"Seriously, di!" Ira said firmly, her eyes wide and puffy, hair tousled, and voice still hoarse from the two-hour nap and the lingering cold and fever. She sat at one corner of the bed near the wall, the blanket neatly draped over her legs, a glass of warm water held carefully in her good hand as she took small sips now and then.

At the other end of the bed sat Jheel, surrounded by a fortress of pillows, a bowl of roasted nuts and dry fruits balanced perfectly on her round belly. Every now and then, she popped a cashew into her mouth and broke into a stiffened chuckle at Ira's strong opinions about pregnancy and her future husband.

With the door and windows shut, the room had grown pleasantly warm, just enough to keep the sisters safe from the winter chill. Outside, a faint whistle of the wind brushed against the windowpane, making the coziness of the room feel even thicker.

Wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes, Jheel looked at her younger sister's dead-serious expression and tried to hold back the chuckle rising in her chest. "Ira-!" She burst into laughter, her voice echoing through the room, it made the bowl on her belly wobble dangerously.

"What?" Ira frowned, her face crumpling even more, like a piece of paper that had already suffered enough. She adjusted the hand with the IV resting on the pillow and continued, "God forbid, but if I ever get married and, by mistake, end up in this situation-and my husband isn't around for the whole nine months till delivery and afterwards-I swear. I swear, I'll curse him with all my existence that even his ancestors will feel it."

"G-God forbid!" Jheel gasped between fits of laughter, slapping a nearby pillow while her other hand cradled her belly protectively. "Ira, what are you even saying?! 'God forbid' and 'by mistake'-you don't get pregnant by mistake! Oh my God-" she broke into laughter again, tilting her head back.

"Oh, di, you're very innocent." Ira scrunched her nose and twisted her lips, looking to the other side before turning back to her sister - who was staring at her with pressed lips, trying hard not to laugh.

"You know, these men are very manipulative," Ira said, lowering her voice and holding out her open palm for emphasis. "Never fall for their sweet words and fake promises." She wriggled her forefinger, eyes closed, as if issuing a divine warning. "After fulfilling their desires, they walk away without a single glance."

"Ira..." Jheel called out softly, a smile tugging at her lips as she cleared her throat. "I'm married... and pregnant." She tapped her belly with a gentle grin. "And trust me, it's a very beautiful journey... except for the mood swings and pregnancy pain," she added in a whisper.

Ira's expression turned neutral. She blinked twice, briefly staring at Jheel's belly before shifting her gaze to the cartoon pattern on the furry blanket. She took a slow sip of her warm water, looking down as if the conversation itself had tired her out.

"Okay, leave this," Jheel spoke, snapping Ira out of her thoughts. "Tell me, what kind of man do you want as your husband?" she asked, a playful smile lingering on her face.

Ira's face scrunched up again. "Don't start talking like aunties now, di."

"C'mon, Ira..." Jheel moved the bowl aside on the pillow and arched her back before settling against the one behind her. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, watching Ira with teasing eyes. "Every girl dreams about the kind of life partner she'll have in the future. Have you really never done that?"

"No."

"Liar."

Ira sniffled, took another sip of water, and looked at Jheel with a slightly soured expression. "And does my choice even matter? I'll get whoever's written in my destiny. Why assume things and then get hurt over them?"

"Why do you always sound so robotic? Don't you feel anything? C'mon, girl, I'm your elder sister. You can share your emotions with me," Jheel said, sounding a little frustrated.

Ira mirrored her expression with equal annoyance. "And why are you dumping your mood swings on me and my non-existent love life? Go eat some ice cream with salt or one of your weird combos, or better, eat your husband's head over phone calls."

"You're very rude!" Jheel sulked, tossing a pillow at Ira's legs.

The pillow landed softly against the blanket, and Ira's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile threatening to break through.

"SHUT UP, YOU PEOPLE!"

Both sisters flinched at the sudden burst of noise.

Jheel's hand flew to her belly, instinctively cradling it, her eyes wide with alarm. Ira's head snapped up, the remnants of her earlier amusement draining from her face.

"What happened." In one swift motion, Ira swung her legs down, her bare feet meeting the cold floor with a muted thud. Without looking back, she threw over her shoulder, "You stay here, I'll see."

The door creaked as she pulled it open, and her jaw tightened against the wind.

As she stepped into the large, open kitchen, the glow from the chulha flickered across the walls, painting everyone in shades of gold and amber. The air carried a faint scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, mingled with the aroma of the delicacies being cooked.

