Aashu, Are You My Baby?

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As the dinner table was set, everyone gathered around, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the traditional Maharashtrian feast spread across the table. Puran poli, varan bhaat, batata bhaji, kothimbir vadi, shrikhand, and an array of chutneys filled the air with an aroma that made even the fullest stomach rumble in anticipation.

Aaji clapped her hands together. "Chala, sagle basaa! (Come, everyone sit!)"

The group eagerly took their places, with Dhruvin casually pulling the chair beside him for Aashna, who gave him a side-eye before sitting down. The meal began, and the chatter grew as they ate, laughed, and bantered.

“Manan, don’t you dare touch my shrikhand!” Raj warned, swatting at Manan’s hand.

Manan grinned. “Sharing is caring, Raju.”

Dhruvin snorted. “Yeah, but not when it comes to food. Especially not Raj’s food.”

Aashna, while amused by the conversation, was too full to properly participate. She absentmindedly poked at the remaining food on her plate, taking tiny bites now and then.

Dhruvin, noticing this, didn’t think twice before pulling her plate toward him and dumping all her leftovers onto his plate. The table fell silent for a moment, then erupted in teasing laughter.

“Aye haaye! Shaadi kab hai?” Saumya teased, nudging Aashna, who turned pink.

Aaji and Aajoba shared a knowing glance before smiling to themselves.

Aashna, on the other hand, was flustered. “Dhruvin, what the hell?!”

He gave her an easy smile, taking a bite of her discarded puran poli. “You don’t have to eat if you’re full, Aashu.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I can decide that for myself.”“Clearly not, since you were just playing with your food like a toddler.” He smirked, popping another piece in his mouth.

Aashna scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

As the meal came to an end, everyone moved to the hall, sprawled across the sofas and floor, continuing their banter. Meanwhile, Aashna slipped into the kitchen, offering to help Aaji and Aajoba with the dishes. They tried to refuse, but she stood her ground.

“Aji, please! Let me help. Aapke haath dukh jayenge (Your hands will ache),” she insisted.

Just as she rolled up her sleeves and began rinsing plates, Dhruvin strolled in, arms crossed. “Aaji, Aajoba, aap log bahar jao na. Hum kar lenge.”

Aaji raised an eyebrow. “Tu madat karnaar? (You’re going to help?)”

Dhruvin placed a hand over his heart. “Aaji, tula mahit nahi mala kiti god manus milala ahe! (Aaji, you don’t know what a sweet person I am!)”

Aaji chuckled and shook her head.

Aashna burst into laughter while Dhruvin gasped in mock offense.

Once Aaji and Aajoba left the kitchen, Dhruvin rolled up his sleeves and got to work beside her. “Washing dishes on a Saturday night. How romantic.”

Aashna huffed. “Shut up and pass me the scrub.”

He handed it to her but flicked some soap suds on her nose in the process.

“Dhruvin!” she glared, wiping it off.

“What? It suits you,” he said, biting back a laugh. “Soap bubbles, just like your personality. A little tough on the outside, but soft when you let it settle.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

A few minutes later, while drying the dishes, Aashna accidentally nicked her finger on a knife. She let out a sharp hiss, and before she could react, Dhruvin was already at her side.

“Are you serious? Can’t even wash dishes properly?” he scolded, grabbing her hand.

Aashna blinked, startled. “It’s just a small cut—”

“Shut up,” he muttered, tugging her out of the kitchen. “Come with me.”

She found herself being pulled through the hall and up the stairs into his bedroom. She barely had time to take in the surroundings before he sat her down on his bed and walked to his desk to fish out a first-aid box.

Looking around, she frowned. His room was nothing like she had expected—minimalistic, clean, neutral-toned, with no sign of the chaotic personality he exuded outside.

He returned and kneeled in front of her, taking her hand gently. “This might sting.”

The antiseptic did burn, and she hissed. He immediately blew on the wound, his brows furrowed in concern. “Careful, Aashu. I swear, if you hurt yourself like this again, I’ll…”

She tilted her head. “You’ll what?”

“I don’t know, but it’ll be very dramatic.”

Aashna chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

Once he had placed a band-aid on her finger, he sat beside her, sighing. “You looked really pretty today, by the way.”She scoffed, though a small smile played on her lips. “You looked… decent.”

Dhruvin grinned. “Decent? That’s all I get?”

She shrugged. “Alright, fine. You looked good.”

His eyes twinkled. “Was that so hard to say?”

Ignoring him, her gaze fell upon a small photo frame on his bedside table. It had a middle-aged man and woman smiling warmly at the camera. Realization struck her—he had never mentioned his parents. She hesitated before asking, “Your mom and dad… they don’t live with you?”

Dhruvin stiffened slightly, his face unreadable. “Yeah… something like that.”

She sensed the shift in his demeanor and decided not to push. Instead, she recited a string of numbers.

He frowned. “What?”

She looked at him with an amused smirk. “Aur ek baar hi bolungi. Iske baad number nahi milega. (I’ll only say it once. You won’t get it again.)”

Realization dawned on his face, and his eyes widened in disbelief. He scrambled to grab a notebook and pen, hurriedly jotting down the digits.

Once done, he turned to her, his face breaking into the biggest grin. Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. “Aashu, you have made my day! Thank you for the number, baba.”

Still recovering from the sudden hug, Aashna muttered, “I am not your baba.”

He pulled back slightly, smirking. “Oh? Then will you be my baby?”

She scowled and pushed him away. “Shut up.”

Laughing, she stormed out, leaving Dhruvin sitting on his bed, staring at her number and grinning like an absolute goofball.

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Author’s Note

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