Author's Legal Statement

This is a fictional story.
Any emotional damage caused by  romance, cute moments, or  family chaos or if you find yourself emotionally attached to them... is not the my responsibility instead, that is entirely your responsibility. 🙂
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Vedansh's Pov:

The scrub area outside the Operation Theatre always had a peculiar stillness after chaos.

The bright white lights reflected off stainless steel sinks lined in a row, motion-sensor taps running in thin, disciplined streams. The faint smell of betadine and chlorhexidine clung to the air. Disposable caps lay discarded in a yellow bin. Used gloves snapped off and fell into biohazard containers with soft elastic sounds. The hum of the ventilation system was steady, indifferent — as if appendixes burst and lives were stitched back together here every day, and it was no big deal.

I stood at one of the sinks, sleeves still rolled above my elbows, fingers slightly wrinkled from repeated scrubbing. The water ran over my hands, pinkish for a second before turning clear.

Appendix. Perforated. Midnight emergency.

On leave.

Of course.

I removed my mask, letting it hang from one ear before pulling it off completely. The elastic left faint marks against my cheeks. My shoulders felt heavy — not from fatigue, but from the irony of timing.

"Sir?"

I turned.

Nurse Seema stood near the counter, holding the patient file against her chest. Her hair was neatly tied in a bun, cap already removed.

"Yes, Seema?" I peeled off my gloves and dropped them into the bin.

"The patient is stable now. When should we shift him to the general ward? Afternoon?" She paused. "And... will you be coming for evening rounds today? I heard you're on leave."

I exhaled slowly. "Shift him post-lunch. Keep him under observation till 2 p.m. If vitals remain stable, move him."

She nodded, making a note.

"As for evening..." I gave a small helpless smile. "I may not be able to come."

"Sir?" she asked, mildly surprised.

"Today is my parents' 28th wedding anniversary. I was supposed to be home since yesterday." I leaned back against the counter, folding my arms. "They planned a midnight surprise. Cake cutting and all that drama. And guess who was inside OT?"

Seema smiled knowingly. "You."

"Exactly." I shook my head lightly. I could hear 'Happy Anniversary' in the background while I was asking for 2-0 vicryl."

She laughed softly. "That's very filmi, sir."

"Filmy life," I muttered. "But there's a proper celebration tonight. Guests, relatives, chaos... the works."

"That sounds nice."

"It is." I straightened. "You should come."

"Me?" Her eyebrows lifted.

"Why not? You were part of saving someone's appendix on their anniversary morning. That counts as contribution." I grinned faintly. "Come in the evening. 7:30 onwards. Svapnaseva Nivas, MIHAN."

She hesitated, smiling shyly. "If duty permits, sir."

"Duty always permits happiness," I said, picking up my phone from the counter. "At least try."

She nodded. "Congratulations to uncle and aunty."

"Thank you."

I walked out of the scrub area, footsteps echoing softly in the corridor. Even at 7 a.m., AIIMS Nagpur was awake — stretchers moving, interns rushing, distant announcements blending into the institutional rhythm of healing and urgency.

I entered the doctors' washroom and splashed cold water on my face. The chill hit instantly, dragging me back into the present.

I looked up at the mirror.

Dark circles faint but visible. Hair slightly messy. A surgeon's fatigue hidden behind controlled composure.

And then — just this once — I broke the invisible wall.

"Hi," I said quietly to my reflection. "I am Vedansh Samar Sharma. Twenty-five... almost twenty-six. A General Surgeon at my dream institute, AIIMS Nagpur."

Dream institute.

I let that sit.

"Today is my parents' — Samar and Bhavika Sharma's — twenty-eighth wedding anniversary."

A small smile crept up.

"I live with my family. My sisters — Akshita, we call her Akshu — she's an architect at Bansal Architectural Firm, one of the leading firms in India. Brilliant mind. Scolds me more than Maa sometimes."

I chuckled softly.

"And Bhumika — Bhumi. Not my real sister, technically. She's my cousin. Daughter of meri mausi Gudiya Mausi. But honestly? She's no less than my own sibling. She'll be starting her second year MBBS after summer vacation. At AIIMS Nagpur. She followed my footsteps."

God help her, I thought fondly.

My expression softened.

"Gudiya Mausi... she has struggled a lot. Divorcee. Five years ago, when Bhumi was in class 9. Her in-laws were not good. Ex-mausaji wasn't bad, but he always sided with his family out of fear. And fear ruins more homes than cruelty ever does."

I dried my face with a paper towel.

"She lives with us now. Because my mamas..." I sighed. "We talk. We're related. But closeness? Not really."

My gaze shifted slightly, as if memories were playing behind the glass.

"Then there's my pyari Nani. Rekha Dhimole. She used to live in Khapa — meri nana-nani ka gaav [my maternal grandparents' village]. She has five children. Karuna Mausi — we're very close to her family. Shailendra Mama is good... but his wife, Tanuja Mami..." I raised an eyebrow. "Typical villain of family."

