Inayat's POV

Alia and I walked back into the living room, balancing the tea tray like we were models in a kitchenware ad. Everyone's eyes darted toward me, and I felt the tension instantly. Clearly, the lactation pills incident had not been forgotten.

I plastered on my brightest smile. "Chai, anyone?"

Aunty no. 1-the one with the eagle eyes and gossip radar-leaned forward. "Beta, tum dono ki shaadi itni jaldi mein kaisi ho gayi? Matlab... ek mahine pehle hi toh-" (Dear, how did your marriage happen so suddenly? I mean... just a month ago...)

I cut in before she could say "his wife died." "Bas, nikkah ho gaya. Simple. Family ke beech. No drama. Zayan needed a mother." (It was just a simple nikkah. Within the family. No drama.)

Alia shot me a side-eye warning: Behave!

But then Aunty no. 2 chimed in, eyes twinkling. "Toh... dulha-dulhan ke beech sab... theek chal raha hai na?" (So... everything between bride and groom is going smoothly, right?)

I sipped my tea dramatically. "Haan bilkul. Woh apne kamre mein sota hai, main apne kamre mein. Zayan ke saath time nikal jata hai." (Yes, of course. He sleeps in his room, I sleep in mine. Time passes with Zayan.)

Pin-drop silence.

Alia choked on her chai. "Cough-cough-Inayat!"

Aunty no. 2 blinked, her spoon clattering against the saucer. "Beta... matlab... tum dono ek saath... nahi?"

I tilted my head, genuinely confused. "Nahi? Matlab... hum ek saath breakfast karte hain. Bas." (No? I mean... we have breakfast together. That's it.)

Shahyaan's father cleared his throat so loudly it sounded like a thunderclap. My mom looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Alia immediately jumped in, her fake smile brighter than LED bulbs. "Haan haan! Matlab woh keh rahi hai ki abhi naye naye hain na... adjustment chal raha hai! Time lagega but sab ho jayega, Insha'Allah."

I nodded vigorously. "Haan wahi toh. Adjustment time."

But then, in my head, the unfiltered thought slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it: "Waise bhi, abhi tak toh usne mujhe properly dekha bhi nahi..." (Anyway, till now he hasn't even properly looked at me...)

I froze. Everyone froze.

Alia's foot came crashing down on mine under the table. I yelped. "OUCHH!"

She laughed nervously at the relatives. "Bas... mazaak karti hai yeh!" (She's just joking!)

Shahyaan's mother raised her brows, looking half-amused, half-embarrassed. "Masha'Allah... tum dono alag hi type ke ho." (Masha'Allah... you two are of a very different kind.)

I grinned shamelessly, sipping my tea. "Best type."

Alia buried her face in her hands.

Just when I thought the room couldn't get any more suffocating, Shahyaan walked in. Crisp white kurta, calm face, and that invisible wall of distance around him. He didn't acknowledge the chaos I had just created; he simply walked over and sat beside me on the sofa.

The shift in the room was instant. Everyone straightened up. Even Zayan, half-asleep in his grandmother's arms, stirred a little.

I sneaked a glance at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the cup of tea I slid toward him. He took it without a word, his fingers brushing mine only for a fraction of a second-like even touch was rationed between us.

Aunty no. 1, of course, couldn't hold back. "Beta, tumne toh bada himmat ka kaam kar diya. Matlab... ek mahine ke andar hi..." Her voice trailed, but the meaning was sharp as glass.

Everyone knew what she meant. One month since his wife's death.

The air turned heavy.

Shahyaan's grip on the cup tightened, his knuckles white. Still, his voice came out steady. "Zindagi kisi ka intezaar nahi karti, Aunty. Kuch faisle dard se bhaagne ke liye nahi, balki usse sambhalne ke liye liye jaate hain." (Life doesn't wait for anyone. Some decisions are not about running from grief, but about surviving it.)

A murmur swept through the relatives, half approval, half discomfort.

I felt something tighten in my chest. He never spoke of her. Not once. And now, in front of everyone, his grief cracked open just a little.

But Aunty no. 2 leaned forward, voice hushed but cutting. "Lekin beta... log toh yeh bhi kehte hain ki itni jaldi doosri shaadi karna... thoda desperate lagta hai." (But dear... people also say that marrying so soon... looks a little desperate.)

The word desperate sliced through the room.

Shahyaan's shoulders stiffened. He didn't answer immediately. His gaze flicked toward me, then away, like he couldn't bear to show the storm in his eyes.

I, on the other hand, slammed my cup down a little too hard. "Desperate? A man raising a newborn alone isn't desperate, Aunty. Woh zimmedaari hai. It's responsibility."

The silence that followed was deafening. Relatives shifted uncomfortably in their seats, some looking impressed, some scandalized.

