Diwali

Diwali was just around the corner, and the Ahuja household was buzzing with preparations. The last three days had been spent cleaning, decorating, and making everything perfect for the festival of lights. Houses all around were freshly painted, adorned with strings of twinkling fairy lights, marigold garlands, and candles swaying in the evening breeze. The entryways were beautifully decorated with intricate rangolis, welcoming prosperity and happiness into every home. People dressed in vibrant traditional attire, ready to celebrate the festival with their loved ones.

The Ahuja family was no different. Everyone was dressed in the clothes Divya and Ashwin had carefully picked out for them. Chachu grinned proudly, twinning with his wife, while Ashwin and Divya had chosen outfits from the same color palette. Dadi was particularly thrilled, showing off the saree Divya had bought for her-though under the pretense that Ashwin had selected it, which she took great pride in flaunting. Papa and Maa looked regal in their elegant attire, and amidst them all, Arthit stood out, effortlessly pulling off his pastel purple kurta.

As the scent of fresh food filled the air, Divyansh busied himself with setting the table for lunch. Glancing toward the stairs, he called out, "Maa, aap sabko bula sakti hain? Khana tayyar hai!" (Maa, can you call the others? Food is ready!)

Maa, who had been overseeing the final puja preparations, nodded. "Haan beta, main abhi bulati hoon," she replied before setting off to gather everyone. (Yes beta, I'll get them right now.)

She sent her husband and devar down first before heading toward Ashwin's room. Knocking firmly, she called, "Ashwin! Ash, uth! So raha hai kya? Lunch tayyar hai!" When there was no response, she banged on the door harder, well aware that her son would not wake up with mere knocking if he was truly asleep. (Ashwin! Ash, get up! Are you sleeping? Lunch is ready!)

The door creaked open, and Ashwin stepped out, already dressed and looking like he was about to head out. "Maa? Aap?" he asked, slightly surprised to see her. (Maa? You?)

Maa frowned. "Arre, abhi kahan?! Lunch karke jaa, beta!" (Hey, where now? Go after lunch!)

"Abhi nahi, Maa," Ashwin said with a small sigh. "Mujhe zaroori kaam se bahar jaana hai. Shaam tak wapas aa jaunga, hmm?" (Not now, Maa. I am going for an important work. I'll be back by the evening, hmm?)

"Beta, par-" Maa started, but before she could finish, Ashwin had already hurried down the stairs and out the door. Sighing in exasperation, she shook her head and made her way to Arthit's room next. (But beta -)

"Arthit? Beta, lunch tayyar hai!" she called out. (Arthit? Beta, lunch is ready!)

A moment later, the door opened slightly, revealing Arthit's shy smile. "Badi Maa, main lunch nahi karunga. Mera fast hai," he admitted sheepishly. (Badi maa, I won't have lunch. I am fasting.)

Maa's eyebrows shot up. "Aur yeh vrat aapne kiske liye rakha hai?" (And for whom have you kept this fast?)

Arthit grinned. "Mere semester-end exams do hafte mein hain aur main kisi bhi haal mein fail nahi hona chahta. Bhagwan ji ko khush kar raha hoon." (My end semester exams are in two weeks and I don't want to fail at any cost. I'm trying to please god.)

Maa rolled her eyes. "Isse accha toh tu time pe pad leta, nalayak!" she muttered, giving him a light smack on the head before walking away with a chuckle. (Studying on time is more effective, you brat!)

At the dining table, everyone was seated except for Ashwin, Arthit, and Maa. Dadi, noticing the missing family members, turned to Maa as she sat down. "Badi bahu, Ashwin aur Arthit kidhar hain? Khaana nahi khayenge kya?" (Badi bahu, where are Ashwin and Arthit? Are they not eating?)

Maa sighed. "Ashwin kahin nikal gaya hai... aur Arthit ne vrat rakha hai. Kehta hai exams mein pass hona hai." (Ashwin went somewhere... And Arthit has kept a fast. He's saying he wants to pass his exams.)

