The Malhotra flat in Gurgaon had finally gone quiet after hours of laughter, rituals, and endless photo sessions. The family had retreated to their own rooms. The fairy lights outside the balcony twinkled like tiny stars, casting soft shadows across the master bedroom where Aryan Malhotra stood like a statue, still dressed in his cream silk kurta, gulping water like his life depended on it.

And that's when it happened.

The bathroom door clicked open.

And out walked her.

Diana Mehta—sorry, Diana Malhotra—in the most scandalous outfit he had ever seen in real life. It was a soft lilac satin nightdress, the kind he'd only accidentally come across in online ads and scrolled past out of sheer guilt. Thin spaghetti straps held it up. The neckline dipped a little too low. The length barely touched her mid-thighs. And the back? Well, it wasn't there.

He choked.

On water. On air. On existence.

He doubled over, coughing violently as the glass of water nearly flew from his hand. His eyes watered. His soul left his body and returned with a formal complaint.

She looked up, hair damp and loose over her shoulders, brows lifting with mock innocence. "Whoa, you okay there, Mr. Husband?"

He nodded furiously, trying to recover, still coughing into his elbow. "Water... wrong pipe..."

She grinned. "Or was it the right pipe but the wrong dress?"

Aryan turned a shade of red no natural human should turn.

She casually walked over to the bed like she hadn't just given him a cardiac episode, flipped the duvet, and lay down... on the right side.

He blinked.

That was his side.

He always slept on the right. He liked the way the AC hit from that direction, and he had his nightstand drawer organized with his phone charger, sleep mask, and a lavender roll-on he'd never admit to using.

But she looked so comfortable — one leg bent up, scrolling through Instagram, completely unaware of the minor life crisis she'd just triggered — that he didn't say anything. He quietly walked to the left side and sat down, still slightly in shock.

Her suitcases were in a heap near the wardrobe, open and spilling with clothes. He noticed a lacy bra hanging from one of the zippers and immediately looked away like it had burned his eyes.

"So..." she said, eyes still on her phone. "Big day, huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"We're officially husband and wife," she added, turning her head toward him. "Any regrets?"

He looked at her, met her eyes. "No."

Her lips curved upward, not in a smirk but a genuine smile. "That's good. I was worried you'd run away mid-phere."

He smiled too. "I almost did when you winked at me in front of the pandit."

She burst out laughing, her hand flying to her mouth. "You did look like you were about to faint."

They both laughed for a few moments until the silence settled again. A little more comfortable now. A little less formal.

Aryan turned off the lamp on his side of the bed. The room fell into a soft glow, courtesy of the decorative fairy lights strung along the curtain rod.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, genuinely, politely, the way he would ask any house guest.

She turned to face him, resting her head on her palm. "Yes."

He looked at her, waiting.

She raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming. "I need a cuddle buddy."

PSSSSHHHT

There went his second glass of water.

He practically launched the drink across the bed, coughing like someone had thrown chili powder in his throat. Diana sat up laughing, one hand dramatically pounding his back.

"I was kidding! Chill, Romeo. I'm not going to attack you... unless you ask nicely," she winked.

Aryan stared at her in horror and disbelief, unsure whether to laugh, run, or call a priest.

She giggled and flopped back onto the bed, sighing happily. "God, you're so much fun to mess with. You're like this tightly wound-up teddy bear."

He cleared his throat, trying to recover what little dignity he had left. "I'm just... not used to all this."

"I know," she said softly, now lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. "And I won't cross any lines unless you want me to. I promise."

He glanced at her, surprised at the sincerity in her tone. "Thanks."

She looked over. "But the day you do want a cuddle buddy... this side of the bed is open."

Aryan went quiet.

His ears were red again.

****

Aryan lay on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it held the secrets to life.

Beside him, Diana was already fast asleep, snoring lightly, her hand resting near the center of the bed — dangerously close to him.

He shifted slightly to the edge.

This girl was chaos.

A walking hurricane in lilac satin.

And yet... there was a strange peace in the way she slept. Like she belonged here. Like she wasn't someone who had just stepped into his life a month ago.

His phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. A text from Arya.

Arya: Did she kill you yet or are you still breathing, bhai?

He rolled his eyes and typed back.

Aryan: Barely breathing. She came out in war gear.

Arya: LOL. Good luck surviving the next 50 years, bhai. She's my idol.

He shook his head and put the phone aside.

Diana murmured something in her sleep.

"Hot sauce..."

Aryan blinked.

Then chuckled softly.

God save him indeed.

But maybe... just maybe... he didn't want to be saved anymore.