05.

𝐕𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢

Love is dangerous.

Too dangerous.

My best friend, Yuvraj, is on his knees—his face pale, eyes wide, hands trembling—as he cradles his wife in his arms. Blood. There's blood on her. Her clothes are soaked. The red stains feel loud against the silence of the night. I should be worried about her. I am worried. But more than anything else… I'm scared for him.

Because he looks shattered.

And I hate that. I hate seeing him like this. I’ve seen this version of him before—the broken one. The version that forgets how to breathe without her. The one that looks like his entire soul is crumbling right in front of me.

And now, it’s happening again.

The way his tears are falling—messy, uncontrolled, desperate—it feels like he’s holding onto her like if he lets go, he’ll disappear too. Like she's not just his wife, she's his heartbeat.

He lifts her gently, almost like she's made of glass, and settles her on the couch nearby on the terrace. His hands are shaking. His lips are murmuring something under his breath—a prayer, maybe? Or her name?

The moonlight hits her face—pale, still, and eerily calm. Like a statue carved from sorrow.

I take a step forward, unsure, anxious. He glances at me—eyes filled with pain, confusion… and something else. Shock?

Then he says something that makes my entire body freeze.

“Maybe it’s not her blood, Vivaan.”

My mind stutters.

What the—?

“Then whose?!” my mind screams.

Why was she even out here? What the hell happened?

But before I can ask, he speaks again, voice low but frantic.

“Her palm’s cut from a glass shard. That explains the blood. But her shoulder... there’s no injury. No wound. No source for the blood dripping down her arm. This doesn’t make sense.”

And that’s when the chill hits me.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s deeply wrong with this woman.

My head spins. The questions are piling up—

What was she doing here at this hour?

Where did that blood come from?

Is she lying? Is someone else hurt?

Yuvraj was top of his batch in med college. If he’s confused, we all should be terrified.

But before I can even ask, Kritika bhabhi comes running in, panting, holding a first aid box.

When did she leave?

Was I that consumed by watching Yuvraj break down?

Probably.

Because when your best friend is falling apart in front of you, the world kind of blurs out.

And now? Everything feels like a twisted scene from a thriller film.

But this isn’t a movie.

This is real.

Too real.

And something is wrong with his woman. Something we can’t see yet. But Yuvraj? He knows something's off. And with the way his eyes are darting around, trying to make sense of her blood without a wound—

I know this night is far from over.

And then... I see it.

Not in his words. Not in his voice.

In his silence.

That night.

Late at night, under the streetlight’s flicker, I found him lying on the road—bruised, broken, and hollow.

Dust clung to his shirt. His voice was shaking.

"Main uske bina mar jaunga, Vivaan..."

He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t high. He was just... destroyed.

Whispering her name again and again like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

"Aliya... Aliya... Aliya..."

Like a prayer. Like a curse. Like a plea to the universe to bring her back.

And now, standing here, watching him cradle her like she’s glass, I know—

He never stopped chanting.

Not in his heart. Not for a second.

And that terrifies me.

Because if something happens to her tonight...

He won’t break.

He’ll shatter.

Taking the first aid kit, he began tending to her wound—not that I had any clue what exactly he was doing. Medical stuff just goes way over my head.

I wanted to talk to him, ask a thousand questions buzzing in my brain. But before I could even open my mouth, Aliya suddenly flinched and sat up on the couch, gasping for air like she'd just returned from another world.

Yuvraj turned to her, his eyes wide in shock—and then, pure relief washed over his face the moment he saw her conscious.

But instead of asking her what happened, why she was covered in blood, or what the hell was going on… he just pulled her into a hug.

Like in that moment—nothing else mattered.

Not the blood.

Not the confusion.

Just her.

God, this man loves her. I swear, I can't even put into words how much he loves her. It's insane. The kind of insane people write movies about.

Because of the sudden hug, she froze for a second. I thought she might push him away.

But then—slowly, almost like muscle memory—she relaxed and buried her face into the crook of his neck.

She didn’t wrap her arms around him though. Typical.

This woman is so damn complicated. I genuinely don’t know how I’ll ever get used to calling her bhabhi.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Turning around, I saw Prem bhai and Shivansh bhai standing behind me.

“She’s his ex-girlfriend, right?”

Both whispered in perfect sync, like creepy twin ghosts in a horror movie.

I nodded silently, my eyes drifting back to the two sitting on the couch.

Aliya slowly placed her hand on Yuvraj’s chest and gently pushed him away. Then, like a perfectly rehearsed drama scene, she turned her face toward us.

She looked at us with the most innocent eyes I’ve ever seen—like she had no idea what was happening.

“What am I doing here, Yuvraj? Why is everyone staring at us like that?” she asked, turning back to him, confusion clouding her expression.

And Yuvraj? He just kept looking at her.

Like she was a miracle he’d been waiting for his whole life.

This guy is so stupidly in love. Hopelessly gone.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face, pulling him out of his love-struck trance.

“Huh? K-kuch nahi,” he stammered, voice soft like velvet. “Tum theek ho?”

She blinked, clearly not getting it. “Mujhe kya hoga?” she asked, brows furrowed.

Then her gaze dropped to the bandage on her palm.

“What the hell? Mere haath ko kya hua?” Her voice was rising in panic now.

“Cut lag gaya tha… thoda sa,” Yuvraj replied, as calmly as if he were announcing the weather.

How is he so calm right now?!

Just a few minutes ago, he was losing his mind—and now look at him.

All peaceful like a damn monk in love.

“Kab? Mujhe kaise nahi pata chala?” she asked, utterly confused.

And Yuvraj?