A faint amused exhale escaped me.

"Chote Mama Jitendra... good man. Dreamed of joining the Army. Family pressure stopped him. Great-grandfather's decisions echoing in another generation. He drifted for years. Drinks. Regret. But he's stable now."

My fingers rested on the sink.

"My Nanaji... school teacher. Even Sarpanch of our area. A great man. He passed away when I was ten."

I swallowed lightly.

"Nani tried to stay in the village after that. But daily fights, kalesh... Tanuja Mami's drama..." I shook my head. "So Papa and Maa brought her to live with us. She was hesitant — 'Kaise rahun beti-damaad ke ghar?' [How can I live in my daughter and son-in-law's house?] she used to say. And honestly, our financial condition wasn't even good back then."

I straightened, meeting my own eyes again.

"But family is family after all."

Silence settled for a second.

I picked up my stethoscope from the counter.

"Anyways... enough about that now."

I stepped out of the washroom, the hospital corridor stretching ahead of me — duty behind, celebration waiting, and somewhere between stitches and smiles, a life quietly moving toward something I couldn't yet see.

And I had absolutely no idea that this anniversary... was about to change far more than just the decorations at home.
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Narrator's POV:

He stepped into the doctors' changing room and retrieved his belongings from the locker — wallet, mobile, keys. The metallic door shut with a dull click. For a second, he simply stood there, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his arms upward until his spine gave a faint, satisfying crack.

A long yawn escaped him.

"God..." he muttered under his breath. "I hate wearing formal shirts and pants."

The pale blue shirt clung slightly at the back from the humid May morning. The trousers felt too structured, too disciplined for someone who preferred loose kurtas and cotton pajamas.

Alas, ek doctor ko aise hi kapde pehnana chahiye [a doctor is supposed to wear such clothes], he sighed internally.

He picked up his phone and unlocked it with his fingerprint. The screen lit up instantly — Harry Potter staring back at him, wand raised, Hogwarts blazing behind.

A faint smirk curved his lips. "Always."

Then his eyes widened.

"Shit."

Three missed calls. Akshu.

Before he could process that, the phone rang again — a dramatic, intense instrumental bursting through the silence.

Demon Slayer Infinity Castle ringtone.

He didn't need to see the screen to know.

"Special treatment," he muttered, shaking his head fondly as he answered. "Haan bol, Akshu."

"Bhaiya! Where are you?" Her voice sounded breathless. Slightly panicked.

"I just finished. Appendix done, patient stable. Why are you sounding like the house is on fire?"

"Don't joke!" she snapped lightly. "Are you coming home soon?"

"Yes, madam architect, I am coming. Bas nikal raha hoon [I'm just leaving]. But what happened? Why are you so ghabrayi hui [panicked]?"

There was a second of silence. Then—

"Gadbad ho gayi hai." [There's been a problem.]

His expression shifted instantly. "Kya?" [What?]

"The sugarfree cake we ordered for tonight..." she exhaled shakily. "It won't come."

He blinked. "Why?"

"The chef's mother died early morning. He has to leave immediately. He called and apologized. Said he can't manage."

For a moment, the gravity of that statement sank in. "Oh."

"Yes, oh!" Akshu sounded torn between empathy and frustration. "I mean... obviously it's serious. But now what do we do? Papa can't have normal cake. And on such short notice? Sugarfree, customised, anniversary theme — where will we get it?"

He rubbed his forehead lightly.

Of all things... cake crisis.

"I know it sounds small," she continued quickly, "but you know Papa. He won't say anything, but if we don't keep sugarfree option he'll pretend he's fine and then sneak one bite of regular cake and then Maa will glare and then... you know."

He did know.

A small smile tugged at his lips despite the situation.

"Okay, relax," he said calmly. "First of all, the patient is stable. So mission hospital accomplished. Second, I am leaving right now. We'll figure something out."

"How? It's already morning!"

"Arre, hum Sharma log hain." [We are Sharmas.] He tried to inject lightness into his tone. "Jugaad is our birthright."

She huffed a weak laugh. "Very funny."

"Akshu."

"Hm?"

"Breathe. I'm coming."

There was a pause. Her voice softened slightly. "Come fast, okay?"

"Five minutes to parking. Ten to home."

"Drive safe."

"Always."

He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket. For a brief second, he leaned against the locker.

A sugarfree cake emergency... on a surgeon's parents' anniversary.

He almost laughed at the absurdity.

But beneath the humor, there was a flicker of responsibility.

Papa won't say anything. He never does.

That thought made him push off the wall.

He walked briskly toward the parking area of AIIMS Nagpur. The morning sun was already asserting its presence, casting sharp golden lines across the concrete.

His black Pulsar stood where he had left it the previous night. Loyal. Silent. Slightly dusty.

