The new Mehta-Sinha estate sparkled under the soft glow of evening lights. It wasn’t just a house — it was a fortress of love, chaos, and secrets wrapped in glass walls and open balconies. After the stormy press conference led by Isha, things were finally starting to calm.
But peace, in this household, was always short-lived.
A luxury car pulled up in the driveway, and out stepped a woman dressed in a shimmering silk saree with large sunglasses still perched on her nose — despite the fading sun.
Meenakshi Kapoor, Isha’s paternal cousin. A woman whose heart was in the right place, but whose opinions came filtered through a generation that never quite updated its software.
She swept into the home like royalty, arms wide open.
“Isha beta! My shining star!” she exclaimed, embracing Isha with the enthusiasm of someone arriving with both love and commentary.
Isha, ever the composed queen, hugged her back. “Maasi, you look like you walked straight off a film set yourself!”
Meenakshi beamed. “Please, I don’t act. I just observe — and advise.”
Everyone chuckled politely. Riya and Ayaan emerged from upstairs, and Meenakshi’s eyes instantly widened at the sight of Riya’s glowing belly.
“Oh devi maa! Four babies?! What are you — a human or a factory?”
Riya laughed nervously, her hands automatically cradling her bump.
“They’re calling me the next breaking news,” she joked lightly.
“Well, you’ve broken every record. May God bless them all,” Meenakshi said, placing a warm hand on Riya’s head before dramatically adding, “But may also God bless your figure afterward.”
Aarav, from the living room, coughed into his coffee.
Isha’s eyes narrowed slightly but said nothing. For now.
Dinner was laid out like a royal banquet — steaming curries, fresh rotis, salads in crystal bowls, and desserts lined up like an award ceremony.
And in the middle of all that: Arisha and Ishaan, the house’s youngest tornadoes, fighting as always.
“I wanna sit on Ayaan bhaiyya’s lap!” Arisha declared, dragging a cushion with her tiny fists.
“Nooo! He promised to feed me first!” Ishaan cried, already climbing into Ayaan’s chair.
Ayaan looked helpless as the twins tugged at him from both sides like tiny, well-dressed gremlins.
“I have two legs, you know,” he tried reasoning. “Both of you can sit—”
“Noooo!” they yelled in perfect harmony.
The family laughed… except for one.
Meenakshi’s expression shifted ever so slightly — polite, but with a sliver of sharpness. She set down her spoon and tilted her head at the twins.
“Children, stop pestering Ayaan,” she said, voice light but edged. “He’s going to be a father soon. He won’t have time to be your toy anymore — especially not for younger siblings.”
The room fell into a temporary hush.
Arisha blinked. Ishaan stared. Ayaan's smile froze.
Riya’s fork clinked against her plate.
And Isha… Isha folded her napkin very slowly.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, still polite — dangerously so.
Meenakshi chuckled, unaware. “Just saying! Let’s be real, Isha. Once a man becomes a father, he can’t run around playing big brother all the time. That’s for boys without their own families. Ayaan is going to be so busy. Four children! Even his wife might not get time from him, let alone others.”
Ishaan looked heartbroken. Arisha’s lower lip trembled.
“But bhaiyya said we’re his first babies,” Arisha whispered.
Ayaan immediately pulled them both into his arms. “And you are my first babies. That will never change.”
Riya squeezed his arm, grateful. Aarav looked like he was about to protest too, but paused when he saw Isha slowly rising from her chair.
In three graceful steps, she stood behind Meenakshi.
“Maasi,” she said, her tone dipped in honey and fire, “You’re absolutely right. Parenthood brings change. But in our house, love doesn’t come with expiry dates.”
Meenakshi blinked.
“In this family, we don’t divide time — we multiply it. Ayaan can be a father and a bhaiyya. A husband and a friend. A son and a protector. And my twins here?” — she ruffled Ishaan and Arisha’s hair — “They are never going to feel less loved. Not even for a second.”
The table stayed quiet.
Then Aarav added, “Also, Maasi ji, Ayaan didn’t turn into a monk. He’s still the same sandwich-eating, coffee-chugging, exam-freak Ayaan.”
Vikram chimed in, grinning, “Except now he’s producing a cricket team.”
Laughter erupted.
Meenakshi, slightly red but still smiling, lifted her glass of water. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my suggestions to myself.”
“Please don’t,” Isha replied sweetly. “We love them. Like a mystery ingredient in dal.”
That night, as the family settled in the living room with Arisha curled on Ayaan’s chest and Ishaan holding his hand, Meenakshi watched them from the corner with a thoughtful look.
Maybe she didn’t understand how this generation raised families — but she couldn’t deny one thing:
This house? It was overflowing with love.
Even if it came with a side of crayon-covered walls and peanut-butter handprints.
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