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𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆ 1 ⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the Thakur mansion, casting long, dusty beams across the marble foyer. The house breathed a heavy silence, the usual chaos of the sprawling family replaced by a rare, ringing void.
Divyansh stepped through the front door, his polished oxfords clicking sharply against the floor. He stopped abruptly, his hand hovering over his tie.
“The file,” he muttered, his voice echoing. “Dammit.”
He pivoted on his heel, heading toward the residential wing. As he passed the hallway leading to the younger generation’s rooms, he slowed. He paused outside Ayesha’s door. The silence coming from within was too deep.
He pushed the door open an inch.
“Ayu?”
No answer. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight. He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the rumpled covers. The bed was empty, but as he approached, a splash of deep crimson stained the white linen.
Divyansh stiffened. He looked toward the ensuite bathroom, where the distant hum of a shower signaled her presence. He glanced at the dark corners of the room, then at the light switch. He didn’t flip it. Instead, he moved with a quiet, focused urgency.
He stripped the sheets, bundling the stained fabric into a tight ball. He worked quickly, sliding a fresh, crisp set of linens over the mattress, smoothing the wrinkles with a firm hand. He stepped back, ensuring the room looked untouched, before finally clicking the light switch. The room flooded with gold.
He exited the room and descended the stairs, his pace quickening. In the kitchen, the air smelled of toasted spices and fresh coffee. Three maids stood huddled near the center island, whispering.
“Is the Master back?” one whispered.
Divyansh entered, his expression neutral. He didn’t stop to greet them; he headed straight for the pantry.
“You both,” he called out, his voice calm but commanding.
The maids jumped, straightening their aprons. “Yes, Divyansh sir?”
“Leave the kitchen. Now,” he ordered.
The women blinked. “But sir, the breakfast preparation for Ayesh—”
“I’ll handle the soup. Go attend to the guest wing. I don’t want any distractions in here for the next hour.”
As the maids filed out, they lingered for a heartbeat. One of them lingered, her eyes tracking the way Divyansh reached up to unbutton his suit jacket. He shrugged the heavy fabric off, tossing it over a chair. Underneath, a black t-shirt clung to his frame, tracing the line of his shoulders. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, the fabric tightening against his forearms.
“He’s actually cooking,” She whispered to her friend as they backed away. “Look at those arms. I can’t breathe.”
Divyansh ignored the giggles, his focus shifting to the pot. He chopped carrots and celery with rhythmic, aggressive precision. He set a kettle to boil on the side burner.
“Water for the bags,” he murmured to himself. “Hot, not scalding.”
A pair of arms slid around his waist, and a soft warmth pressed against his back. A gentle kiss landed between his shoulder blades. Divyansh exhaled, the tension in his shoulders evaporating instantly.
He turned in the circle of her arms. Rivanya looked up at him, her eyes bright, her presence a quiet anchor in the house.
“Hmm,” Divyansh whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. “Is Miss. Mehra in a romantic mood this morning?”
Rivanya tilted her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.
“And is Mr. Thakur in a tensed mood?” she asked. “What happened? Something at the office? A crisis in the boardroom?”
Divyansh chuckled, the sound low in his chest. He reached out and flicked her nose.
“No crisis. Just a forgotten file and a very grumpy little sister.”
Rivanya laughed, the sound like windchimes. She leaned back, crossing her arms.
“The princess of the house is having a rough morning, then?”
“Rough is an understatement,” Divyansh said. He pulled her back into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, the scent of vanilla and jasmine filling his senses. “Have I ever told you that you’re pretty much the only reason I am alive?”
Rivanya giggled, her chest vibrating against his.
“Yes. Obviously!”
“Still,” he murmured. “I don’t think I say it enough. I love you, Rivu.”
“Well, you should,” she replied, her voice brimming with playfulness. “After all, who else gets a girlfriend like me, Thakur Sahab? You should value me more. Kadr kiya kro meri!”
Divyansh laughed, a genuine, open sound that rarely surfaced in public. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.
“I do. I really do.”
“Prove it,” she challenged.
“If not you,” he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, “then whom would I cherish? Who else is the girl who stole my heart so completely? Who loves me despite my moods? Who makes me want to love her more every single second?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that started slow and deepened with a lingering heat. It was a quiet, private world in the middle of the kitchen, the smell of simmering vegetables forgotten for a moment.
When he pulled away, Rivanya was breathless, her cheeks flushed.
“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “Ayu is on her period? Brotherly duties are calling?”
“Yeah,” Divyansh sighed, glancing at the pot. “She’s probably still in the bath. I wanted the soup ready the moment she walks in. Even if it’s the one vegetable soup she absolutely hates.”