He put on his helmet, swung his leg over, and started the engine. The familiar vibration hummed beneath him.

Three kilometers.

Not far.

But enough for his mind to start racing.

He maneuvered through the relatively light morning traffic. MIHAN roads were wide, disciplined, almost deceptively calm at this hour. The air carried a faint dryness of summer — warm, not yet scorching.

Sugarfree cake... short notice...

His mind began calculating possibilities.

Hospital cafeteria? No.

Local bakery near the market? Maybe.

Or...

A slow, almost mischievous idea flickered at the back of his mind.

He shook his head. "First reach home," he muttered inside the helmet.

Within minutes, the familiar boundary wall of Svapnaseva Nivas came into view.

Bougainvillaea spilled over parts of the outer wall in soft pink cascades. Decorative lantern strings were being fastened along the boundary. Marigold garlands hung half-tied near the entrance gate. A ladder leaned against one side where someone was adjusting fairy lights.

Even from outside, the house radiated celebration.

On one side of the entrance path, the small garden area was buzzing with activity — workers arranging chairs, adjusting a temporary canopy structure. The main celebration was clearly going to happen in the garden. He could see a small stage frame being assembled near the lawn.

Above, on the terrace, movement was visible too. Tables were being aligned in neat rows. Food counters were likely to be set up there later.

He slowed the bike and entered through the gate.

"Namaste, Ved baba!" Manish called out from near the guard area, wiping his hands on a cloth.

"Good morning, Manish Bhaiya," Ved replied warmly, removing his helmet.

"Raat ko bhi hospital gaye the?" [You went to the hospital at night too?]

"Haan. Emergency tha." [Yes. It was an emergency.]

"Doctor log ka toh koi time hi nahi hota," Manish shook his head with mild admiration.

"Bas, aadat hai." [Just habit.]

He parked the bike in the shed beside the house, sliding it carefully into its usual spot.

Then he looked up.

The first full view of the main house stood before him.

Svapnaseva Nivas.

Three floors rising gracefully, cream and earthy tones blending with modern architectural lines — Akshu's design stamped proudly across every balcony and pillar. Large windows reflected the morning light. Subtle wooden panels added warmth to the façade. The front veranda had fresh rangoli beginning to take shape near the entrance.

The tulsi plant stood centered near the pathway, leaves shimmering under early sunlight.

Home.

And today, it felt like something was brewing inside those walls — something bigger than decorations, bigger than a cake crisis.

He took a slow breath, adjusted his shirt collar instinctively, and started walking toward the main door.

The moment Ved pushed open the main door, he stepped straight into organized chaos.

Inside, the house was buzzing. Two decorators were standing on ladders, fastening warm fairy lights along the staircase railing. Someone was measuring the length of a floral drape near the living room archway. Soft instrumental music played faintly from a speaker — probably Bhumi's doing — mixing with the sound of instructions, laughter, and the occasional "Arre seedha karo na!" [Straighten it properly!]

He paused just inside the doorway, taking it all in.

His parents usually preferred small, intimate gatherings. Simple dinner. A few close relatives. Done.

But this year was different.

Their 25th anniversary had passed quietly because Svapnaseva Nivas was still under construction then. Dust, scaffolding, unfinished walls — hardly the place for a celebration. The next two years had slipped by while he was drowning in MS residency — night duties, exams, thesis, survival.

After the vastu pooja in 2023, this was the first proper celebration in their own home where they could invite everyone.

Twenty-eight years... and finally celebrating properly under their own roof.

His chest warmed at the thought.

Near the kitchen entrance, Tanvi Didi stood directing a decorator about where to hang artificial mogra strings.

"Didi, good morning," Ved said.

She turned, smiling. "Arre Ved baba! Aap aa gaye?" [You've come?]

"Haan. Where's Kiara?"

"Family lounge mein hai. Arjun ke saath khel rahi hai." [She's in the family lounge, playing with Arjun.]

He blinked. "Arjun? When did they come?"

"Ek ghanta ho gaya. Subah-subah hi aa gaye sab." [It's been an hour. They all came early morning.]

"The Mudgals are here already?"

She nodded. "Haan. Karuna Mausi, Mausaji, Pratham bhaiya, Arohan bhaiya, Shraddha bhabhi, Niyati bhabhi... sab."

He let out a soft breath. "Full attendance."

He made his way toward Maa-Papa's room, but it was empty. The bed neatly arranged. Fresh clothes laid out for evening. He frowned slightly and stepped back into the corridor.

Laughter drifted from Akshu's room.

He walked toward it and gently pushed the door open.

Inside, on the bed, his parents sat side by side. Akshu was beside them, holding open an old wedding album. Glossy pages reflected the morning light.

His mother's younger face smiled back from the photographs — shy, adorned in red. Papa, thinner, moustached, awkwardly dignified.

"Arre Ved!" Maa looked up first.