Shahyaan finally spoke, his voice low but firm. "Main kisi ko kuch prove karne ke liye shaadi nahi ki. Maine woh kiya jo Zayan ke liye zaroori tha."

Our eyes met then-just for a moment. His distant wall was still there, but behind it, I caught a flicker. Raw. Heavy. Grief-ridden.

And for the first time, I didn't feel shameless. I felt protective.

The silence in the room pressed down like a weight, thick and choking. Nobody dared to meet Shahyaan's eyes.

I let the pause stretch a beat longer, then leaned back into the sofa, crossing one leg over the other like I had all the time in the world. My voice came out casual, almost airy.

"Waise, ajeeb hai na... logon ke paas apni zindagi chalane ka time nahi hota, lekin doosron ki zindagi ka progress report banane ka full timepass hota hai." (Strange, isn't it? People don't have time to run their own lives, but they somehow have plenty of time to make progress reports on others' lives.)

Aunty no. 2 froze, her teacup halfway to her lips.

I wasn't done. I smiled sweetly, tilting my head. "Maturity ka matlab sirf safed baal nahi hota. Kabhi kabhi chup rehna bhi hota hai. Lekin yeh quality sabko milti nahi." (Maturity doesn't just mean grey hair. Sometimes it means knowing when to stay quiet. But unfortunately, not everyone has that quality.)

Alia kicked me under the table so hard I nearly spilled my chai. "Inayat!" she hissed.

But a couple of younger cousins burst into quiet laughter, quickly covering their mouths. Even Shahyaan's mother pressed her lips together like she was holding back a smile.

I leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering my voice. "Bas ek advice-apni zindagi mein thoda invest karo. Shayad doosron ki zindagi mein itni curiosity nahi rahegi." (Just a small piece of advice-invest a little in your own life. Maybe then you won't be so curious about other people's lives.)

The room went quiet again-this time not suffocating, but stunned.

And for the first time since Shahyaan sat beside me, I felt him look at me fully. Like properly look. His gaze was unreadable, but there was something sharp there-something between annoyance, surprise... and the faintest flicker of reluctant amusement.

The house finally emptied after dinner. Relatives drifted out with their heavy comments and heavier stares, Alia tagging along last, throwing me one last "control yourself, woman" glare before leaving.

Shahyaan quietly carried Zayan to his room, his posture straight, his steps measured-as if he was balancing the baby and his grief both at once. The door shut behind him without a sound.

I stayed on the sofa for a while, fiddling with my dupatta, staring at the faint chai stains on the tray. That familiar ache tugged at me again-the distance. It wasn't new. It had started the day he got married the first time. His world shifted then, and I never complained. Why would I? A wife deserves the first place. But now... I was the wife. And yet here he was, grieving alone, keeping me at arm's length.

I pressed my lips together. Not anymore.

Dragging myself to the kitchen, I set water to boil. The hiss filled the silence, grounding me. As the fragrance of cardamom and tea leaves rose, my brain began rehearsing.

Okay, simple start. 'Hi, want to have tea?' ...Ugh. Too formal. I'll sound like a call center employee.

I added sugar, stirring a little too aggressively.

Fine, new try. 'Shah, let's have tea.' ...Nope. Too boring. He'll just nod and sip and that's it. Zero conversation.

I set two cups on the tray, frowning at them like they were exam sheets.

Hmm... maybe go funny? 'Congratulations, Mr. Mallick, you're stuck with me, here's your punishment tea!' ...No, no. What if he gets annoyed?

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Why is talking to him harder than talking to nosy aunties?"

The kettle whistled, jolting me. I poured the tea, the warm aroma wrapping around me like courage. Balancing the tray, I walked slowly toward his room, my heart thudding louder with each step.

Outside his door, I froze. My palms were sweaty, my mind a chaos of half-baked lines.

Should I knock? Or just walk in? 'Cause, technically, wife rights... but also, what if he's sleeping with Zayan?

I sighed, adjusting my dupatta. "Okay, Inayat Mirza. Worst case, he throws the tea. Best case, he... talks."

I raised my hand to knock-hesitated-then whispered to myself, "Hi... tea? Nah. Shah... tea? Nah. Ughhh!"

I took a shaky breath, whispering a pep talk to myself, and swung the door open.

At the exact same second... Shahyaan opened the door from his side.

CRASHHHHH!

We collided with a bone-jarring thud, and the tray of steaming hot tea went flying. Hot liquid splashed across his kurta, curling like fire in the air. My eyes nearly popped out.

The tray slipped from my hands with a clatter, scattering cups and saucers like missiles. I yelped, slapping a hand over my mouth. "Ooooh nooo! Shah! I'm-oh my God! Sorry! Sorry!"

My voice cracked, pitch rising with panic, my knees weakening. My brain went full-on disaster mode: "He's burning! I just poured hot tea on him! Oh God, what do I do?!"