Her grandmother sat on a low stool, steady and unbothered, stuffing spicy gram lentils into wheat dough and shaping them into Kachoris with practiced ease. Her elder aunt stirred a pot of Kheer, the metal ladle clinking rhythmically, while the other deep-fried Dalpuris in hot oil, occasionally fanning the stove with a woven hand fan as sparks leapt out now and then.

Panchhi stood nearby - a shawl wrapped tightly around her body, her hair tied in a messy bun - fuming at something the women had just said.

Ira walked over to Panchhi, draping her good arm around her shoulders. "What happened?" Her gaze flickered between her cousin and the women. "Why does your face look like a red tomato?"

The grandmother set the empty pot aside and shifted on the stool to face Ira. "We were talking about your and her mothers' marriages. Then the conversation drifted to your fathers, and now she's fuming because she can't tolerate the truths about your fathers and their families' toxicity."

Ira's eyebrows furrowed faintly as she absorbed the information. Reluctantly, she said, "And why is it that every time you people have a conversation, or rather, gossip, our fathers automatically get involved in it?" She paused, watching their soured expressions. "Even our mothers aren't this obsessed with their husbands as you all are."

Devki's face twisted, and she snapped back at Ira. "Huh! You children don't understand anything. Do you even know how much sadness and pain both of your mothers have endured because of your fathers and his families?"

"Oh, come on, nani. Don't make me open my mouth," Ira stepped forward, sitting on the chair and pulling Panchhi onto her lap. "If my father is toxic, then your daughter is the epitome of toxicity. It takes two hands to clap. Don't glorify one and suppress the other. If you blame my father, then you should equally blame your daughter as well."

"Oh, no, no." Panchhi slid an arm around Ira's shoulders, resting it there as she spoke with wide eyes and rounded lips. "No, di. Their daughters are perfect. It's only our fathers who are out of this world, belonging to some demon dynasty." She jerked her face toward the ladies, eyes blazing.

"Oh, my-my!" the younger aunt exclaimed, widening her eyes, one flour-dusted hand resting under her chin. "Papa's princesses?" She fixed her gaze on Ira, her lips twisted. "Do you even know, the father you're singing praises of didn't show up for six months after your birth?"

Her focus shifted to Panchhi as she continued bitterly, "And your father, sarcastic queen, wouldn't even offer food to you or your mother just because you were a daughter. Even after marriage, both of your mothers had to live in their maternal home despite having husbands and in-laws."

Ira's eyes lowered, unable to find words to defend her father. Her pressed lips stretched slightly to one side.

"So what?!" Panchhi retorted, her face deeply furrowed. "Everyone has good and bad in them. No one is perfect in this world. And that was years ago! Why dig up buried graves now? They're happy, so let them be happy! But no-you just have to play the role of home-wreckers!"

"Oh, really?" the aunt continued. "Now when we're speaking the truth, we become home-wreckers? And your fathers, who have been torturing daughters of this house for years, are the gods?!"

"Stop exaggerating, mami," Ira spoke coldly. "And if you think of yourself as Raja Harishchandra, who only speaks the truth, then should I also lend a hand to your campaign?" She narrowed her eyes at the woman, her sharp words drawing curious glances from the other two ladies.

The aunt's eyes flickered, her voice stuttering as she dipped another round of Dalpuris into the hot oil. "Wha-what do you mean?"

A smirk tugged at the sisters' lips as they exchanged amused glances. Ira shrugged, her voice turning playful. "Okay, let's leave it. I'm not that bad."

"But what's the problem in accepting the truth?!" Devki spoke up, her eyes darting between the sisters' relaxed forms. "We know, your fathers are wrong."

Panchhi opened her mouth, ready to retort, but stopped when Ira gently squeezed her arm and said calmly, "Because that's only half the truth. You've heard just one side of the story. And as much as I know your daughter, aka my mother, she never accepts her mistakes. It's like... if she's driving on the wrong side of the road and crashes into a passerby, according to her, it would still be that person's fault. Like, why was he walking on the road when he knows vehicles run there? And-"

"But I know, it's always your father's fault," the grandmother said, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Ira closed her eyes and exhaled deeply before looking at her again. "Come on, nani, stop turning a blind eye to your daughter's deeds. Eighty-five percent of the time, it's your daughter who starts the fight."

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Devki commented sarcastically.

"It is, it is," Ira emphasized. "I live there with them, not you. I've seen it my whole life. Papa only argues when she doesn't cook on time-and, surprisingly, she never cooks on time. Never ever. Not till date."

