07.

𝐘𝐮𝐯𝐫𝐚𝐣 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐡𝐚𝐧

Guilt.

God, the guilt is eating me alive.

Sometimes we don’t even realise what we’re doing until it’s already done—until the damage is done.

How could I forcefully marry her?

What the hell was wrong with me?

My thoughts are spiraling, and I’m drowning in them. The weight of it all sits heavy on my chest as I step out of the bathroom, a towel lazily slung around my neck, water still dripping from my hair.

And then I see it.

Mummy is sitting near Aliya, gently massaging her head like she’s the most fragile thing in the world. And Aliya… she’s asleep?

She looks peaceful. Tired. Vulnerable.

A pang of guilt shoots right through me again. God, what have I done?

Mummy notices me and stands up carefully, making sure not to wake Aliya. She walks over with that familiar boss-lady energy only Indian moms carry.

“Mandir ke liye taiyaar ho ja fatafat. 9:30 baje pahuch jaana. Hum baaki sab abhi thodi der mein nikal jayenge,” she instructs in her usual commanding tone. “Vese toh jaldi jaana chahiye tha, par bichari Aliya thak gayi hogi, isliye kuch bola nahi.”

She starts her trademark pravachan, and I just nod absently, still lost in my thoughts. Of course, my lack of attention doesn’t go unnoticed.

Thap!

A light but sharp slap lands on my shoulder.

“Mummy!!” I protest.

“Kya 'Mummy'?! Hamesha apni duniya mein rehta hai!” she huffs. “Hum soch rahe the ki gaon ke mandir chalein, but it’s a 10-hour drive. So we’re going to the one nearby. Aur haan, isko bhi utha diyo. Bichari ka sar dard ho raha tha.”

The words ‘headache’ snap me out of my daze.

“Headache?” I echo, surprised.

And bam! Another thap on my shoulder.

“Tere jaise ke saath rahegi toh sar dard toh hoga hi,” she quips, and with a mic-drop attitude, she walks away like the sass queen she is.

I stand there, shirtless in my grey pyjamas, blinking.

Well. Time for some mischief.

My devilish side stirs, and a wicked grin spreads across my face.

Evil mode: Activated.

I tiptoe to the bed and kneel beside Aliya. Her face looks so soft, so serene. But I know this girl. She’s the deepest sleeper on this planet.

“Aliyaa… wake up,” I whisper, softly tapping her arm.

No response.

“Aliyaaa,” I try again.

Still nothing.

Now what kind of villain would I be if I gave up so easily?

I grab the jug from the bedside table and, with the gentlest savagery, splash a bit of water on her face.

She jolts awake, gasping, her eyes fluttering open in panic.

And oh man, those eyes—confused, beautiful, and furious.

I step back slightly, grinning. Mission accomplished.

But little did I know, karma had already clocked in for the day.

Without skipping a beat, she snatches the jug from my hand, opens the lid, and pours the entire thing on me.

Cold. Merciless. Instant regret.

“I just showered, yaar!” I whine, standing there drenched and defeated.

She glares at me with the wrath of a thousand storms.

“Toh kisne bola mujhse panga lene ko? Aaye bade!” she snaps, flipping her imaginary hair like the heroine of the decade.

And there I was—shirtless, wet, and utterly defeated.

By my cute wifey.

“You—!” I start, completely baffled.

And there she goes—pulling her tongue out at me like a literal child, wiggling it with that mischievous glint in her eyes.

Seriously?

My wife is part toddler, part devil, and somehow, still breathtaking.

“Chhoti bacchi ho kya?” I mimic Tiger Shroff’s deep voice, raising a brow.

That makes her burst into giggles—soft, airy, and laced with mischief. And God, that giggle?

It does things to my heart. Dangerous things.

She’s still lying like a sleepy queen, limbs spread across the bed. I sit beside her, reach out, and try to pull her up.

But of course, Madam Aliya resists with full force, wriggling like a fish avoiding a net. Drama queen.

“Ready ho jao yaar… abhi mandir bhi jaana hai,” I sigh, half pleading, half scolding.

But meri baat sunta kaun hai is duniya mein?

“Yaar… chup karo,” she mutters like a grumpy kitten and rolls away, pulling the pillow over her head like the world is her enemy.

I roll my eyes. She’s impossible.

So, I do what any loving, annoyed husband would do.

I pull her up again—firmly this time. She groans and starts to resist again, but before she can protest, I wrap my arms around her from behind.

Her warm body melts into mine, and I feel her breath hitch.

But then—

“Chhodo yaar! Mere kapde geele ho rahe hain!” she yelps as my drenched chest presses against her back.

I smirk.

Did I stop?

Absolutely not.

She’s still fighting me like a warrior of sleep, but now she leans back against me. Not to respond—no. To try and sleep again.

This girl and her neend. I swear, it’s a full-time religion.

Still holding her, I reach for my phone on the nightstand, balancing us both like some sleep-deprived acrobat. I unlock it and open Spotify—mood officially ruined but energy chaotically recharged.

I scroll and hit play on ‘Chammak Challo Chel Chabeli’, my chaos theme song.

Right to the line—

“Teri ada… ada lagti hai qaatil…”

And I start singing. Loud. Off-key. Dramatic.

She lets out a dramatic groan, pulling away just enough to glare at me like I’m the villain in her bedtime story.

“Bade hi pyaar se loota mera dil…” I belt, dramatically pointing at my chest like I’ve been wronged.

She pulls her hands out of my arms, covers her ears with a glare so deadly I nearly laugh. That only makes me sing louder.