Divyansh, serving Maa, asked quietly, "Woh kab tak lautenge? Kuchh bataya unhone?" (When will be come back? Did he say anything?)

"Bola ki urgent kaam hai, khane ka waqt nahi hai," Maa replied with a tired shake of her head. (He said that he had urgent work, he's got no time to eat.)

Papa, already irritated, huffed, "Beta, Divya, chhodo uss gadhe ki baat. Tum baitho, saath main khana khaate hain. Aa jayega jab usse aana hoga." (Divya, leave that idiot. Sit, let's eat together. He'll come back when he's done with his work.)

Before Divyansh could respond, Dadi snapped, "Kyun? Woh abhi kaise kha sakti hai? Apne pati se pehle koi biwi khana kha sakti hai kya?" (Why? How can she eat now like this? How can any wife eat before her husband does?)

Maa muttered something under her breath.

Dadi's sharp gaze fixed on her. "Kya boli tu, Badi Bahu?" (What did you say, Badi Bahu?)

Divyansh, keeping his voice calm and diplomatic, smiled. "Koi baat nahi, Papa. Main unke aane ke baad kha loongi... Aapko thode aur pakode dun, Dadi ji?" (It's fine, Papa. I will eat after he returns... Dadi ji, should I serve you some more pakode?)

Papa, now annoyed, turned to Divyansh. "Nahi! Tum abhi khaogi. Uss gadhe ka intezaar karne ki koi zaroorat nahi hai. Baitho!" (No! You will eat now. There is no need to wait for that donkey. Sit!)

Divyansh hesitated but then gently placed a reassuring hand on his father-in-law's shoulder. "Papa, main sach mein baad mein kha loongi. Aap chinta mat kijiye," he said softly. His heart warmed at the way his father-in-law looked out for him-more than his own father ever had. (Papa, I will really eat after he returns. Don't worry.)

Chachi intervened, "Nahi beta, tu baith. Aaj Diwali hai, aur aaj ke din sabko saath main khana chahiye." (No beta, you sit. It's Diwali today, and on this day everyone should dine together.)

Maa suddenly stood up. "Tu nahi khayegi, toh main bhi nahi kha rahi! Woh mera bhi toh beta hai!" she declared firmly, refusing to eat before her son returned. "Aur koi maa apne bachche ke aage kaise khaa sakti hai?" (If you don't eat, I won't either! He is my son too! And which kind of mother eats before their son, right?)

Chachi joined in. "Haan, main bhi nahi kha rahi! Aakhir, mera beta bhi toh vrat rakha hai!" (Yes, I am also not eating! After all, my son is keeping a fast too!)

Divyansh, now deeply concerned, hurried to them. "Maa, please baith jao... Aapko khaane ke baad dawai bhi leni hai. Aapki tabiyat kharab ho jayegi! Chachi, please... aap bhi," he pleaded. (Maa, please sit... You have to take your medicines after eating. You will get sick! Chachi, please... you too.)

Chachi folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Pehle tu bata ki tu khayegi ya nahi?" she challenged playfully. (You tell us first, are you going to eat or not?)

Divyansh sighed, knowing there was no way out. "Achcha baba, thik hai... Main khaungi!" she relented, touched by how much they cared. His own mother had never insisted he eat-if anything, she had often stopped him from eating too much. But here, these women treated him like their own. (Ok baba, fine... I will eat!)

Maa, satisfied, pulled Divyansh down beside her and began serving him. "Chal, ab achchi bachchi ki tarah khana shuru kar!" (Now start eating like a good girl!)

Dadi muttered under her breath, "Jo marzi karo... waise bhi parampara aur niyamon ki dhajiyaan uda hi di hain tum logon ne." But since she couldn't do anything about it, she resigned herself to eating her lunch. (Do whatever you like... You have forgotten about our heritage and culture anyway.)

Chachi, meanwhile, served some food to Divyansh as well. "Chal beta, khana shuru kar," she said warmly. (Come on beta, start eating.)

