Babu = Officer or city person (in Bihar).

Suhaag raat = First night after marriage.

Prabhu / Ishwar / Bhagwan = God.

Jija = Elder sister's husband

Barkhurdar = An Urdu term of endearment or respect, similar to kiddo or young one.

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"This way, come, come." The grandfather stretched out an arm in a gentle sweep as he led them forward. The rooftop tubelight hummed sharply above them, its harsh white glow spilling across the open space and making their eyes squint for a moment.

"Bhushan ji, Apoorva ji," he called over his shoulder, his voice warm and inviting. "Siddharth beta, come this way, into that room. The air is too cold outside."

Bhushan and Apoorva exchanged a small smile before stepping ahead. Their eyes wandered across the space - the concrete house in place of the old clay one, the water purifier where a clay pot once stood, the marble floor - trying to match the brick rooftop with the version they remembered from years ago.

Siddharth followed several steps behind, almost reluctantly. Though the young barrister always carried himself with elegance, tonight everything about his posture betrayed discomfort. His jaw tightened for the briefest second before settling back into its calm, unreadable line. The wind ruffled his neatly combed hair, and he smoothed it back with a quick, irritated motion before slipping his hands into his jacket pockets.

At the doorway of one of the rooftop rooms, the grandfather waited with a patient smile, rubbing his palms together for warmth. He watched the three of them approach - Bhushan and Apoorva with quiet curiosity, Siddharth with muted resistance - and still, his smile never dimmed, as if the simple act of having them here was enough to fill the cold night with warmth.

"Where is everyone?" Apoorva asked, a soft, nostalgic glint shining in her eyes as she stepped inside the room. "I remember yours being a very big joint family."

As they settled on the neat, well-made bed, the grandfather hurried toward the corner, bending slightly as he switched on the old room heater. The metal coils crackled to life, sending out a mild orange glow that warmed the cold air in slow, gentle waves.

"They must be upstairs," he said with a hearty laugh, straightening his back. "You know, the preparations for the puja and all."

Apoorva's face brightened, her eyes widening. "Wow! Then I should also lend a hand!" She pushed herself up from the bed, gathering her saree gracefully as she took a step-when she felt a sudden tug at her pallu.

She turned around, her expression softening as she saw Siddharth's fingers curled tightly around the fabric with the reflex of a child left momentarily alone in a crowd. His eyes lifted to hers, pleading and uncertain.

Apoorva let out a quiet chuckle and eased his fingers off her saree one by one. "Beta, they're our own people," she said, patting his cheek gently. Her gaze flicked toward the old man with a wide smile. "My son is very shy... but he can make people sweat in the courtroom with his fierce questioning!"

Siddharth's lips curved into a small, shy smile. He lowered his head, his shoulders relaxing a little as his eyes shifted between the patterned floor tiles and his father's teasing grin beside him.

The grandfather let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his hands together near the heater's warmth. "Don't worry, Siddharth babu! By tomorrow, you'll get around with everyone."

A round of heartfelt laughter filled the room.

Apoorva walked out with a soft smile playing on her lips, the faint jingle of her anklets trailing behind her as she stepped onto the stairs.

The grandfather turned toward the father and son again, carrying the same open, welcoming warmth in his expression. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a few minutes." He gave them both a gentle nod, lingering for a moment as though making sure they truly felt at home.

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"No, no, no, Panchhi!" Jheel chimed in, laughing as she supported the curve of her baby bump. "It'd be like-oh, my darling, my sweetheart, my love, my jaan, my Ira; come here, baby; let me love you; slow low low low low low low low-"

"SHUT UP, YOU BOTH!"

Ira slapped her palms over her ears, her eyes squeezed shut, her entire face scrunching like she had just bitten into something unbearably sour. "You both are making me cringe!"

"We haven't even started yet!"

"We haven't even started yet!"

Ira pursed her lips and shot a sharp glare at Panchhi, who immediately raised her hands in surrender, biting back her grin. Ira's narrowed eyes then shifted to Jheel. Her nose scrunched. "Did your husband do the same to you?"

Jheel's lips slowly curled into a smirk. "You'll pass out if I tell you what more happens on the first night."

Panchhi pressed her lips together so tightly they nearly disappeared, her shoulders shaking as she tried to cage her laughter. She turned away for a second, covering her mouth with her forearm, but a tiny snort escaped anyway.

Ira gulped, her throat bobbing. She straightened her spine, then awkwardly cleared her throat. "I-I'm a Zoology graduate. Do you think I'm a fool? I know everything."

Jheel leaned forward slightly, careful not to put pressure on her stomach. The teasing smile didn't fade for even a heartbeat. "There's a big difference between theory and practicality," she whispered, winking.

Ira's fingers curled into fists on her lap. "You've gone insane," she muttered through clenched teeth. "I have no interest in knowing your suhaag raat story."

Before she could retreat further into mortification, Panchhi bounced closer, hopping on her knees across the bed and sliding an arm around Ira's shoulders, pulling her in with an affectionate squeeze.