He stepped inside and without a second thought bent down.

"Happy 28th anniversary," he said warmly, touching their feet.

"Khush raho," Papa murmured, placing a hand over his head.

"Jeete raho," Maa added softly.

He straightened and gave them a small apologetic smile. "Sorry kal raat ko bina bataye nikalna pada." [Sorry I had to leave suddenly last night without informing properly.]

Maa's brows knitted instantly. "Sab theek toh hai na?" [Everything is okay, right?]

"Haan Maa. Surgery achhe se ho gayi. Appendix burst tha, but patient stable hai ab." [Yes Maa. The surgery went well. The appendix had burst, but the patient is stable now.]

Papa nodded with quiet pride. "Good."

Akshu looked at him from across the album.

A subtle glance.

Cake.

He gave the tiniest nod in return.

Understood.

"Achha, I'll just shower and get ready," he said casually. "Phir milte hain." [Then I'll meet you.]

He stepped out before Maa could ask anything further.

On the way to his room, he slowed as he passed the sitting area near the family lounge.

Karuna Mausi sat in the center, a pile of sarees spread around her. Nani beside her, adjusting her spectacles. Gudiya Mausi was examining fabric textures. Shraddha Bhabhi and Niyati Bhabhi sat cross-legged on the carpet, while little Aditi toddled between them.

Bhumi was holding up a pastel blue saree against Karuna Mausi's shoulder.

"Bhaiya aa gaya!" Bhumi announced dramatically.

He walked in and immediately bent to touch Karuna Mausi's feet. "Namaste Mausi."

"Khush raho beta," she said affectionately.

He touched Nani's feet next. "Nani."

"Jeete raho, doctor sahib," she teased gently.

He grinned and then scooped Aditi into his arms.

"Arre meri princess!" he cooed softly.

Aditi blinked at him and grabbed his shirt collar.

"Ved, yeh saree theek hai kya?" Shraddha Bhabhi asked, holding up a maroon silk. "Aunty ko pasand ayegi na?" [Aunty will like it, right?]

"Of course," he said confidently. "Papa ko dark colors pasand hain. Maa ko maroon suits her."

"Dekha?" Niyati laughed. "Isse fashion sense hai."

"Unfortunately," he sighed dramatically. "Being born with taste is a burden."

They all laughed.

He gently handed Aditi back and finally excused himself. "Main bas aata hoon." [I'll just be back.]

As he turned, he caught Bhumi's wrist lightly. "Tu idhar aa." [You come here.]

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously but followed him.

In the kitchen, Akshu was already waiting, arms folded.

"So?" she whispered.

Ved pulled out his phone and opened a recipe he had quickly bookmarked during the ride home.

He scanned the ingredients mentally.

Almond flour. Stevia. Butter. Baking powder. Cocoa optional.

He inhaled slowly.

"I can bake it."

Both sisters stared at him.

"You're sure?" Bhumi asked. "Bhaiya, it's a big cake."

"I know."

"You've never baked such a big one before," Akshu reminded.

He looked at them with quiet confidence. "I've done open abdominal surgeries. I can handle an oven."

They both snorted.

Tanvi Didi entered just then. "Kya planning chal rahi hai?" [What are you planning?]

"Secret mission," Akshu said dramatically.

Ved rolled up his sleeves. "Didi, help chahiye." [We need help.]

Soon, the kitchen counter was transformed into a silent operation theatre of its own.

Bowls. Measuring cups. Whisk.

He sieved carefully. Melted butter released a warm aroma. He mixed dry ingredients in one bowl, wet in another.

Consistency matters, he thought. Too thick, it won't rise. Too thin, it'll collapse.

Bhumi watched like an assistant observing a procedure.

"Add slowly," he murmured to himself, folding the batter gently.

Tanvi Didi greased the large baking tin generously.

"Gas slow rakho," he instructed. "Preheat properly."

Akshu hovered anxiously. "Please ban jaye..." [Please let it turn out well...]

"Trust me," he said quietly.

They poured the batter into the tin. The oven door shut with a firm click.

Timer set.

Forty-five minutes.

Outside the kitchen, laughter echoed. Decorations continued. No one noticed the conspiracy brewing inside.

With so many guests and preparation chaos, Maa and Papa didn't even get a moment to step into the kitchen.

And for once, that chaos was exactly what they needed.

Ved leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the oven light glowing through the glass.

Let's see, Dr. Sharma... can you stitch sweetness the way you stitch wounds?

The oven light glowed steadily, illuminating the rising cake inside.

Ved checked the timer once more and wiped his hands on a clean cloth. "Forty minutes," he murmured. "Don't open it before that."

"Ji, Bhaiya," Bhumi said obediently, though her eyes were glued to the glass window of the oven as if staring harder would make it rise better.

Akshu folded her arms. "Go check outside once. I don't trust these decoration people."

He nodded. "Haan, I'll just see."