Divyansh, though hurt by Dadi's words, masked his emotions and ate the bare minimum.

Papa, observing this, encouraged him, "Arre, thoda aur khaa! Dekho kitni dubli-patli si hai!" (Hey, eat some more! See how bony you are!)

Maa shot Papa a glare. "Tu khaana khayegi ya daant khayegi? Khud decide kar!" she scolded. (Do you want to have food or scolding? Decide for yourself!)

Divyansh pouted as Maa served him more food, but quietly continued eating. Despite everything, his heart was full.

As evening descended, the house gleamed under the warm glow of diyas, transforming into an ethereal vision of light and devotion. The air was thick with the scent of marigolds and incense, a testament to the painstakingly arranged decorations adorning the mandir. The idols of Goddess Laxmi and Lord Ganesh sat at the heart of it all, their serene faces watching over the gathered family.

As promised, Ashwin returned home just in time. His mother, ever meticulous about rituals, rushed him to change quickly so they could begin the puja during the shubh muhurat.

Once the prayers concluded, Divya rose, carrying a thali of prasad, distributing it among the family members. Her steps slowed as she reached the far end of the mandir, where Ashwin stood, his hands cupped together in silent expectancy.

"Prasad lijiye," Divya murmured, placing a sweet into Ashwin's palm before signaling a maid to distribute the remaining sweets among the household staff. She then moved forward, bowing to touch her grandmother's feet. (Take the prasad.)

"Shubh Deepawali, Dadi ji."

Dadi merely hummed, her fingers barely brushing the top of Divya's head in a perfunctory blessing.

As the younger family members finished seeking blessings from their elders, a voice rang out, hesitant but firm.

"Main mandir jaa raha hoon," Arthit announced, his hands clenched at his sides. "Phir doston ke saath thoda ghumne ka plan hai... aur sleepover bhi." (I am going to the temple. After that I have plans to go sightseeing with friends... And sleepover too.)

A quiet sigh escaped Chachi's lips as she turned to him, her voice low and measured. "Sleepover ke baare mein toh mujhe nahi bataya tha... kiske ghar pe ruk raja hai?" (Why did you not tell me about the sleepover... At whose place are you staying?)

"Zayn."

The name barely left Arthit's lips when Dadi's head snapped up.

"Ek minute-kya bola tune?" she demanded, her voice sharp, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Yeh Zayn kaun hai? Naam se toh Hindu bilkul nahi lagta..." A breath hitched in her throat as realization dawned. "Tu... tu Musalmaanon se dosti rakhta hai?" (One minute - what did you say? Who is this Zayn? Doesn't seem Hindu from his name... You... You are being buddy with Muslims?)

Her voice cracked, the weight of her horror pressing into her frail frame. "Hey Ram! Yeh kya ho gaya! Maine bola tha, isse kabu mein rakho! Ab dekho-Musalmaanon se milta hai!" (Hey Ram! How did it come to this! I had told you, keep him in check! Now see- this boy mixes with Muslims!)

Arthit's fingers curled into fists at his sides. The walls of his home, once a place of warmth and tradition, now felt suffocating.

"Maa!" Chacha's voice broke through, exasperated and firm. "Woh bhi toh insaan hi hain na? Aur jaat-dharam, in sab cheezon mein rakha kya hai?!" (Aren't they humans too? And these caste-religion, what do they have to do with relations?)

Arthit swallowed hard before stepping forward, his heart pounding.

"Haan, bhaiya Muslim hai," he admitted, his voice steadier than he felt. "Toh?" (Yes, Bhaiya is Muslim. So what?)

A sharp gasp. "Toh?" Dadi echoed, her face contorted in anguish. "Toh yeh ke woh ladka tujhe humse chheen lega! Tera dharm badal dega! Tujhe bhatka dega!" She clutched her forehead, rocking back and forth. "Hey Ram, main kya karoon ab!" (So what? That boy is trying to take you away from us! He will force you to convert! He will lead you astray!)