"Then why don't you help her?!" the younger aunt jumped in again.

"Oh, really?" Ira shot back, equally bitter. "Then what will she do-just fight, nag, and complain?!"

"Then can't your father help?!" the grandmother spoke up. "Will lending a hand make him less of a man?!"

"Then cooking for that husband who works his ass off in the court to run the family, fulfill his wife's endless list of demands, and whatnot-will that make your daughter less of a woman?!" Ira replied sharply, her face now flushed red.

Panchhi smiled nervously as Ira erupted. She glanced at their elder aunt, who was calmly stirring the kheer and not meddling in the toxic business, silently pleading for help.

The aunt nervously smiled back, nodded, then stood up and, using a cloth, lifted the hot pot by its rim and set it on the floor. "Hey," she nudged her sister-in-law in a low voice, "go check on your daughter. It's her milk time."

The younger aunt's mouth widened. "Hah... she hasn't eaten anything since evening!" She sprang up and almost ran out of the kitchen.

"Yeah, focus on your daughter instead of fuming about other people!" Panchhi called from behind.

"You, little lizard! I'll make your mother marry you into a snake's family!" the aunt snapped back.

"Done! But I'll take your daughter as my dowry!"

The elder aunt extended a plate filled with four Dalpuris, a bowl of Makhana Kheer, Aloo-Parwal ki sabzi, and a vegetable salad toward Ira. "Ira, can you please serve this to Jheel?" she requested softly.

Ira nodded silently, her expression still distant, as she took the plate, gently coaxed Panchhi off her lap, and with quiet footsteps, walked toward the room.

As soon as Ira disappeared from view, the aunt turned to her mother-in-law and spoke in a hushed tone, "Why do you always have to pour your hatred onto these children, mummy? Your daughter will become a high school principal in a few days, and both husband and wife are finally getting back on the right path. So why are you so intent on digging up dead bones?"

Devki's face twisted as she got down from the stool, wiping the area with a cloth. "It's not that easy. God forbid, but if something like that had happened to your daughter, you would have understood my pain." Her eyes, though clear, reflected the deep pain etched in her heart and mind.

"He had beaten my flower-like daughter mercilessly, blackening her skin. I cannot forget that." She raised her eyebrows toward the path where Ira had walked moments ago. "She doesn't want to hear anything against her father. But that doesn't change the fact. They're still bad people to me and will never find a soft spot in my heart."

"Then why didn't you make them divorce each other, nani?" Panchhi cut into their hushed conversation, her tone sharp. "No, I mean-neither do you want them to separate, nor stay together; neither move on, nor hang on. What do you want?" She raised her eyebrows at her grandmother. "If they're happy now, then let them be happy. Don't shatter the pottery of your grudges over their heads and their future. Please."

Devki didn't respond this time. Her wrinkled fingers kept tracing invisible circles on the dusty floor, eyes fixed on the chulha as if searching for something in its dying embers. The elder aunt quietly gathered the remaining utensils, her sigh barely louder than the flicker of the last flame.

Panchhi stood there for a moment longer, her shawl slipping slightly off her shoulder, watching her grandmother's silence stretch and settle. Then, with a small shake of her head, she turned toward the doorway.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

"Why are we going to Rajgir, papa?" Siddharth asked, turning slightly in his seat to face his father.

The white bus jolted over a speed breaker, and the passengers bounced slightly off their seats. Someone laughed, someone cursed under their breath. The smell of dust and diesel drifted in through the half-open window, mingling with the fragrance of crops and vegetables planted in the fields on either side of the winding road.

Bhushan turned toward his son, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he rested a hand on Siddharth's shoulder. "To celebrate Chhath Puja, beta. You'll enjoy it there."

Siddharth leaned back, running a hand through his hair, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I don't even know anyone," he said, his tone quiet, like someone who had long outgrown festivals but hadn't outgrown family duties.

From the front seat, Apoorva turned slightly, her eyes bright with nostalgia as she smiled at both men. "You do, beta. The first four years of your life, we were there, remember?"

"No." Siddharth shook his head with a soft chuckle, the sound almost lost beneath the hum of the engine. He leaned to the side, resting his temple against the cool glass window, watching the world blur past.

Outside, the fields stretched endlessly - a rolling green canvas flickering under the warm yellow lights of the bus. The air that seeped in through the window was fresh, unfiltered, alive. He inhaled deeply, the cool breeze filling his lungs, washing away the faint, polluted taste of the city air that still lingered in memory.