He stepped out of the kitchen and moved through the living area. The floral drapes were now fixed properly. Fairy lights framed the staircase neatly. The soft golden glow even in daylight gave the house a festive warmth.

He climbed up to the terrace first.

Upstairs, everything was almost perfectly arranged. Long tables were aligned in parallel rows, covered in white cloth with golden runners. Steel chafing dishes were placed but not yet filled. Disposable plates were stacked neatly at one corner.

A man was adjusting the canopy cloth overhead.

"Bhaiya, thoda seedha rakho," Ved called out calmly. "Wind aaye toh hilna nahi chahiye." [Keep it straight. If wind comes, it shouldn't shake.]

"Ji sir," the worker replied quickly.

He scanned the terrace once more. Satisfied.

Then he went downstairs, crossing the garden and heading toward the outdoor pantry area — the semi-covered space where the main food was being prepared.

Large vessels simmered on gas burners. The smell of frying jeera and ghee floated in the air. One cook was chopping vegetables at lightning speed while another stirred a giant kadhai.

"Namaste, Doctor saab," one of them greeted.

"Namaste," he replied with a polite nod. "Sab time pe ho jayega na?" [Everything will be ready on time, right?]

"Bilkul," the cook said confidently.

He observed quietly for a moment.

Decorations in the garden were nearly complete now. Chairs were being dusted. Stage backdrop was almost ready — a simple but elegant floral frame with "28 Years of Togetherness" written in golden letters.

As he turned toward the sitting area near the lawn, he spotted familiar faces.

Pratham Bhaiya sat with a glass of water in hand. Arohan Bhaiya beside him. And Arun Mausaji leaning back comfortably, supervising everything like a seasoned general.

Ved walked over and immediately bent down.

"Mausaji," he said softly, touching his feet.

"Khush raho beta," Arun Mausaji blessed him warmly.

He straightened and high-fived both cousins.

"Doctor sahab!" Pratham grinned. "Finally free?"

"Free is a myth," Ved replied dryly. "But temporarily on leave."

"How's work?" Arohan asked. "Heard you did emergency last night?"

"Hmm. Appendix burst. Stable now."

"Tum logon ka life hi alag hota hai," Pratham shook his head. [You people have a different kind of life.]

Ved shrugged lightly. "How's Infosys treating you?"

"Deadlines," Pratham sighed dramatically.

"HCL is no better," Arohan added.

Ved laughed softly. "Corporate vs hospital — sab jagah struggle hai." [There's struggle everywhere.]

Then his expression turned slightly serious as he glanced toward the workers adjusting decorations.

"Zara dekhte rehna kaam wale logo ko," he said to Mausaji. "Dhyan na de toh kuch bhi kar dete hai." [Keep an eye on the workers. If not supervised, they might mess things up.]

Arun Mausaji nodded firmly. "Tum chinta mat karo. Main hoon na." [Don't worry. I'm here.]

That reassurance felt grounding.

After a few more minutes of light conversation, Ved excused himself and headed back inside.

The faint smell of baked sweetness greeted him even before he entered the kitchen.

"Bhaiya!" Bhumi almost whispered excitedly. "Lagta hai ban gaya."

He carefully opened the oven door just slightly and inserted a knife to check.

It came out clean.

A slow breath escaped him.

"Good."

They placed the first layer on the counter to cool. He quickly greased the tin again and poured the second batch of batter.

"Round two," he declared.

"Operation Cake," Akshu smirked.

As the second layer baked, Ved pulled out a large bowl.

"Cream," he instructed.

Bhumi began whipping the chilled cream vigorously. "Itna kaafi hai?" [Is this enough?]

"Thoda aur," he said, checking texture. "Soft peaks chahiye." [We need soft peaks.]

He added a small amount of sugar substitute and then mixed in finely chopped mixed fruits — apples, pineapple, pomegranate.

"Maa ka favourite," he murmured softly.

Akshu prepared a light-colored flavor gel on the side, stirring carefully so it wouldn't clump.

The kitchen had turned into a covert operation room.

Every now and then someone would pass by the corridor, but thankfully, Maa and Papa were too busy greeting relatives and overseeing other arrangements to enter.

When the second layer was done, he removed it carefully and set it aside to cool.

He spread a generous layer of cream over the first base using a flat spatula.

"Smooth," he murmured. "Even pressure."

Bhumi watched like a student observing a delicate procedure.

Once satisfied, he gently placed the second layer on top.

"Perfect alignment," Akshu said dramatically.

They coated the entire cake with cream — top and sides — working slowly to keep the finish neat.

Then came decoration.

Gel patterns swirled along the edges. Dry fruits were arranged carefully along the border. A few dark chocolate pieces were placed tastefully on top.

Finally, Akshu placed a small tag at the center:

"28 Years. Still Forever."

They stepped back.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

"It looks..." Bhumi whispered.

"Professional," Akshu finished.