Arthit's chest tightened. His love, his faith, his very existence-did all of it mean so little?

"He's not doing anything!" Arthit shot back, desperation laced in his voice. "In fact, Zayn mere saath mandir chal raha hai!" (In fact, Zayn is going to the temple with me!)

Silence. Then-

"KYA?!" Dadi shrieked, her frail body trembling. "Ek Musalmaan hamare mandir ko apavitra karega?!" (WHAT?! A Muslim will desecrate our temple?!)

"Maa! Bas!" Papa's voice thundered through the room. His hands folded in a plea, his expression weary. "Bohot sun liya humne aapka! Kripya karke yeh sab band kariye!" (Maa! Enough! I've had enough! Please stop this nonsense!)

Ashwin stepped forward, his voice calm yet resolute. "Dadi, Paa aur Chachu sahi keh rahe hain. Aaj ke zamaane mein jaat-dharam kuch nahi hota. Sab ek barabar hain. Sab insaan hain." (Dadi, Paa and Chachu are right. In this age, caste and religion don't matter at all. Everyone is equal. Everyone is human.)

Arthit let out a slow breath, his heart still hammering.

"Maine permission nahi maangi," he said quietly, his gaze steady. "Main bas bata raha tha." (I wasn't asking for permission. I was just informing.)

With that, he turned, his feet carrying him swiftly away.

"Arthit-!" Someone called out, but he didn't stop.

His hands shook as he grabbed his bike keys, slipping on his helmet and Converse in one fluid motion. He barely noticed Dadi's mutterings behind him as she sprinkled Ganga jal around the house, whispering Ram-Ram under her breath, as if to purify the air he had tainted.

Outside, the night was crisp, the world buzzing with the sounds of laughter, firecrackers, and distant bhajans. But in Arthit's chest, a storm raged.

He parked his bike beneath Zayn's apartment, his fingers numb as he pulled out his phone and pressed dial.

It rang once before being answered.

"Hello!" Zayn's voice was tight, laced with unease.

"Helmet leke neeche aa jao," Arthit murmured, his voice unreadable. "I'm waiting." (Get your helmet and come downstairs.)

A pause.

Zayn's fingers tightened around his phone. "Sab thik hai na?" He grabbed his keys and helmet, his stomach twisting in worry. (Is everything alright?)

"Kuch bhi thik nahi hai," Arthit admitted, his grip tightening on the handlebars. "Lekin agar abhi mandir nahi gaye, toh muhurat nikal jaayega." (Nothing is alright. But if we don't leave now, the auspicious time will pass.)

Zayn's unease grew, but he didn't question it. Instead, he slipped onto the bike behind Arthit, his arms resting lightly at his sides.

"Chalo," he said softly. (Let's go.)

The roads of Mumbai were packed, the traffic moving at a sluggish pace as the city pulsed with its usual chaos. It took over 45 minutes for Arthit and Zayn to finally reach the mandir. As soon as Arthit parked the bike, they stepped off, removing their shoes at the entrance before stepping inside.

Zayn's eyes widened as he took in the grandeur of the temple-the intricate carvings on the walls, the vibrant decorations, and the glowing idols of deities. Everything was new to him, unfamiliar yet mesmerizing. He walked beside Arthit at a snail's pace, his gaze darting around in wonder. The place was teeming with people, and he frequently bumped into strangers, quickly muttering apologies each time.

"This place is so beautiful," Zayn murmured, awestruck.

"Hmm," Arthit responded absently. "Come, we have to offer puja to Matarani."

Navigating through the thick crowd, he led Zayn towards the main sanctum, where devotees waited for their turn. They stood in line for nearly fifteen minutes before finally reaching the priest. Arthit handed over the thali of offerings, while Zayn watched in silent curiosity. Unsure of what to do, he observed Arthit closely. When he saw him fold his hands and close his eyes in prayer, he mimicked him, feeling an odd sense of peace settle over him.