Then comes my favorite line—

“Zidd pe agar main aaun toh pal mein tujhko

Abhi utha le jaaun…”

I gently spin her around and lay her down, hovering above her as the music continues in the background. Her hands instinctively cross over her chest like she’s protecting herself from me—her ever-chaotic husband.

She looks stunning like this—hair spread across the pillow, lips parted in annoyance, a blush starting to creep up her cheeks.

And the red chooda? That just… enhances everything.

I gently take her hand in mine, pressing a kiss on her bangles. Clink. Clink.

Her breath falters.

Her sindoor still lingers faintly in her hairline—smudged but present. It reminds me: I'm hers. And this chaos?

This is home.

As I’m busy being head-over-heels whipped for her beauty, she strikes.

She grabs the chain around my neck, pulls me close—and buries her face into my shoulder.

Aww, I think. She’s shy. Maybe I overwhelmed her.

WRONG.

She bites me.

“Ahh!” I cry out, jerking back. “Are you a human or a jangli billi!?”

She’s laughing now—unapologetically. And if looks could kill, she’d still be the cutest assassin ever.

Then she sings—yes, sings—

“Bach ke tu rehna, dil-daar sajna…

Mehenga padega tujhko pyaar sajna…”

With those dangerous eyes twinkling, she flips me over like a storm. Now she’s hovering over me. I barely blink, and she taps my nose with a playful smirk before running toward the bathroom like a full-on filmy heroine escaping her villain-lover.

“Aliyaaa,” I groan, holding my neck like she tried to claim me with teeth.

She pauses at the bathroom door and gives me a flying kiss—as if she didn’t just bite me mid-song.

Still recovering, I shout after her, “Main… company doon? Saath mein?”

She turns sweetly, leans against the doorframe, and gestures for me to come inside. Soft. Sweet. Deceptive.

I blink. Twice.

This feels suspicious. But also… how do you say no to danger wrapped in red bangles and sass?

Right then, Spotify auto-plays “Jaadu Ki Jhappi.”

Perfect.

She grabs my chain and pulls me into the bathroom just as I step toward her. And let me remind you—I’m still shirtless.

Suddenly, I’m the shy one.

“Hai mauka aaj kar sauda…”

The lyrics echo through the tiled walls as she closes the door behind us.

She starts walking toward me, arms crossed, syncing her steps to the beat with dramatic flair. Her gaze doesn’t leave mine.

I step back instinctively, heart pounding so loud I swear the music’s off-beat because of me.

Suddenly—SHHHHHH!

The shower bursts on above me. Cold water pours down, shocking every sense awake.

She laughs.

That pure, joyful, unapologetic laugh that makes all the madness worth it.

And as the water drenches me completely, and she stands there—laughing, glowing, chaos personified—

Cute.

“You think you’re funny?” I growl, water dripping down my face, sticking my hair to my forehead.

She just shrugs innocently, biting back her laugh—but her eyes are sparkling. Too proud. Too victorious.

“Aliya…” I warn, stepping forward slowly.

“Oh no, don’t you dare—" she starts backing away.

Too late.

With one swift pull, I grab her wrist and tug her right into the shower with me.

“AHH!” she shrieks as the cold water hits her, soaking her instantly.

Her tshirt clings to her like second skin, her hair now completely wet and messier than ever—and her expression?

Utter disbelief.

“ARE. YOU. INSANE?!” she squeals, slapping my arm as the water keeps pouring down.

“You started it, baby,” I say with a devilish grin, holding her waist to keep her from escaping.

“Mene raat ko hi baal dhoye the yaar ab firse dhone padenge!! and—I WAS MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS! YOU—YOU—WERE SINGING FILMY SONGS” she yells, half-furious, half-laughing.

“Exactly. Romantic hero hoon main,” I wink, leaning closer. “Kya karoon, control nahi hota jab tum itni cute lagti ho ghuse mein, and madam ye bite aapne hi kiya hai.”

She gasps. “That was payback.”

“Oh toh ab main dunga payback,” I murmur, sliding a hand to the back of her head and pulling her a little closer. Her eyes widen—not in fear, but that fluttery chaos she pretends not to feel.

“You wouldn’t,” she whispers.

My forehead touches hers, water still streaming over both of us like some twisted rain dance. Her lashes blink the drops away, her lips part just a little.

“I hate you,” she breathes.

“You love me,” I reply, lips brushing the edge of her cheek.

She shivers. Not from the water. Not from the cold.

“You’re impossible.”

“And your husband too”

She exhales a shaky breath, and for a second… we both go still.

The banter quiets.

Just her nose brushing mine, our bodies soaked, hearts pounding against each other in this tiny—okay, not so tiny bathroom that suddenly feels like a world of its own.

And then—

of course she ruins the moment.

"Okay romance king, now move. I need to shampoo my hair."

“Wait, what—? We’re in the middle of a cinematic moment! You can't just—"

She raises a brow. “Out.”

“Aliyaaaa…”

“OUT. Or I’ll start singing ‘Kabhi Neem Neem, Kabhi Shehed Shehed’ till your ears bleed.”

I groan dramatically, stepping out of the water like a rejected hero. “Fine. But don’t blame me when the shampoo bottle runs away from you in protest.”

She laughs behind me, and just befo

re I shut the door, I turn back and say, “By the way… nice bite mark. Matches your vibes. Wild.”

“GET OUT!”

The door slams behind me.

Still shirtless. Still dripping.

Still entirely in love with the chaos— my wife.

────୨ৎ────

A short chapter—BUT PURE CHAOSᥫ᭡