Somewhere in the distance, through the trembling glass, he caught sight of an old government school, glowing under the white porch light. He let his eyes drift shut, the rhythm of the bus rocking him gently. His hand rested loosely on his knee, his shoulders sinking into a quiet acceptance. The road ahead would lead him into faces he didn't know and rituals he had forgotten, into four long days of familiar chaos and unfamiliar warmth.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

"Di! Ira di, are you up there?!" Panchhi shouted softly against the walls, ascending the stairs. The light from the rooftop bulbs faintly illuminated the narrow staircase.

Upon reaching, her eyes wandered across the terrace until they finally landed on her sister - standing quietly in one corner, gaze fixed on the dark path below, illuminated by the porch light. She seemed frozen in her spot, her eyes carrying the weight of a longing for someone she might have caught a glimpse of tonight.

The cold air had its effect on her unguarded form - no sweater, no shawl, no hoodie. Her nose and ears had turned a warm red, and her fingers were lightly trembling as they rested on the rough railing.

Panchhi exhaled audibly, stomping her feet in her direction. "Di!" She shook Ira by her shoulders, making her startle.

Ira's widened eyes fluttered rapidly as she fixed Panchhi with a disoriented gaze. "Huh?" she whispered absently, then drifted her focus back to the path ahead, her lips parting slightly, as if she'd forgotten to breathe.

Panchhi let her hands fall limply by her sides, chin lifting slightly, lips quivering down. "...What happened?" Her voice softened at the end, more out of concern than curiosity.

Ira shook her head, murmuring, "Nothing."

Panchhi straightened herself, moved closer, and wrapped both her hands around Ira's shoulders, resting her head on her right one. "Ignore them, di. They always do this," she whispered, her warmth pressing softly against Ira's cold skin.

Ira remained silent, but Panchhi could hear the audible gulp of her throat.

"Are you gonna cry now?" Panchhi asked softly, searching her sister's somber expression.

Ira blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the glassiness that fought to spill over at any moment. Her chest moved unevenly; she sniffled, looking around with a strange disinterest in her eyes, as though searching for distraction in anything but herself.

"Di..." Panchhi urged, holding her chin gently. "You can talk to me, yeah?"

Ira breathed deeply, air inhaling and exhaling through her lips in uneven intervals. Her shoulders rose and fell like she was carrying something heavy but invisible.

Sensing her sister's distress, Panchhi caressed Ira's arms up and down in a soothing motion until her breathing began to steady. The rhythm was quiet, almost like a lullaby without words.

"You okay?" Panchhi asked calmly, looking at Ira's practiced neutral expression.

Ira nodded silently and exhaled a quiet sigh. Her eyes glistened under the weak rooftop light, but no tears fell.

The sisters remained like that for a few minutes, gazing at their surroundings - the stretched-out fields under the dark sky on one side, and rows of concrete houses and huts on the other.

"I'm confused."

"Huh?" Panchhi's face contorted as she side-glanced at her sister.

Ira continued, her expression neutral, voice low. "I... sometimes I think Papa is right, but when I recall other memories... mummy turns out to be the right one." She looked at Panchhi, tilting her head and blinking slowly. "Who is right?"

Panchhi blinked, her lips parting to say something, but she swallowed the words back, shaking her head with an awkward smile. "I-I don't know."

Ira inhaled deeply and turned her focus back to the faintly illuminated, dusty path ahead, her voice still soft. "Has your father ever massaged your mother's legs, or cooked food for you all, or washed your mother's clothes?"

Panchhi's forehead creased deeply as she looked at Ira. "Has mausa?" she asked quietly.

"Many times more than I can count," Ira said, her voice still distant.

"Wow." Panchhi's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "My father can only boil water."

Absently, Ira traced the rough edge of the railing with her fingers. "I've always seen him giving her more than she ever asked for, whether it was money, clothes, care, love..." she gulped, her voice tightening, "...or anger and humiliation."

Panchhi remained silent, listening to her words intently.

"While Mummy..." Ira's voice trailed off as she looked into the distance, trying to bring back buried memories. "Mummy also cared for him so much. I remember when Papa met with an accident and fractured his right leg. No one from his side came to see how we were doing. I was very small, but I remember clearly how Papa would throw the food in anger, even slap Mummy. Mummy used to cry at night, and seeing her cry, I used to cry too." Her voice grew heavier, her breathing uneven again, as the memories trembled their way out of her mind.