After the priest returned the thali with prasad, they carefully maneuvered through the throng of people, moving to a relatively quieter area near the temple steps.

Arthit exhaled deeply, his fingers clutching the sacred flower from the offering as he turned to Zayn. His voice was soft, almost hesitant. "Bhaiya... thank you."

Zayn raised an eyebrow before gently patting his cheek. "Thank you kis baat ka? Bataoge kya chal raha hai?" (Why are you thanking me? Will you tell me what is going on?)

"For coming here with me..." Arthit said, averting his gaze.

Zayn's chest tightened as he clutched the thali of prasad in one hand and Arthit's trembling fingers in the other. The weight of the moment pressed down on him like an unbearable burden. He had always known Arthit to be emotional, but this... this was different.

His Arthit-his sunshine-was breaking.

And he could do nothing.

They moved to a quieter corner of the temple steps, away from the bustling crowd. Arthit picked up a flower from the offering plate and pressed it to his forehead, whispering something under his breath. Zayn could only watch, his heart aching.

A part of him wanted to shake him, to demand how he could even think of leaving him like that. Another part of him understood. Arthit wasn't just sad-he was drowning in guilt. He felt trapped in a house that didn't respect the man he loved, forced to eat food from hands that insulted Zayn's very existence. It wasn't just suffocating-it was soul-crushing.

He touched the flower to his forehead before picking up a piece of the prasad and feeding it to Zayn. His voice trembled as he finally admitted, "K-kabhi kabhi mann karta hai... jaan le lun apni." (S-sometimes I feel like... Killing myself?)

Zayn froze. The sweet taste of prasad turned bitter in his mouth as he registered Arthit's words. He immediately stepped forward, cupping Arthit's face with both hands, forcing him to look up. "Kya hua meri chhoti si jaan ko? Kyon itna pareshan ho?" His voice was gentle but firm, laced with worry. "Dadi ne kuch bola kya?" (What happened to my little soul? Why are you so upset? Did Dadi say something?)

A sharp pang of guilt crossed Arthit's features as he nodded. "Dadi ne aapko bohot bura bhala kaha..." His voice wavered. "Ab samajh aa raha hai ki Mata Sati ne aatmahatya kyun ki thi. Jab koi pati ke baare mein bura kahe, aur uska prativaad bhi na kar paun, isse bada guilt kuch nahi ho sakta..." His doe-like eyes burned with unshed tears as he lowered his head. (Dadi insulted you... Now I can understand why Mata Sati took her own life. When someone insults my husband, and I can't even utter a word in protest, there's no guilt greater than that...)

Zayn's heart clenched at the sheer pain in his voice. He had never expected Arthit to love him this much. A whisper escaped his lips before he could stop himself. "Arth... itna pyaar karte ho mujhse?" (Arth... Do you love me so much?)

Arthit simply nodded, unable to voice his emotions. "Mujhe bolna nahi aata, Bhaiya... Bas aapke bharose zinda hoon." His restraint broke, and he wrapped his arms around Zayn, sobbing into his shoulder. (I don't know how to express, Bhaiya... I'm alive only for you.)

Zayn hugged him back tightly, rocking him gently from side to side. He pressed a soft kiss to his temple, murmuring, "Agar tum chale gaye toh main kaise zinda rahunga?" (If you are not here, how will I survive?)

"I'm sorry, Bhaiya..." Arthit sniffled. "Lekin jab Dadi aapke baare mein itni buri baatein bolti hai, tab jeene ka mann nahi karta! Main kaise uss ghar ka ek niwala bhi kha sakta hoon jahan mere husband ki koi izzat nahi karta?" His words came tumbling out in a rush, his emotions raw and unfiltered. (But when Dadi says so many things about you, I really don't feel like living anymore! How can I even eat a mouthful from a house where no one respects my husband?)