“You’re making her the healthy one? Tsk tsk tsk she hates vegetables!” Rivanya teased. “You’re a cruel brother, Divyansh. Hitler kahinke!”
“She needs the nutrients, not sugar,” he countered.
He turned toward the counter, reaching for the hot water bags. As he did, he remembered something. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small handful of colorful wrapped candies.
Rivanya looked at the sweets and then at him, her smile widening.
“You carried candies in your suit pocket? For her?”
“She’s a child,” Divyansh said, though his eyes were soft. “And children are easier to manage when they’re eating sugar. By the way.. these are not only for her. This is also.. for my other child.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Other child? Abhi batau?” She threatened him.
“My god! Shant shant, galti hogyi! Maaf krdo deviji.” He joined his hands in mock drama.
“Thank god, the staff isn’t here,” he replied, flashing her a quick, wicked grin. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
“What will they think? Their boss being afraid of me? A mere chef?” Rivanya laughed.
That’s when the playfulness melted from his expression. Divyansh turned around completely, stepping into her space and wrapping his arms gently around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
“Yes, they will think exactly that,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, fierce register. “And I’m rather proud of it. Jokes apart, whom am I going to be scared of if not you, jaan? Hmm? You rule my heart, my body... and me. And you’re not just a chef. You’re the queen of my heart.”
Before she could reply, he leaned down and kissed her, sealing his vow against her lips.
Divyansh looked at the clock, then back at the soup.
“Go on, get some rest before. Vese hi you’ve gone so thin. Just skin and bones,”
Rivanya looked at him raising her one eyebrow to which he nervously chcuckled. She kissed his cheek one last time.
“Good luck. She’s in ‘stormy’ mode.”
“I can handle a storm,” Divyansh said, picking up the tray. “I’ve dealt with the board of directors. A teenage girl is nothing.” He proudly said to which she rolled her eyes.
"Better do this tonight Miss. Mehra.. or maybe.. shall I take the things in my hands?" He whispered huskily near her lips. His shameless side taking the control. To which she blushed and said, ”I like dominance.. but when it’s me above you and you.. you.. Mr. Thakur under me."
A red blush bloomed across his cheeks.
Rivanya laughed as she walked away.
Divyansh paused in the hallway, the heavy silver tray balanced in his hands. The scent of simmered carrots and celery drifted up, a stark contrast to the sterile, floral aroma of the mansion’s corridors. He looked at the maid, Avni, who hovered anxiously beside him.
“Please, Avniji, you can leave the water bags here. I will take it from here. There is no need for you to enter the room while she is resting,” Divyansh said, his voice a low, steady hum.
“Are you sure, Divyansh sir? Miss Ayesha can be... difficult when she is feeling unwell. I can help you manage her,” Avni offered, her eyes darting to the closed mahogany door wishing to spend more time with him.
“I am well aware of my sister’s temperament. I can handle the princess. Thank you for your help, please ensure the hallway remains quiet for the next hour.” He said firmly. He was always polite, calm and gentle Thakur but he knew how to set boundaries.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
Divyansh waited until the soft padding of the maid’s footsteps faded before he pushed the door open. The room was a sanctuary of dim light and heavy silks. Ayesha sat perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a plush white bathrobe that swallowed her petite frame. Her hair was damp, clinging to her shoulders in dark, wet streaks.
“Bhaiyu,” she murmured, a faint, tired smile touching her lips.
Divyansh set the tray on the nightstand with a muted clink. He stepped toward her, the warmth of the water bags now radiating through the fabric in his hand. He reached out, pulling her into a firm, enveloping hug. He could feel the slight tremor in her shoulders.
“Is it paining, bacha?” he whispered into her hair.
Ayesha nodded against his chest, her voice muffled by his shirt. “Everything hurts. My stomach feels like it’s being squeezed by a giant.”
Divyansh pulled back just enough to look at her. He glanced at the bowl of steaming vegetable soup on the tray. Ayesha followed his gaze, and her expression shifted instantly from vulnerability to a deadpan stare.
“Yaar, mereko nhi peena ye,” she groaned, leaning back and throwing her arms up in a dramatic flourish. “Why do you always do this? You know I hate vegetables! It looks like liquid grass, Bhaiyu! I can’t drink liquid grass while I’m dying!”
Divyansh didn’t flinch. He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of brightly colored candies, the wrappers crinkling in the silence of the room. He held them just out of her reach.
She wailed, her voice rising in a playful, dramatic crescendo. “I want chocolate! I want cake! I don’t want carrots!”
