With only forty-eight hours remaining before their departure for Paris, the air in the house was thick with a frantic, joyous energy. While Avni’s official schedule only called for a single day of corporate meetings, she had meticulously carved out a full week for them to disappear into the city. She had even tasked Priya with building an airtight itinerary—one that prioritized hidden cafes over tourist traps.
The trip had sparked an unexpected bond between Avni and Kritika. Since the wedding, the two women had gravitated toward one another, fueled by Divyash and Rishabh’s inseparable friendship. Kritika often joked that the two men were more of a "couple" than she and Rishabh were, which naturally left the wives to form their own alliance. For Avni, who had navigated a lonely path since the loss of her parents, this burgeoning friendship was a gift she hadn't known she was allowed to have.
Their final shopping excursion was a slow-motion affair. Kritika, five months pregnant and radiating a stubborn kind of maternal energy, led the way through the mall, though they paused frequently for decaf coffee breaks.
"I think we've reached the limit," Avni said, eyeing the mountain of shopping bags. "I've got everything for Divyash and myself. We should head back."
Kritika leaned back, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips. "You’re forgetting the most vital part of the packing list, Avni."
Avni ran through a mental checklist. "Warmers? Check. Formal wear? Check. Walking shoes? Check. What am I missing?"
Kritika leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Madam, you are a newlywed on her first international trip. You need something... scandalous. Something from the 'juicy' section."
Avni felt the heat rise to her hairline. "Absolutely not. This is a business trip, Kritika. I’m not buying that... stuff."
"Business by day, pleasure by night," Kritika countered, taking a leisurely bite of her donut. "Look, you’re shy, I get it. But you aren't planning on living like monks for the rest of your lives, are you? Think of it as an insurance policy. Buy it, pack it, and if the mood strikes in a beautiful Parisian suite, you’ll be prepared. It’s about power, Avni. The kind of power that makes a husband realize he’s the luckiest man on earth." She paused, her expression turning mock-serious. "Just be careful. Unless you want to end up in my 'decaf-only' condition this time next year."
Avni was mortified, but she couldn't deny the logic. "Fine," she whispered. "I’ll buy it. But I make no promises about wearing it."
"Mission accepted," Kritika cheered, standing up with the flourish of a general. "Next stop: Victoria’s Secret."
Later that evening, back in the sanctuary of their bedroom, Avni carefully tucked her secret purchases—a delicate black lace set and a soft baby pink number—into the deepest corner of her suitcase. She had tried them on in front of the mirror earlier, stunned into silence by the woman looking back at her. She had looked... like a siren. She’d briefly considered sending a photo to Divyash, but her courage had failed her at the last second.
The anticipation was a physical weight. Ever since their living room encounter had been interrupted by family drama and the "Khosla chaos," a low-burning tension had settled between them. She loved every facet of Divyash—the immature boy who whined about his socks and the mature man who stood like a wall between her and the world.
"You need help, Dimples?" she asked, watching him stare blankly at a pile of shirts.
"I am drowning in options, Jaana," he whined, looking at her with wide, helpless eyes.
It took another thirty minutes of playful bickering to get his suitcase closed. Once the zippers were finally shut, Divyash flopped onto the bed, glowing with excitement.
"Paris," he breathed. "My dream city. I’ve even been practicing." He pulled up a memo on his phone. "I learned how to ask for the best wine, how to find the Eiffel Tower... and a few things I should probably only say to you."
Avni smiled, leaning over him. "I already speak French, Dimples. You could have just asked me."
"I know," he murmured, his hands finding her waist and pulling her down until they were inches apart. "But this is our first trip as a couple. The City of Love. No doorbells, no brothers, no 'Maa' knocking just as things get interesting."
He leaned in to seal the promise with a kiss, but the universe had other plans. A sharp, rhythmic knock echoed through the door.
Divyash threw his head back against the pillow with a groan of pure agony. "Is there a literal sensor on this door? Does it only ring when I’m happy?"
"I'll get it," Avni laughed, smoothing her hair. She opened the door to find Ridha standing there with a stack of extra warmers.
"Did you pack the heavy coats? Europe is brutal this time of year," Ridha said, marching into the room.
"We’re packed like polar bears, Maa," Divyash grumbled from the bed.
Ridha ignored him, turning to Avni with a serious expression. "Avni, dear, you must look after him. He catches cold the moment the temperature drops. Make sure he wears his gloves and cap. If he makes a fuss—and he will—just give him a sharp slap across the ear. He'll fall right into line."
Divyash sat up, indignant. "Maa! Are you my mother or an undercover agent for my wife? You’re giving her permission to assault me?"
"Behave yourself, Divyash," Ridha scolded. "You’re a married man. Soon there will be children. What kind of example will you set if you're acting like a toddler yourself?"
Avni turned bright red at the mention of children, her mind flashing back to the lace tucked in her suitcase.
"Children?" Divyash muttered under his breath. "How are we supposed to have children when the family treats our bedroom like a railway station? They don't just fall from the clouds, you know."
"What was that?" Ridha asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Nothing! Just... go find Vivek a wife and leave us to our packing!"
Once Ridha had finally departed, shaking her head at her son’s antics, Avni turned to him and tossed a pillow at his chest. "You really can’t help yourself, can you?"
"I’m a 'Pati Parmeshwar'—you aren't supposed to throw things at me," he joked, catching the pillow and pulling her down beside him as the lights went out.
The room was dark, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside. Divyash wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close. "Crazy or not," he whispered into her hair, "I’m all yours. And Paris can’t come soon enough
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