Zayn sighed, pressing his forehead against Arthit's. "Main jaldi se jaldi tumhe uss ghar se le aaunga. Tum bas thoda sa aur intezaar karo." He smiled, though his eyes carried the weight of a promise. "Aur rahi baat khane ki, toh beta, khaane pe gussa nahi nikalna chahiye. Bohot naseeb wale hote hain woh log jinhe roz khana milta hai." (I'll get you out of there as soon as possible. Just hold on for a bit more. And if it comes to food, beta, you shouldn't take your anger out on food. The people who get to eat everyday are very lucky.)

A flicker of shame crossed Arthit's face. "I'm sorry... I'm stupid and selfish..." He pulled away, looking down. "It's karma, isn't it?"

Zayn frowned. "Kis karma ki baat kar rahe ho?" (What karma are you talking about?)

Arthit let out a shaky breath. "I hurt you so badly back then... ab ussi ki saza mil rahi hai." He gave a small, sad smile. "Agar poori zindagi bhi aapse maafi maangta rahu, tab bhi bata nahi paunga ki kitna guilty hoon." (Now I'm getting punished for it. Even if I continue begging you for forgiveness for the rest of my life, I'll never be able to express how guilty I feel.)

Zayn cupped his cheeks again, wiping away the stray tears. "Tumse kuch kehne ki zarurat nahi hai," he reassured him. "Bas yeh guilt mat rakho apne dil mein. Tum dare hue the. Aur main yahin hoon, tumhare saath. Mere liye bas yeh hi kaafi hai." (You don't need to say anything. Don't be guilty about it. You were scared. And I'm right here, with you. This is enough for me.)

A small silence settled between them before Zayn playfully tapped Arthit's cheeks. "Ab ek pyaari si smile do." (Now give me a lovely smile.)

Arthit took a deep breath before offering him a small, shy smile. He closed his eyes for a moment, silently praying to Matarani for one thing-that Zayn would always be by his side.

"Ek arzi hai..." he murmured. (I've a request.)

Zayn tilted his head. "Bolo..." (Say...)

"Vrat rakha tha... khol doge?" Arthit whispered, his cheeks turning hot. (I fasted... Will you break it for me?)

Zayn chuckled at his flustered expression. "Tum kitne pyaare ho..." He picked up the box of sweets from the railing, pulling out a piece. "Chalo, muh kholo." (You're so lovely... Come on, open your mouth.)

Arthit huffed, pouting. "Main pyaara nahi hoon! Main handsome hoon!" (I'm not lovely! I'm handsome!)

Zayn laughed, thoroughly enjoying his childish stubbornness. "Accha baba... mera Arth duniya ka sabse handsome boy hai. Ab theek hai?" (Ok fine... My Arthit is most handsome boy in the world. Now alright?)

A satisfied nod from Arthit was all he got before he leaned forward, biting the sweet from Zayn's fingers-along with a playful nip at his fingertips.

Zayn pulled his hand back with a sharp gasp. "Badmaash!" he accused, narrowing his eyes at the cheeky grin spreading across Arthit's face. (Brat!)

Arthit blinked innocently. "Abhi toh keh rahe the ki main achha bachcha hoon... ab achanak badmaash kaise ban gaya?" He pouted, looking every bit like a kicked puppy. (Just now you were saying that I am a good boy... How did I suddenly become a brat?)

Zayn shook his head, amused. "Tumhe pata hai na tumhara sabse bada weapon kya hai?" He leaned in slightly, pinching Arthit's nose. "Yeh cute expressions." (You know what your most lethal weapons are, right? These cute expressions.)

Arthit giggled but the elder quickly changed the subject. "Ab ghar chale?" (So, return home now?)

"Mela nahi chaloge? Tumne kaha tha momos khilaoge!" Arthit accused, pointing a finger at him. (Won't you go to the fair? You promised to treat me to momos!)

Zayn sighed in defeat, ruffling his hair. "Thik hai, mela dekhne chalte hain. Chalo, keys do." (Ok, let's go to the fair. Come, give me the keys.)