Shahyaan didn't flinch. He didn't hiss. He didn't even move the wet spot. He just raised a hand, calm as a mountain. "Inayat... it's fine."

WHAT. FINE? My brain short-circuited. "F-Fine?! Are you kidding me?! You're soaked! Tea! Hot tea!" I was hopping from one foot to the other, gesturing like a madwoman.

He exhaled slowly, keeping that wall of composure up. "Just... look after Zayan. I'll change."

Before I could protest, he grabbed a t-shirt from the chair, muttered a quiet, "I'll be back," and disappeared into the washroom.

I slammed my palm to my forehead. "Karm karne jaati hoon... aur kaand ho jaata hai!" (I go to do a good deed... and chaos happens!)

I turned to Zayan's cot. He was blissfully asleep, totally oblivious to the tea apocalypse around him. I practically flew over, creating pillow walls around him, like a fortress against my own chaos.

Then I spotted the tea stains, the scattered cups, the remnants of my disastrous attempt at 'tea peace.' I grabbed towels and mopped like a woman possessed, muttering apologies to everyone-my imaginary witnesses included.

When I finally looked up, I scanned the room. Shahyaan's and his late wife's bedroom. But... there was nothing. No traces, no scent, no photo frames whispering her memory. Just an empty space, echoing with the tension and grief I hadn't dared touch before.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and Shahyaan stepped out.

I practically sprinted toward him, panic written all over my face. "Shah! Did it burn anywhere? Should I bring ointment? Ice? Cold water?" I was flailing slightly, the chaotic energy radiating off me like steam from the spilled tea.

He lifted a hand, calm as ever. "Inayat... I'm fine."

I froze, blinked, and gave him a tight-lipped smile-a mixture of relief, guilt, and that I'm-still-horribly-shameless energy. "Okay... fine..." I muttered, stepping back slightly.

My gaze immediately shifted to Zayan, still tucked in his blanket fortress. "I'm taking him with me, he's probably awake soon!"

Shahyaan's voice cut through my chaos, calm and firm. "No. No, it's fine. He can sleep with me."

I paused mid-step, eyebrows shooting up. "...Wait. You? you'll breastfeed him? Do you have those big boobs?"

Instantly, my hands flew to my mouth, eyes wide as saucers. Oh no. Did I really just say that out loud?

I froze, hands pressed against my mouth, heart thumping like a drumline. "Uh... I... I didn't mean that! I mean..." I tried to explain, but my words only tangled worse in my brain and mouth.

My hands flailed, pointing vaguely at Zayan. "I-he... the baby... you know... uh-milk! Breast-no, not you! I mean... the feeding! Yes! Obviously!"

Shahyaan's eyes went wide. His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he looked like a deer caught in headlights-stunned, completely flustered. Not a smirk. Not a chuckle. Just... frozen.

I panicked more, tugging at Zayan's blanket like it would somehow fix my mess. "Yes! Milk... he needs it! Obviously! Not... you! I meant... breastfeeding... for babies! Yes, obviously!"

The more I tried to explain, the faster the words tumbled out, and the more ridiculous they sounded. "I mean... I didn't... okay forget it! Totally nonsense!"

Shahyaan blinked rapidly, cheeks turning faintly pink. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. His fingers fiddled nervously with Zayan's blanket. He was stunned. Speechless.

I groaned, realizing I had made it worse. Hands back on my face, muffling a horrified squeak. "Oh Allah... why am I like this?!"

Zayan stirred, and I glared at him. "And you're just staring too!"

Shahyaan finally swallowed, lips parting like he might speak, then closing again. His voice came out shaky, almost strangled: "I... I... I'll... manage... him... I..."

I threw my hands up, cutting him off mid-stammer. "Nope! Nope! No more arguments, no more awkwardness! I'm taking Zayan with me! If you want you can join us!"

Instantly, my brain caught up with my mouth. Oh no... did I just...? Panic exploded in my chest. "Aaye Khuda... utha lein ab mujhe utha lein... ap!" I muttered under my breath, hands flailing, like a cartoon character whose own words were attacking her.

Shahyaan froze completely, eyes wide, fingers twitching nervously over Zayan's blanket. He looked like someone had just asked him to solve quantum physics with chopsticks. Totally stunned. Speechless.

I groaned, face buried in my hands, muttering to myself, "Oh Allah... why do I always say the wrong thing at the wrong time?!"

Then, I peeked between my fingers at him, took a shaky breath, and blurted out hurriedly, "Forget I said anything, okay? Forget it! Totally. Right now! Nothing happened! Right... we're leaving! Bye!"

Without waiting for an answer-or for him to even process what just happened-I scooped up Zayan, wrapped him safely against me, and practically bolted toward the door.

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