Author’s Note:

Season 4 has begun, and I still can't believe we’ve come this far together! What started as a simple love story is now a multigenerational rollercoaster. With Ayaan and Riya’s unexpected quadruplets symbolizing the fourth season, this phase marks not just four babies—but four new stories, four layers of madness, and one emotionally chaotic family. And don’t forget, we still have the twins—Ishaan and Arisha, already stealing the show!

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The ultrasound report had dropped like a nuclear bomb.

Four heartbeats.

Now, the entire Mehta-Sinha family was spiraling like a tornado inside a washing machine.

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Scene 1: War Room or Baby Room?

In the living room, a giant whiteboard said in bold red marker:

> “MISSION: SURVIVE THE QUADRUPLETS – Day 1”

Ayaan sat like a broken man on the couch, wrapped in a baby blanket like it was a therapy shawl.

“I’m 23,” he whispered to no one. “I wanted one baby. One! Now I need a minivan, two nannies, and a therapist.”

Meanwhile, Riya was sitting like a queen, mixing achar with Nutella and spreading it on a toast shaped like a dinosaur.

“Babe,” she said between bites, “you’re being dramatic. I’m the one baking four muffins. You’re just the oven cleaner.”

Ayaan blinked. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Exactly,” she smiled. “Welcome to my pregnancy brain.”

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Scene 2: The Parent Squad Cracks

Isha entered wearing her blue silk saree and a Bluetooth headset.

“Okay, listen! I’ve already booked baby astrologers, prenatal yoga, and a PR team in case this goes viral. Neha, you’re in charge of nutrition. Vikram, get extra car seats. Aarav—medical lead.”

Neha muttered, “I just wanted one grandchild I could spoil. Now I’m a cafeteria manager.”

Vikram raised his phone, “I bought diapers in wholesale.”

“How many?” Aarav asked.

“1,200.”

Isha dropped her phone. “Why? Are we opening a diaper museum?!”

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Scene 3: Thunder vs Unicorn – Round 2

In the background, the junior devils were fighting again.

“I already called dibs on naming one baby ‘Thunder Singh Mehta,’” Ishaan shouted.

“No! Unicorn Cutie Sinha is trending,” Arisha argued, waving her iPad.

Riya groaned. “Can we name one Normal Sharma and move on?!”

Neha sighed. “These two are going to be the reason your kids develop trust issues.”

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Scene 4: The Emotional Punch

That night, Aarav sat everyone down. The jokes faded.

“Riya,” he said gently, looking at her like a father and doctor. “Four babies… it’s not easy. High-risk. Premature labor. You’ll need to be on complete bed rest by month 5. And constant monitoring.”

Silence filled the room.

Riya blinked. “Okay.”

Ayaan looked up. “That’s it? Just okay?”

She smiled faintly. “Because I know… we have all of you.”

Isha got up immediately. “I’ll cook every damn meal.”

Neha stood next. “I’ll babysit Ishaan, Arisha, and the neighbors if needed.”

Vikram added, “I’ll—uh—drive. And look cool.”

Aarav grinned. “I’ll be the on-call doctor. Forever.”

Ayaan blinked at them, eyes stinging. “You’re all insane.”

Isha kissed his forehead. “That’s why this family works.”

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Scene 5: The Calm… Before Media Madness

Later that night, as everyone passed out from emotional exhaustion, Ayaan laid beside Riya, his hand on her small but slowly growing belly.

Four heartbeats.

Four chances.

Four stories waiting to be written.

“I was dreaming of one,” he whispered, “but life gave us four.”

Riya opened one sleepy eye.

“Now get me mango pickle with whipped cream. And marshmallows.”

Ayaan groaned, “You’re lucky I love you.”

She grinned. “I’m carrying your army, Romeo. You better worship me.”

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Final Scene: WhatsApp Renamed

Mehta-Sinha Family Group Chat Name Changed:

“TEAM QUAD SQUAD – Mission: Survive Parenthood x4”

At that very moment, Aarav’s phone buzzed with a message from his journalist friend:

> “Hey... is it true? Riya Mehta is pregnant with FOUR?! The media’s going crazy.”

Cue scream.

End Scene.

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The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, but inside the Mehta-Sinha house, there was no peace. Phones buzzed nonstop, cameras flashed through windows, and social media was ablaze with news nobody had prepared for.

Riya sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands resting lightly on the swell of her belly. Four babies. The news should have been private, a secret to cherish between her and Ayaan. Yet now, it was public — splattered across every news feed, every gossip channel, every cricket fan’s timeline.

Her eyes drifted toward the living room chaos. Ishaan, her nephew, was busy assembling a Lego tower with a fierce concentration that only a four-year-old could muster. Meanwhile, Arisha was draped in a tutu that had somehow acquired a suspicious smear of peanut butter and was busy “decorating” the walls with crayons.

Isha’s voice cut through the noise as she ushered the twins toward the kitchen. “Arisha, please no more peanut butter murals! Ishaan, don’t put that dinosaur in the toilet again!”

“Art is subjective,” Vikram joked from the doorway, smirking as he tried to retrieve the soggy dinosaur from the bathroom.

Riya forced a laugh, but her mind was elsewhere — on the viral storm that had just broken. She remembered the moment the intern had taken that reckless photo in the hospital corridor, unaware of the chaos it would unleash.

