut up, but not before giving me a look like I had personally wronged him.
Just then, Mom entered."How was your dinner, beta?" she asked sweetly.
I pointed straight at Mahir, full tattletale mode activated. "He force-fed me, Maa."
Maa smiled,"Good job Mahir"
Avi, holding his back like a 90-year-old man, nodded. "I agree. Also, I think I need a chiropractor."
.
.
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