“Soul first, then candies,” Divyansh countered, his tone calm but immovable. “The soup provides the nutrients to fight the cramps. The candies are the reward for drinking soup like a good girl.”
Ayesha pouted, her lower lip trembling in a mock display of grief. “You’re so mean. Why are you so mean to me? I’m the baby of the house!”
“You are a dramatic teenager who happens to be the baby of the house. Now, look at you. You’re shivering in that bathrobe.”
Divyansh sighed, his eyes scanning her. He stepped back and exited the room, returning moments later with a heavy, charcoal-grey hoodie from his own wardrobe. It was oversized, designed for his broader frame, and looked like a tent compared to Ayesha’s size.
“Here. Wear this. It’s warmer than that robe,” he said, handing it to her.
He didn’t stop there. He moved toward her wardrobe, his movements efficient and devoid of hesitation. In the Thakur household, modesty was a foreign concept. Privacy existed, but shame did not. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a seamless, lace-trimmed bra handing them to her along with the hoodie.
“Put these on. Then the hoodie. I don’t want you catching a chill,” he instructed.
Ayesha took the clothes, her eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. “You’re acting like a daddy today, like an adult, Bhaiyu. So bossy.”
“Someone has to be the adult in this room and one second-----EXCUSE ME- I AM AN ADULT,” he replied.
As she slipped into the clothes ignoring him, Divyansh picked up a towel and began gently patting her damp hair. He noticed the way the light caught the small, glinting gold stud in her navel, and the subtle glimmer of the piercing on her clit as she shifted her position, rituals of their lineage, marks of belonging that every member of the family bore with pride. Her skin was flawlessly smooth, the result of the family’s strict waxing rituals that left them devoid of any unwanted hair. The birthday memories hitting him again.
“Why did you wash your hair today?” he asked, his voice softening. “You know the cold water can make the cramps worse.”
Ayesha smiled sheepishly, looking up at him through her lashes. “Aise hi. Hehe.”
“Kya hehe?” Divyansh asked, though there was no heat in the question.
“Nothing! I just wanted to feel clean,” she giggled.
“You’re a menace, pareshan krkr rkh deti hai ekdum.” he murmured.
He reached for the blow dryer on the vanity, clicking it on. The roar of the machine filled the room, but he kept the heat low, carefully lifting sections of her dark hair and drying them with a patient, steady hand. Ayesha leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. The tension in her stomach seemed to ease slightly under the rhythmic care.
Once her hair was a fluffy, dry cloud, Divyansh set the dryer aside. He didn’t let her move. He took a warm, damp cloth and gently wiped her skin, ensuring she was completely dry and warm before he helped her pull the oversized hoodie over her head. The garment draped down to her mid-thighs, obscuring everything beneath it.
“There. Now you look like a little mushroom,” he teased.
He guided her to the bed, lifting her gently and placing her on her side, propping her up with several plush pillows. He positioned her in a way that she couldn’t easily slide away.
“Now, the soup,” he announced, picking up the bowl.
Ayesha tried to scramble backward, her eyes wide. “No! No, no, no! Bhaiyu, please! Just one candy? Just one!”
Divyansh glared at her, a sharp, focused look that usually made board members tremble. “Ayu. Do not make me force this down your throat. You will drink every drop, or I will tell Samaksh Bhai that you’ve been sneaking sweets before dinner.”
Ayesha froze, her expression one of utter betrayal. “You wouldn’t. That’s blackmail!”
“I call it incentive,” he replied, bringing the spoon to her lips. “Open.”
“I hate you,” she whispered, but she opened her mouth.
The soup was warm and savory, and despite her protests, Ayesha began to eat. Every time she tried to slow down or push the bowl away, Divyansh would give her that stern, silent glare, his eyes commanding obedience. He didn’t speak; he simply waited, the spoon poised, until she swallowed.
“Good girl,” he murmured once the bowl was empty.
He then took one of the warm water bags and carefully slid it inside the oversized hoodie, pressing it firmly against her lower abdomen. Ayesha let out a long, shaky sigh of relief as the heat penetrated the fabric, dulling the sharp edges of the pain.
“Better?” he asked.
“Mmm. Much better,” she admitted, her voice trailing off.
Divyansh reached for the candies and popped one into her mouth, the sweetness finally winning over the bitterness of the vegetables. He looked at her, his expression softening into something deeply tender.
“Shall I massage your stomach, Ayu?” he asked softly.
Ayesha shook her head, her gaze drifting upward. As she looked at him, her eyes narrowed. She leaned forward, squinting at his face.