Still just staring at her.

Like her being alive and sitting there was enough reason to forget everything else.

I’m officially tired of this guy and his dramatic-ass love story.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Can you shut your stupid mouth already? It’s actually irritating at this point,” she snaps.

I hear her voice through the call, sharp and full of sass. I roll my eyes dramatically—even though I know she can’t see me, the attitude is necessary.

“Make me, sweetheart,” I shoot back, my voice dripping with mock flirtation.

I know she's rolling her eyes on the other end too. Probably clenching her jaw, mentally listing all the ways she could murder me and hide the body. Classic Aarohi Taparia behavior.

I'm lying lazily on my bed, one arm behind my head like a hero from some overdramatic daily soap. Aarohi—my... my... never mind, just the most irritating woman to ever walk this Earth—is on the other side of the line. God really made her with all the attitude and zero chill.

Next to me, my daughter Ananya is fast asleep, curled up like a tiny ball of sunshine. She's such a deep sleeper, it’s concerning. The world could be ending and she'd still be snoring away. She didn’t even stir last night during all that chaos.

Let me rewind.

Last night, the entire family assembled like it was some emergency courtroom scene. Yuvraj’s parents, tauji-taiji, all of them gathered downstairs, faces tight with tension. Meanwhile, the root cause of the storm—Yuvraj and Aliya (aka my bhabhi now, apparently)—were on the terrace, having their own filmy moment under the stars.

Kritika bhabhi, Prem, and Shivansh bhai took it upon themselves to manage them.

And Aliya? That woman didn’t even realize the mess she’d caused. First the wedding disaster, then her terrace stunt. I’m telling you—something’s off. The way she acts all clueless... too suspicious. Like main character of a suspense thriller suspicious.

Anyway, back to present.

It's 6:30 AM. The golden sunlight is lazily slipping into my room, casting a soft glow over everything. It's quiet, peaceful, almost poetic.

Until...

“Kisi din bohot pitoge mere haathon,” Aarohi’s voice breaks the silence with pure violence.

My moment of serenity? Gone.

“You seriously need to come out of your delusions, Taparia,” I reply coolly, biting back a smirk. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m talking to her this early in the morning and ruining my mood—but irritating her is weirdly therapeutic.

“Bakwaas band karo. Aaye bade—” she starts, her voice full of drama.

And then—click—she hangs up.

Just like that.

No goodbye. No dramatic outro. Just pure Aarohi-style sass.

I stare at my phone screen, scoff, and toss it aside on the bed.

“Stupid,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head with a grin.

“Papa, kisse baat kar rahe the?”

A soft, sleepy voice drops like a bomb in the middle of my peace.

I freeze.

OH NO.

The demon child is awake.

I slowly turn to my right and—yep—there she is. My 6-year-old chaotic girl, blinking her eyes like she just got back from a three-day coma.

When did she even wake up?! Wasn’t she in deep sleep five minutes ago? She didn’t even twitch when a literal family breakdown happened last night!

“K-kisi se nahi,” I say casually, already feeling sweat form on my forehead.

She sits up like Simba claiming the throne, gives me the dirtiest little glare known to mankind, and crosses her arms like she’s about to serve me court papers.

Her eyes say it all:

Lie again, and you’ll be sleeping on the floor, Mister.

I raise my hands in surrender. “Business partner,” I mumble.

Because technically—yeah, Aarohi Taparia is my business partner.

CEO of the year. Instagram’s favorite power girl. The one with those aesthetic reels and a fanbase who treats her like she’s India’s diva.

And—unfortunately—currently a part of my life because of a deal I was emotionally blackmailed into signing.

I swear, the boardroom still smells like her sass.

“Male ya female?” she asks, voice calm, eyes loaded.

Oh no.

Not this again.

“Male,” I lie faster than a politician during elections.

Big mistake.

This girl stares at me like she has Lie Detector Pro Max installed in her eyes.

She scoots closer, kneels in front of me on the bed, and folds her arms. This is not my daughter anymore—this is Ananya CBI Oberoi Jr.

“Acha theek hai na… female,” I mutter, defeated.

She gasps dramatically, like she just found out I’m dating a villain from her favourite show.

“Itni subah-subah call? Naam kya hai? Photo dikhao, jaldi!”

God, I need to uninstall bollywood from her Netflix account.

“There’s nothing going on!” I say, dramatically flopping back on the bed like a hero in heartbreak.

“Don’t start with your nonsense. Especially not her. She’s not even that special. She’s just—ugh—the most annoying woman alive.”

“Annoying se pyaari kab ban jaayegi aapko pata bhi nahi chalega, Papa,” she says, giggling like a literal Cupid sent from the heavens.

She lies down next to me, her little arms wrapping around my waist, face glowing like she just won a mission.

I stare at the ceiling.

My daughter is shipping me.

With Aarohi Taparia.

This is what happens when you let kids watch Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham.

“Where do you even learn this stuff?” I ask, still baffled.

She replies with a proud smirk:

“Yuvraj Bhaiya. Aapko bhi sikha du kya?”

I bury my face in the pillow and scream internally.

This isn’t parenting.

This is a daily soap in disguise.

And I? I’m the lead hero who’s definitely not going to fall in love with his irritating, overconfident business partner—Aarohi Taparia.

Except... my daughter seems to have other plans. And now?

Now she’s lying beside me li

ke the mastermind she is, hugging me like a villain who’s proud of her evil shipping.

────୨ৎ────

Dropping the second main male lead’s POV, babes!

Had way too much fun writing this one.

Hope y’all loved it as much as I did!

Your Moni, always serving drama and charmᥫ᭡