Her phone vibrated violently, and she glanced down to see countless messages flooding in. Cricket fans expressing shock and excitement, reporters demanding interviews, and friends sending a mix of congratulations and concerned warnings.

Ayaan joined her on the sofa, gently taking her hand. “They found out early,” he said softly. “Maybe too early.”

Riya sighed. “Too early is right. I wasn’t ready for the world to know. I wanted to tell the cricket board first… but now, there’s no turning back.”

Her voice cracked, and Ayaan squeezed her hand tighter. “You’re not alone in this. We’re in it together.”

Before Riya could reply, a loud crash echoed from the kitchen. Both turned just in time to see Arisha waving a crayon triumphantly, her tutu smeared in a new shade of purple, while Ishaan looked sheepish, clutching a half-eaten cookie.

Isha groaned, wiping her hands on her saree. “I swear, these kids are the true definition of ‘living chaos.’”

Aarav stepped in, holding the twins carefully. “I’m starting to think Ishaan is secretly a tiny tornado.”

Neha laughed as she took Arisha from Aarav’s arms. “And Arisha is his accomplice.”

The family shared a brief smile, a bubble of calm amid the storm outside.

Later that afternoon, Isha took charge, gathering everyone in the living room for an emergency meeting.

“We need to control the narrative,” she announced firmly. “No unauthorized interviews. No speculation. We tell the story our way.”

Riya looked around at the faces she loved — her husband, her uncle, her best friends — and felt the familiar warmth of their support.

“Isha’s right,” Aarav said. “We’re in this as a family. And that’s how we’ll get through.”

That evening, as the sun dipped low, Riya sat quietly with Ayaan, the house finally settling after a day of whirlwind activity.

Four little heartbeats. Four new lives. Four stories yet to be written.

And together, they would face whatever came next.

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The flashbulbs outside The Mehta-Sinha Estate could have lit up an entire galaxy.

Dozens of reporters, photographers, and camera crews had camped out since dawn, hungry for any crumb of the biggest celebrity scandal of the year — Riya Sinha’s secret pregnancy.

But what none of them expected was that the storm they created would be silenced not by a PR manager or a written statement—but by Isha Kapoor Mehta herself.

She wasn’t just stepping into the spotlight today as a former Bollywood queen. No.

She walked in as a mother. As the matriarch of a family under fire.

As the woman who owned every room she ever entered.

The large conference hall had been converted into a secure media center. Every major news channel had a seat, and the air was thick with tension.

But when Isha walked in—hair swept into a commanding updo, sunglasses sliding down perfectly sculpted cheekbones, dressed in a flawless white pantsuit with power heels—the silence was instant.

She took the mic like it belonged to her.

“Let’s be clear,” she began, her tone icy yet elegant, her voice steady and sharp as glass. “I agreed to this press conference to protect my daughter-in-law, my son, and my unborn grandchildren. Not to entertain your nonsense.”

Click. Click. The cameras paused.

“I am Isha Kapoor Mehta — two-time global award-winning actress, producer of The Great Actress – Sridevi, wife to India’s most respected neurosurgeon Dr. Aarav Mehta, and mother of Ayaan Mehta and the twins, Ishaan and Arisha.”

She paused, letting the weight of her introduction sink in. Her eyes scanned the crowd like a lioness surveying prey.

“You will NOT drag my daughter-in-law’s name through the mud. Riya is a national-level cricketer. She’s disciplined, brave, and powerful. And yes, she’s pregnant. With FOUR babies. That’s not a scandal — it’s a miracle.”

The crowd gasped.

“There will be no more rumors. No articles speculating about her career ending. No paparazzi stalking our house. No gossip about her and my son. We are a family — and if you try to mess with us again…” she leaned slightly forward, her voice low, dangerous — “you’ll be dealing with me personally.”

A few reporters squirmed in their seats.

From the sidelines, Aarav watched his wife with a proud smile tugging at his lips. The sharp wit, the fierce protectiveness, the take-no-nonsense glare — it was exactly why he fell in love with her. And why he continued to fall for her, over and over.

He whispered to Vikram beside him, “I told you. She doesn’t need bodyguards. She is the guard dog.”

Vikram chuckled. “Remind me never to piss her off.”

Back onstage, Isha closed her statement with a calm warning.

“If I see another fake headline, another clickbait thumbnail, or another drone near my kids, your entire media house will receive legal notices. We have lawyers, we have influence, and we have zero patience left.”

She ended with a calm smile — not sweet, but deadly.

The press didn’t ask a single question.

The mic clicked off. She turned and walked off the stage, her heels clicking like punctuation marks on marble.

As she stepped out, Aarav was waiting.

“You were a storm,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“I’m always a storm,” she smirked. “But today, I had to be a cyclone.”

He kissed her temple. “That’s why I married you.”

Their twins, Ishaan and Arisha, came sprinting down the hallway, screaming with joy, each holding a glittery cardboard sword.

“Mamaaa! Dadda! We defeated the dragon!”

Isha bent down and scooped them both into her arms. “Good. Now go defeat nap time.”

From a distance, Riya watched with misty eyes as Ayaan rubbed her back gently. “They’re handling everything so perfectly…”

Ayaan smiled. “That’s because they’re the blueprint. And soon, we’ll be too.”

Riya rested her head on his shoulder. For now, she could breathe. Because Isha Kapoor Mehta had done what she always did best — stolen the spotlight, protected her family, and shut the world up.

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