Arthit smirked and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the bike. "Main chalaunga. Ab nikalte hain!" (I'll drive. Let's get out of here now!)

Zayn sighed, shaking his head. "Badmaash," he muttered under his breath, but he followed along, his heart impossibly lighter than before. (Brat.)

The winter breeze nipped at their skin as Zayn and Arthit strolled through the bustling mela, the bright lights and cheerful laughter painting the perfect backdrop to their simple joy. The scent of street food filled the air, blending with the sound of carnival rides and festive music.

As they roamed, Arthit's eyes lit up at the sight of a small roadside stall selling steaming hot momos. Without hesitation, they walked up to it, sharing a single plate between them.

Zayn watched Arthit devour the first momo with childlike excitement, but deep down, guilt gnawed at his heart.

"He deserves better... a fancy restaurant, a place where he belongs."

He sighed, lowering his gaze. "I'm sorry, Arth... I couldn't take you to a nice restaurant like you're used to."

Arthit turned to him, a bright smile spreading across his face. "Don't be sorry, bhaiya... I don't need a restaurant. No seven-star hotel can even try to compete with the joy of sharing a plate of momos on the roadside with you."

Zayn stared at him, his heart melting at the sincerity in Arthit's words. "Sach mein?" he asked, lifting a momo to Arthit's lips. (Really?)

Arthit took a bite, chewing happily before breaking into a playful tune-

"Sheesh mahal na mujhko suhaye, tujh sang sukhi roti bhaaye!"

(Without you, the glass palace has lost its charm. But if it's with you, old/stale bread is a gourmet for me.)

Zayn laughed softly, leaning in until their foreheads touched. "Thank you..." he whispered, eyes full of warmth.

Then, glancing at the momo in his hand, he teased, "Are you going to eat, or should I finish them all?"

Arthit grinned. "Just this last one, okay? Mera pet bhar gaya!" He took the final bite, content and satisfied. (My stomach is filled!)

Zayn, still unwilling to let go of the moment, lifted another momo. "One more? This will be the last."

Arthit pouted. "Half! How will I eat all the other treats?"

Zayn chuckled, breaking the momo in half and holding it up. "Okay, half. Now eat."

Arthit took a delicate bite, chewing demurely, and Zayn popped the remaining half into his mouth before tossing the disposable plate into the nearby bin. He turned back to Arthit and noticed a spot of chutney on his lips. With a soft chuckle, he wiped it away with a napkin.

"So, what does my Arth want to eat next?" he asked, eyes twinkling with affection.

Arthit hummed, looking around. "Let's walk for a bit. Then we'll eat more, okay?"

Zayn nodded, taking his hand firmly in his own. "Alright, let's go."

They spent the next two hours exploring the mela, going on thrilling rides, and sampling all sorts of street food. From spicy chaat to sweet jalebis, every moment felt like a stolen piece of happiness-an escape from reality.

Finally, exhausted yet fulfilled, they returned to Zayn's tiny apartment. Arthit had made up his mind-he would stay there for a few days, just long enough for his dadi to cool down.

And his plan worked.

When he finally returned home, his grandmother had shifted her focus elsewhere-this time, onto bhabhi, forcing her to take care of him instead.

Arthit sighed in relief.

At least, for now, he could breathe.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Somehow I feel ki main studies seriously nahi le raha, but do I care?

Oh hell not!

Guys, get some caramelized popcorn for the next part... You're gonna need it. 70 votes in this lovely one and the most awaited part shall be up! 😉

Enjoy, Adiraj and Priya!

EXTRA AUTHORS' NOTE:

I'm sorry for such a long delay. Both of our mental healths are in shambles. We apologise for such a long delay.

Thankfully I'm seeing my therapist day after tomorrow. I'm worried about my Ms. Priya. Let's pray for her collectively 🙏🏼

About the new story, it is in ideation. It will take me a longer time to get it in proper form for posting, because making posters is a pain in the ass.

Enjoy, Adiraj and Priya!