“Wait,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp with curiosity. “Bhaiyu... is that lipstick?”
Divyansh stiffened for a fraction of a second. He didn’t move, but his eyes flickered into the mirror infront of his eyes kept metres away. There was a faint, rosy smudge on the corner of his lip, a lingering mark from Rivanya’s parting kiss in the kitchen.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice a pitch too neutral.
“There is a mark! A pink mark!” Ayesha sat up abruptly, the water bag shifting against her stomach. “Bhaiyu! Did you kiss someone? Who is she? Why are you hiding her?”
Divyansh reacted quickly. He leaned in and pressed a firm, loud peck on Ayesha’s cheek, effectively distracting her.
“Yes, I did! I kissed you, you little brat!” he said, winking at her with a playful grin.
Ayesha pushed him away, though she was smiling. “Liar! That’s not how it works. That mark was on your lips, not your cheek. You kissed someone. Dekho- sari ladies ghar ki bahar hai. And you haven’t kissed me so...... Do you have a girlfriend? Who is she? Bhabhi ka kya name hai?”
Divyansh felt a surge of warmth in his chest. He thought of Rivanya.. her laughter, her scent of vanilla and jasmine, the way she challenged him and anchored him all at once. You meet her daily, he thought, a secret smile playing on his lips.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, standing up and moving toward the light switch.
“Tell me! Is she pretty? Is she a model? Does she like me? I want to meet her! I want to know if she’s good enough for my brother!” Ayesha was now fully energized, the pain of her cramps momentarily forgotten in the face of a juicy secret.
“You are far too curious for your own good,” Divyansh replied, his hand hovering over the switch. “And you are far too awake for someone who was just ‘dying’ five minutes ago.”
“I’m not tired anymore! I’m in investigation mode! Tell me her name! Is it a secret agent? A princess from another country?” She exaggerated.
“It is a secret,” Divyansh said, clicking the light switch.
The room plunged into a soft, amber glow from the bedside lamp. He stepped back toward the bed and gently pushed Ayesha back into the pillows, pulling the heavy duvet up to her chin and tucking it tightly around her, cocooning her in warmth.
“Sleep, Ayu. If you keep jumping around and questioning me, the pain will come back. Don’t jump here and there. Dard hoga na bacha. Just close your eyes.”
“I’ll dream about the mystery girl,” she whispered, her voice growing sleepy as the warmth of the bed and the soup finally took hold. “I’m going to find out who she is, Bhaiyu. I’ll find her lipstick in the trash. I’ll spy on your phone.”
“Good luck with that. My phone is encrypted,” he teased.
He stepped out of the room for a moment and called his assistant. “Come take the file from my study. I’m staying at home. Some urgent issues. Handle the reports and send me the summary by morning.”
“Yes, sir,” the assistant replied.
Divyansh returned to the room, stripping off his own shirt and trousers. He didn’t bother with clothes; in the sanctity of the family wing, nudity was the default. He slid into the bed beside Ayesha, the cool sheets contrasting with the heat of her body. He pulled her small frame against him, her head resting in the crook of his arm and her back pressed against his chest.
Ayesha sighed, her breathing slowing as she drifted off. “Bhabhi... better be... caring for you...”
Divyansh smiled, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of her hair. He tightened his grip, holding her securely in his arms, the silence of the mansion settling around them like a heavy, protective blanket.
“She is,” he whispered into the darkness. “She is the most caring person I’ve met.”
He lay there for a long time, listening to the steady beat of Ayesha’s heart against his arm.
He felt Ayesha shift in her sleep, mumbling something about candies. He kissed the top of her head, his mind drifting back to Rivanya. He could almost feel her touch, the way she had teased him in the kitchen, the promise of dominance she had whispered in his ear. A low heat coiled in his gut, a stark contrast to the tenderness of the current moment.
He adjusted the water bag under Ayesha’s hoodie, ensuring she remained warm.
As sleep finally claimed him, Divyansh held her closer, the rhythmic sound of their synchronized breathing the only noise in the dim, golden light of the room. He felt a profound sense of peace, the weight of the corporate world and the expectations of the Thakur name fading into the background. Here, in the quiet of the bedroom, he wasn’t the cold, efficient businessman or the heir to an empire. He was simply a brother, a lover, and a man who found his greatest strength in the vulnerability of those he cherished.
The darkness of the room seemed to expand, wrapping around them both. There was only the warmth of skin, the scent of vanilla lingering on his own skin from Rivanya, and the steady, trusting presence of Ayesha in his arms.
He let out one final, contented sigh, his consciousness slipping away into a dream.