Ved exhaled slowly. "Bas taste bhi acha ho." [Let it taste good too.]

They carefully transferred it into the refrigerator.

Hope lingered in the air.

And just then—

A loud honk echoed from outside the gate.

Ved frowned slightly and stepped out toward the entrance.

A familiar car stood there.

"Arre!" he exclaimed softly.

Meera Didi stepped out first, smiling widely. Behind her came Anway Jiju. And then Diya and Samarth emerged from the back seat.

"They came from Bareli..." he murmured to himself.

He walked forward quickly and bent down, touching  Didi's feet respectfully.

"Didi."

"Khush raho," she blessed warmly, placing her hand on his head.

He touched  Jiju's feet next. "Jiju."

"Jeete raho."

Then came the ritual he always found slightly amusing yet deeply respectful.

He bent to touch Diya's feet.

"Arre Mama!" she protested shyly.

"Parampara," he smiled gently. [Tradition.]

In Brahmin tradition, Mama and Mami take blessings from their Bhanja and Bhanji — a tale rooted in stories of Kans being the maternal uncle of Shri Krishna.

He repeated the same with Samarth.

"Ab bas karo, Mama," Samarth laughed awkwardly.

He chuckled and finally straightened.

"Safar theek tha?" [Was the journey fine?]

"Haan,"  Jiju replied. "Khaas aaj ke liye aaye hain." [We came especially for today.]

Ved's eyes softened slightly.

"Inside," he gestured warmly. "Everyone's waiting."

Soon  Didi and the kids were enveloped by family inside the house, laughter growing louder.

Jiju paused near the lawn, greeting Arun Mausaji.

Ved stood there for a second, watching his extended family fill the space.

The house felt fuller now.

Louder.

Alive.

And somewhere inside, in the refrigerator, a handmade cake rested — carrying not just sugar substitute and cream, but effort, secrecy, and a son's quiet love.

The gate of Svapnaseva Nivas barely had time to close before it opened again.

Cars lined along the outer wall. Scooters squeezed into corners. Laughter floated in waves from the entrance to the terrace.

Vineeta Bua arrived first from Seoni, her voice reaching the porch before she did.

"Arre bhai! Aaj toh poora mahal saj gaya!" [Oh brother! Today the entire palace is decorated!]

Rohan Fufaji followed her with an amused smile, while Kuku didi rushed inside with a neatly wrapped gift in hand.

Ved stepped forward immediately and bent down. "Bua."

"Khush raho beta," she blessed, cupping his face for a second. "Kitna patla ho gaya hai!" [You've become so thin!]

He chuckled. "Hospital diet."

"Bahane mat bana." [Don't make excuses.]

Soon after, Smruti Mausi entered with full energy, Vicky Bhaiya beside her and Divya Bhabhi carrying little Prisha who was now eight and far more talkative than before.

"Chacha!" Prisha ran toward Ved.

He bent down to her level. "Arre madam, school topper bani ya nahi?" [Did you become the school topper or not?]

She grinned mischievously. "Second."

"Bas? Shame!" he teased lightly, earning a mock glare from  Bhabhi.

Behind them came Nammu didi with  Dhiraj jiju and tiny Mohan clinging to her dupatta.

The house swelled with greetings — "Namaste," "Kaise ho?" "Safar theek tha?" [How are you? Was the journey fine?]

By afternoon, more relatives had poured in.

Gopu Mama and Monu Mama entered loudly, arguing about directions as usual. Vidya Mami and Sarita Mami followed with composed smiles. Kunal Bhaiya came followed by Parth, while Prerna Bhabhi balanced a gift basket.

Then arrived Sudhaa Badi Mummy, dignified as ever. Ayush Bhaiya and Adhira Bhabhi walked beside her, carrying little Meghansh, who blinked sleepily at the crowd.  Preeti — newly married this January, came glowing in subtle bridal grace with Raghuveer Jiju.

The house no longer felt like a house.

It felt like a festival.

Children ran from garden to living room, their giggles echoing against marble floors. Someone had already started clicking photographs. Neighbours dropped by with sweets and warm wishes.

By evening, golden fairy lights began to glow against the dusky sky.

Ved's best friends arrived almost together.

Himanshu walked in with his usual relaxed stride. "Doctor sahab!" he called out.

Ved turned and hugged him warmly. "Radiologist sahab."

Priyanka followed, smiling gracefully. "Finally on leave?"

"For four days," he replied proudly.

"Miracle," Avinash added dryly as he joined them.

Akshu's best friends Harshika and Srishti came laughing, hugging her tightly. Bhumi's best friend Arya arrived soon after, the two whispering secrets instantly like they had been separated for years.

Colleagues from the hospital arrived as well — some senior consultants, a few juniors. Family friends filled the garden chairs.

The air carried fragrance of marigold, agarbatti, and freshly cooked food.

Ved had finally gone to his room to change.

He stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the maroon kurta that fit his shoulders perfectly. The fabric clung subtly, accentuating his build without being loud. Over it, he wore a cream vest that added a traditional charm.

He had even unfolded a cream dhoti earlier.

Should I? he had thought.

But then he imagined maneuvering through crowd, children running around, someone stepping on pleats.

"No," he murmured to himself. "Practicality over aesthetics."

So he chose a simple cream pajama instead.

He ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his watch, and looked at his reflection.

Twenty-eight years of their marriage...

He smiled faintly.

When he stepped downstairs again, the garden lights were fully lit. The small stage shimmered gently. Soft music played in the background — old romantic songs his parents loved.

Maa appeared from inside, wearing a deep green saree with golden border. Papa wore a crisp cream kurta-pajama.

For a brief second, Ved simply watched them from a distance.

They looked... content.

Happy.

Earned happiness.

"Bhaiya!" Bhumi called softly from behind him.

He turned.

"Cake safe hai?" he whispered.

She nodded with a mischievous smile. "Fridge locked. Mission successful."

He exhaled in relief.

Guests began settling in their seats. Conversations softened. Someone adjusted the mic stand near the stage.

Arun Mausaji walked toward Papa. "Chaliye, samay ho gaya." [Let's begin, it's time.]

Akshu came and stood beside Ved. "Ready?"

He glanced around once more — at cousins laughing, friends chatting, children running, elders smiling.

"Ready," he said quietly.

As his parents were guided toward the stage, applause began rising from the garden.

The evening air carried warmth, nostalgia, and anticipation.

And just as the microphone was switched on and Papa adjusted it slightly, clearing his throat to say something—

Ved felt his phone vibrate inside his pocket. It turned out to be spam.

The spam call had ruined the timing of everything.

Vedansh slipped his phone back into his kurta pocket with a sigh. "India mei logo ko aur koi fursat nahi milti kya?" (Don't people in India have anything better to do?) he muttered under his breath. When he looked up again, Papa was mid-sentence—clearly not where he had left off.

Samar Sharma, otherwise composed and practical, was looking at Bhavika as if they were newlyweds.

"...aur jab maine tumhe pehli baar dekha tha," Papa was saying, voice softer than usual, "mujhe laga tha ki meri zindagi ko uski poori kahaani mil gayi." (...and when I first saw you, I felt my life had found its complete story.)

Vedansh blinked.

What did I miss?

Maa's cheeks were the color of ripe tomatoes. The entire terrace had gone unusually quiet. Even Arohan Bhaiya stopped teasing Pratham mid-whisper.

"Arre wah!" Nikki Bhaiya clapped dramatically. "Chhupa rustam nikle Mausaji!"

Maa tried to hide her smile. "Bas bas, zyada natak mat kijiye," she scolded Papa, though her eyes betrayed her.

Then, to everyone's surprise, she adjusted her pallu and said, "Aaj main bhi kuch bolungi." (Today I will also say something.)

Vedansh straightened unconsciously. He had heard Papa be poetic, but Maa? Rare.

She cleared her throat and recited softly:

"Sang tere chala tha safar jo shuru,
Dhoop thi kabhi, kabhi barish bhi thi zaroor.
Par haath tera chhoda nahi kabhi maine,
Isliye aaj bhi khada hai ghar yeh pur-sukoon aur noor."

("The journey that began with you,
Sometimes there was sunlight, sometimes rain too.
But I never let go of your hand,
That's why today this home stands peaceful and bright.")

There was silence for half a second.

Then claps. Whistles. A few dramatic "Ohooo!"

Papa looked like he had just won the lottery.

Bas... this is love, Vedansh thought quietly. Simple. Steady. Unshakeable.

Soon Rohan Fufaji took charge. "Chaliye, ab bhavnaon ko thoda viram dete hain. Pooja ka samay ho gaya hai." (Let's pause the emotions; it's time for the ritual.)

Everyone gathered near the small mandir setup. The night breeze carried faint notes of agarbatti and mogra. Rekha Nani sat closest, fingers moving steadily over her beads.

"Om shubh mangalam..." Rohan Fufaji's voice rang firm and rhythmic. The diya flames flickered as if nodding along.

Vedansh folded his hands. Thank you... for this family. For this home. For letting Papa build this life with Maa. His surgeon's hands, usually so steady, felt oddly emotional tonight.

After the final aarti, everyone took blessings. Maa and Papa bent to touch Bua's feet.

"Khush raho," Bua whispered, palm resting over both their heads. "Sada saath raho." (Stay happy. Always stay together.)

And then—

"Cake le aao!" Bhumi announced dramatically.

Vedansh rolled his eyes. "Haan haan, madam."

Inside the kitchen, Akshu was already grinning. "Ready, Dr. Ved?" she teased.

"Tu bas candle seedhi rakh," he shot back.

