The morning after the phone call, the sanctuary of their home was breached. Avni was still adjusting her suit in front of the hallway mirror, preparing for a day of high-stakes meetings, when the doorbell began to ring. It wasn't a polite chime; it was a frantic, rhythmic aggression—a demand for entry that could only belong to one person.
Divyash reached the door first, but Avni was right behind him, her stomach already beginning to churn. As he swung the door open, Chachi brushed past him. She didn't look at the house; she looked only for a target. Her face was a mask of calculated, performative grief.
“So, this is how it is now?” Chachi cried, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. “You live in this grand house, you’ve become a ‘Singh,’ and suddenly your own blood is a stranger? Amol is rotting in a cell, Avni! He’s just a boy—he made a tiny mistake! And you told the police to keep him there? Have you no shame?”
Avni felt the suffocating weight of family guilt. It was the obligation she had carried since her parents died—the need to be the fixer. “He assaulted a police officer, Chachi,” Avni said, her voice trembling. “I can’t just make that go away.”
“You won’t just make it go away!” Chachi hissed, stepping closer. “Is this what this marriage has done to you? You’ve forgotten who stood by you when you were an orphan. You’ve become a stone, Avni.”
Avni felt herself shrinking, the sting of tears she refused to shed burning her eyes. But before she could retreat, she felt a warm, solid presence at her back. Divyash didn't shout. He simply stepped into the space between them, his broad shoulders cutting off Chachi’s line of sight to Avni.
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice carrying an immovable authority. “Avni hasn't forgotten anything. She has been the pillar of your family for years, supporting everyone while asking for nothing. But even pillars shouldn't have to carry the weight of someone else’s crimes. Amol is a grown man, and his choices are his own.”
Chachi blinked, startled. She hadn't expected the "bookworm" to have a spine of steel.
“If you want to discuss legal aid, we can provide a list of lawyers,” Divyash continued. “But you will not come into our home and attack my wife’s character. Not today, and not ever again. Now, I think it’s time you left.”
The room went silent. Chachi, stunned, could only gape. Avni stared at the back of Divyash’s head. He had called it their home. He had called her his wife. The leaden weight in her chest simply evaporated.
Later that evening, the storm had finally passed. The house was bathed in the amber glow of the lamps. Divyash was sitting on the thick rug in the living room, leaning against the base of the sofa, surrounded by a sea of DVDs.
“I was just re-watching the 2005 Pride & Prejudice,” he said as Avni entered, his eyes lighting up. “Seriously, Avu, I know people think it’s just a ‘chick flick,’ but I will fight anyone on this—it’s a masterpiece. Like, okay, everyone obsesses over the hand-flex scene—which, yeah, iconic, I get it—but have you really looked at the first proposal scene in the rain?”
He didn't wait for an answer, leaning forward and gesturing wildly with a half-eaten biscuit.
“They’re standing in that weird little stone temple thing, right? And they are both just fuming. It’s so messy! Darcy is standing there looking like he’s having a literal heart attack because he’s so desperately in love with her, but he’s such a disaster that his ‘confession’ is basically just him listing all the reasons her family is embarrassing. Like, who does that? ‘Hey, I love you most ardently, also your mom is a nightmare.’ Smooth, Darcy. Real smooth.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “And Elizabeth is just as bad! She’s so busy being offended—rightfully so, I mean—that she misses the fact that he’s practically shaking. It’s the ultimate ‘I hate you, don't ever leave me’ vibe. Honestly, if these two just had a cup of chai and actually talked for ten minutes like normal human beings, the movie would be over in half an hour and we’d miss all that beautiful, tortured pining.”
He leaned back against the sofa, closer to her, a lopsided grin on his face. “I think that’s why I love it. It’s so human to be that stubborn. To be a 'Miss Sinha' who thinks she has to be tough all the time, only to realize there’s someone standing in the rain just waiting for a chance to tell her she’s everything.”
He looked up at her, and there they were—those dimples. Deep, playful, and maddeningly charming.
Avni didn't overthink it. She leaned forward, turned his face toward her, and pressed her lips firmly against the small indentation in his left cheek.
The ramble about Jane Austen stopped instantly. Divyash froze, the remote control slipping onto the rug.
“What... what was that for?” he whispered, his voice cracking.
Avni traced the spot she had just kissed with her thumb. “For being my shield this morning,” she said softly. “And for the nonsense. I think I’m starting to like your version of ‘ardent,’ Ansh.”
The dimples returned, deeper than before, and as he reached up to take her hand, Avni realized she wasn't just a habit to him. She was his home.
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