Kailashnath's words had been sharp—too sharp. And of course, he knew exactly what he was doing. He was provoking his son.
But how could the Devil himself sit quietly in the face of such provocation?
Aarav, calm yet dangerous, picked up another glass of wine and walked straight toward his father.
"Well, Mr. Kailashnath," he began, a cold smile playing on his lips, "since your son apparently lacks the ability to understand certain things, perhaps you could answer a question on his behalf?"
His voice was smooth, controlled—too controlled. And that calmness made Kailashnath's chest tighten with unease. He had seen many storms in his life, but few carried the quiet before the kind his son was brewing now.
Arundhati sensed it too.
The air had shifted—thick, electric, tense.
Fearing the beginning of a public confrontation, she quickly stepped in front of Kailashnath, placing herself like a shield between father and son.
Aarav had expected this.
But seeing her standing there—protecting that man—ignited something inside him. A dull ache throbbed in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.
She had chosen a side. And it wasn't his.
"Arundhati, don't," she said softly, her voice laced with worry, trying to deescalate the situation.
But Aarav didn't back down.
Instead, he took her hand and gently, but firmly, pulled her to his side. He leaned in close, his breath brushing against her ear, his voice dipping into a low whisper.
"Come on, Arundhati," he said, half-playful, half-pained. "Don't you trust your husband? I promise, I won't break his head. After all, who wants to go to jail right after marrying such a beautiful woman?"
He paused, the teasing lilt in his voice fading into something colder.
"And look at that—you're even standing here protecting your dear father-in-law. How sweet."
His grip on her tightened slightly—not to hurt, but to make her feel the shift in his tone.
"You know your husband isn't stupid. So relax. But next time…" he whispered, the words turning sharp as ice, "don't come between us. It might be dangerous, darling."
The shift in his tone left her dizzy. It had started like a joke—but ended like a warning. Still, he had promised not to cause a scene, and Arundhati, unsure of what else to do, stepped back, silently praying the tension wouldn't erupt into violence.
Aarav turned back to Kailashnath, eyes steady, voice crisp.
"So, Father… what are your plans for us?"
Kailashnath narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Aarav chuckled—a humorless, hollow sound.
"Oh, it seems I also lack the ability to ask the right question. Let me rephrase. What kind of future do you envision for me and Arundhati?"
Kailashnath hesitated. The question felt loaded—like a trap—but he answered anyway.
"Of course… I want both of you to be happy."
There was a pause.
Then Aarav laughed. Dark, bitter, and almost cruel.
"How touching," he said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "I'm so moved I could vomit."
His tone dropped, losing any trace of civility.
"Let it go, Mr. Kailashnath. The fault's mine. I keep hoping you'll speak the truth, even now. But you? You're still clinging to your little act. So fine. Keep playing your part. I'll play mine."
And without waiting for a response, Aarav turned and walked away, his steps heavy with resentment, his back straight with defiance.
Left behind, Arundhati and Kailashnath stood in stunned silence, staring at his retreating figure.
Neither of them fully understood what he had meant.
Neither of them knew what storm was brewing inside him.
And far away from the echoes of this confrontation, Arundhati's family remained blissfully unaware—already having left the venue, busy with preparations to welcome their daughter home… not knowing she had just been humiliated under a roof meant to protect her.
After a While
Aarav was packing his belongings. They would be staying at Arundhati's house for a while, and though he tried to focus on folding clothes and zipping bags, his peace was relentlessly interrupted by the persistent hum of an insect named Madhavi.
She followed him like a shadow, voice sharp and ceaseless as he made his way toward the car.
"Aarav, I'm genuinely worried for you," she said, tone coated with faux concern. "How will you survive in that tiny house? The rooms won't be anything like ours—cramped, probably lacking even the basics. It might even smell odd. Arundhati should understand all this, yet she insists on dragging you there. Honestly, how inconsiderate can one girl be?"
Her words dripped with disdain, each syllable poking at his patience. Aarav was used to her manipulations, but that didn't make them any less exhausting. Still, his face remained calm, his voice composed—no edge in his tone, no trace of irritation in his eyes.
He knew better than to provoke her now.
Madhavi was cunning, and while he lacked allies, turning her into an enemy would be reckless. For now, he had to play along.
With a faint smile, he said, "My dearest aunt, I appreciate your concern, I really do. But believe me, Arundhati won't harm me. And if she ever did… the consequences wouldn't be hers alone. She knows that. Besides, don't you trust the boy you raised? You always said I had your blood in me, didn't you?"
Madhavi's expression softened immediately, her chest puffing with pride as if his words validated years of her involvement.
"Of course, Aarav," she beamed, guiding him to the car like a proud matron. "That's my boy."
Aarav climbed into the car, his movements slow and sluggish—he was clearly too drunk to drive. A driver had already been called, but his so-called 'family' was still loitering, clinging to his presence as if he were some prized possession they couldn't part with.
His gaze flicked outside. Arundhati stood nearby, hesitant.
Impatient and unwilling to drag this charade out any longer, Aarav leaned out of the car window and called to her, voice sharp with unspoken urgency, "Arundhati, get in. Now. If you don't, I'll leave you right here."