"I don't like men who always get angry and throw things," she said in a broken voice, like a child complaining to her mother. "I don't want to marry such a man. I'll never marry such a man." She shook her head violently, as if she was certain her greatest fear would come true someday, pleading and convincing, begging destiny to change the reality. "No, never. Never will I marry such a man. Never. I don't want to. Never-"

"DI!" Panchhi's sharp voice snapped Ira back like a slap of reality.

Tears had pooled in Ira's eyes, her lips trembled, and she was shaking, not from cold now, but from something deeper, old and unhealed.

Panchhi tried to offer a bright smile, but it faltered as she saw Ira's trembling hands. She held them tightly in her own and gave them a warm squeeze. "Who said you'll marry such a man, huh?" she asked, looking at her with a confident smile. "You won't." Wiping away the tears that had rolled down Ira's flushed cheeks, she continued, "You'll get exactly the same prince you've always dreamt of."

A teasing smile curved her lips. "How was he - understanding, calm, mature, and not the one who humiliates you or gets angry over mistakes, but the one who makes you understand things calmly; who tells you the right direction when you're heading the wrong way; who doesn't hit or give silent treatments or make assumptions, but confronts and talks; who stands by you in your failures and successes and doesn't judge you; who-"

Ira clamped her palm over Panchhi's mouth, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Hey, you're ruining my image."

Panchhi stifled a laugh behind her pressed lips. She gently removed Ira's hand and giggled. "Your secrets are safe with me." Her grin stretched into a smug smile as she whispered, "Even your fantasies. Remember-"

"YEAH, SHUT UP!" Ira's hands once again found Panchhi's lips. "I didn't tell you my secrets so you could make an announcement out of them!"

Panchhi pulled her hand free and darted across the rooftop, giggling. "Oh, my naughty didi, maybe you can fool everyone else with your stoic face and dry answers, but you can't fool me! I can read your mind!" she declared gleefully. "Did you forget the story of your first kiss?"

"That was only a dream-a nightmare, you little brat!" Ira chased her, her good hand flailing in a failed attempt to grab Panchhi's hoodie cap.

"But a passionate one!"

"Stop it, Panchhi!" Ira huffed and puffed, trying to catch her breath.

"Not today, my dear sister!" Panchhi laughed, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously. "How do you even get such romantic dreams, by the way-hmm-mhm-mhm?"

Ira shoved her forefingers into her ears, eyes squeezed shut. Her face burned with embarrassment as she spoke out loud, "I'm deaf! I'm not hearing you!"

Panchhi twirled the end of her shawl like a heroine in a spoofed mujra. "Neend hamari piya tu ne churai(you have stolen my sleep, darling), Kahan chhupa hai piya, tu hai harjaee(where are you hiding? you are unfaithful)~" she sang louder over Ira's muffled groan, eyes closed in bliss. "Meri chadhti jawani tadpe(my peaking youth writhes), Tu munh na mod(you do not turn your face away)~"

"IT WAS A DREAM!" Ira screamed, her face reddening. "Will you now please shut up, for heaven's sake?!"

"No way!" Panchhi showed her a thumbs-down, darting around another corner, her laughter echoing across the rooftop.

Ira's patience snapped; she lunged forward, chasing after her and grabbing her arm in a swift, irritated motion.

"Oh my-Di! Calm down!" Panchhi squealed, twirling around, her frock swirling with her as she spun to a stop near Ira.

"Will you stop or not?" Ira said through gritted teeth, holding Panchhi by the nape and making her bend slightly against the railing.

Still struggling to hold back her laughter, Panchhi blinked toward the dusky road, cheeks flushed from running. Her eyes narrowed suddenly as they caught sight of their grandfather approaching the house with three people - two men and a woman.

"Panchhi! What am I saying?!" Ira's frustrated voice rose again.

Panchhi squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "Di, di! Look, someone's coming here."

Ira's eyebrows knitted together as she stepped forward, curiosity softening her anger. "Who?"

Seizing the moment, Panchhi ducked out of Ira's loosened grip and whispered mischievously in her ear, "Your husband."

Ira froze, her lips parting, eyes widening. "WHAT THE HELL?! You really want to die tonight!"

Panchhi burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching her stomach as she sprinted away. Ira ran after her, shouting empty threats that dissolved into laughter of her own. The evening air filled with their playful chaos, the sound of footsteps, giggles, and the irreplaceable warmth of two sisters who could never stay mad for long.

A/N: Okay... maybe not Rudraksh, but Siddharth is here. In the next part, you'll see their first interaction.

I don't know-why does everything feel so dull to me these days?