The three of them carried the cake out carefully. It was simple but elegant—white frosting, fresh fruit, and a golden "28".

Tanvi didi couldn't hold herself back. "Aap sabko pata hai yeh cake kisne banaya?" (Do you all know who made this cake?)

Maa looked curious. Papa suspicious.

"Ved bhaiya ne!" she declared proudly.

There was a collective gasp.

"Sach?" Maa's eyes widened.

Vedansh scratched his neck. "Bas... thoda try kiya."

Papa laughed loudly. "Doctor sahab surgeon ke saath chef bhi ban gaye!"

When Maa saw it, her eyes actually glistened. "It's perfect."

He swallowed. Bas yeh ek word kaafi hai.

Cake cutting followed—feeding each other, exaggerated "awws," Bhumi smearing a tiny bit of frosting on Papa's nose. Photos. Selfies. Group pictures. Chaos.

By the time they moved toward the buffet on the terrace, music had already begun playing. Old 90s songs first—because apparently that was "real romance" according to the elders.

Soon the younger crowd hijacked the speaker.

"Arohan Bhaiya, dance!" Akshu shouted.

"No no, main toh sirf dekhunga," he protested, already stepping forward.

Within minutes the terrace was full of laughter, twirls, someone attempting bhangra, someone failing miserably. Even Papa joined briefly while holding Maa's hand. Vedansh couldn't stop smiling.

By 11 pm, neighbors began leaving.

"Kal milte hain," "Bahut accha tha," "Happy anniversary once again!"

Gradually only the close family remained.

And then came the real battle.

Sleeping arrangements."Shraddha  ki Nani toh already Maa ke kamre mei so gayi hain, unhe disturb nahi karte," Karuna Mausi said.

"Dekho," Maa began practically, "ladies ko kamre milenge pehle."

"Bilkul," Vedansh agreed instantly.

After ten minutes of back-and-forth, it was finalized.

Meera  Didi and Anway Jiju would take Vedansh's room.

"Main kahaan soyu?" he asked dramatically.

"Zameen pe!" Bhumi grinned.

Vineeta Bua and Fufaji took the second-floor extra room. Karuna Mausi, Smruti Mausi, Divya Bhabhi and little Prisha settled into Gudiya Mausi's room. Niyati Bhabhi, Shraddha Bhabhi with baby Aditi and Arjun took Bhumi's room. Nammu Didi and Raghu Jiju got the third-floor extra room.

And the remaining warriors—

Akshu, Bhumi, Vedansh, Pratham Bhaiya, Arohan Bhaiya, Vikki Bhaiya, Arun Mausaji, Kuku Didi, Samarth and Diya—

claimed the living room.

Mattresses were dragged from the store room. Blankets thrown around. Pillows stolen and re-stolen.

"Yeh mera hai!" Bhumi protested as Vedansh grabbed a cushion.

"Sabka hai," he declared.

By the time lights dimmed, it was already 1:30 am.

But sleep?

Impossible.

Someone cracked a joke. Someone narrated an embarrassing childhood story about Vedansh peeing in bed at age five.

"Arre woh accident tha!" he defended.

Laughter erupted.

Samarth whispered ghost stories until Diya threatened to throw a pillow at him. Akshu lay flat on her back staring at the ceiling.

"Bhaiya," she murmured softly, "ghar kitna achha lag raha hai na aaj?"

Vedansh looked around at the scattered bodies, overlapping blankets, soft snores beginning from one corner.

"Haan," he replied quietly. "Bilkul perfect."

Maybe this is what success feels like. Not degrees. Not money. Just... this.

The house slowly settled into rhythmic breathing.

Outside, MIHAN's night was calm.

And somewhere, in the stillness between laughter and sleep, fate had already begun aligning something new—something none of them yet knew was about to enter their perfectly chaotic world.
______________________________

Author's Note 🤭

And that, dear readers, is our dear Dr. Vedansh Sharma.

A man who can perform emergency surgery calmly at 7 AM... but will rush home in panic because his sister's sugar-free cake order got cancelled.

Priorities, people. Priorities.

Also yes, he was technically on leave.
But emergency appendix cases do not check Google Calendar before arriving.

Now let's appreciate a few important things from this chapter:

• Vedansh finishing surgery like a responsible doctor.
• Akshu almost declaring a national emergency over a cake.
• Bhumi definitely enjoying the chaos.
• The entire Sharma family proving that Indian family functions start three hours early and end three hours late.

And most importantly...

This is the peaceful phase of Vedansh's life.

Because very soon a certain writer with terrible cooking skills and dangerously pretty eyes is going to enter this story.

And his life?

Bas phir toh kahani shuru.
(That's when the real story begins.)

Don't forget to vote ⭐ and leave comments. I absolutely love reading your thoughts and reactions!

Stay tuned.
Chaos, teasing siblings, and slow-burn romance are on the way. 😌

— Vedshm_20