"Calm down, di. She's just pulling your leg. And you don't need her story. You'll know it when-" Panchhi paused, her smile stretching into a wicked teasing curve-"your husband will teach you everything."

Ira's eyes flew wide open. Color shot up her neck, reaching her ears.

"SHUT UP! You people are disgusting!"

Panchhi burst into uncontrollable laughter, one hand on her belly and the other behind her back.

After a full minute of trying to breathe normally again, Jheel finally gathered her composure. She wiped the corner of her eye, still smiling, and leaned back against the cushions.

"Ira, my lovely sister," she said, reaching out to pat the air in front of her as if blessing Ira with wisdom, "this is not disgusting. It's just... the way the universe is still working. Unless scientists suddenly find some other method."

She tried to keep a straight face, but every few seconds she glanced at Ira's nauseous expression - eyebrows twisted, nose scrunched, mouth half-open, face frozen - and burst into tiny chuckles again. "You look like you'll puke any moment. Stop being dramatic, Ira!"

"This is disgusting!" Ira shivered, her whole body recoiling as if someone had splashed cold water on her. "Eww, chhi, chhi, chhi! I-I can never do that. No way. Ram-Ram-Ram-Ram-Ram!"

Panchhi, now lying on the bed with her head dangling off the edge, raised a finger. "Then your existence is disgusting too," she declared. "Because you also came from this exact same process."

Ira froze mid-Ram, staring at her like Panchhi had committed blasphemy of the highest order.

Panchhi's grin turned wicked.

"I don't care!" Ira exclaimed, her face turning a furious shade of red. "I don't care-oh my God, OMG! Oh my lord, what kind of method have you invented?"

She threw her arms up and looked toward the ceiling, her mouth hanging open as though she might actually burst into tears. "Hey Prabhu, hey Ishwar, hey Bhagwan-I can't do this! No, no, no! Never!"

"What chhi, chhi in this?" Jheel interjected sternly, narrowing her eyes as she adjusted her position against the pillows. "One day, you'll do the same."

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!" Ira's eyes flew wide, her whole body jerking backward as if Jheel had condemned her to a fate worse than death. Her tongue stuttered, knotted, refusing to cooperate. "I-I-I... no clothing... he... me... no, NO!"

Instinctively, she clutched her shoulders tighter, like she could stitch her dignity back onto her skin with her own trembling fingers. Her eyes darted frantically from wall to wall. "I'll not marry! Finished. Yes, I'll not marry. No marriage, no husband. No husband, no struggle... no eww, no disgusting, no pain, no trauma, nothing..."

"Oh my God, Ira, calm down." Jheel hesitated mid-laugh, concern sliding into her expression like a shadow creeping across light. She shuffled closer and placed a steadying palm between Ira's shoulder blades. "This is natural. Nothing will happen, trust me."

"I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone," Ira muttered instantly. Her hands shook harder now, fingers curling into weak fists. "This is stupid, I don't-I DON'T LIKE BEING TOUCHED! Why don't you understand?"

Panchhi, who had been laughing with her whole upper body a moment ago, froze as her eyes caught the shine gathering in Ira's lashes. The room went still, reduced to Ira's unsteady breathing. She glanced toward Jheel and, as if tugged by an invisible thread, Jheel looked up at the same moment. Panchhi gave a tiny, deliberate shake of her head.

Jheel blinked, realization tightening her features. The teasing edge melted away as she turned fully toward Ira, cupping her sister's trembling shoulders with both hands and rubbing slow circles across her back. "It's okay, it's okay. You were very strong, my baby. You were very strong."

She leaned in, wiping the tears pooling at the corners of Ira's eyes with the pads of her thumbs, and forced a soft, reassuring smile. "Now smile. I like my cocky Ira more than a crying one."

"This is frustrating..." Ira whispered, the sound shaky and small. "Why do people do such things...? Don't they have girls at their houses?"

Panchhi shifted closer, her expression hardening, and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from Ira's face, tucking them behind her ear. "Next time we find that prick, we're gonna break all his bones."

Ira didn't respond. Her shoulders stayed hunched, fists clenched in her lap, knuckles bone-white against her already pale skin.

Jheel continued stroking her back, her palm moving in soothing, unbroken paths.

Slowly, Ira lifted her gaze. Her eyes, still glistening, shifted between her sisters' sombre expressions. "If this is affecting me this much... w-what impact must it have on those victims?"

A hollow silence fell over the room.

Jheel's throat bobbed visibly. Her hand instinctively slid to her baby bump, fingers spreading protectively.

A soft grip closed around her other hand.

Ira's weak smile didn't match the sadness in her eyes. "Don't worry. If it's a girl, make sure to make her brave and skillful, and listen to her. Don't ignore her problems. Parents are the first ones children look up to. Never break their trust."

Jheel's eyes softened. She tightened her hold around Ira's fingers, squeezing them gently between both palms. "You'll be a great mother."

Ira let out a dry chuckle, lifting her IV-taped hand to tap Jheel's cheek. "I've stopped dreaming unreachable things, di."

She lowered her palm to Jheel's belly, brushing it once with quiet affection. "God bless my niece or nephew."

"No!" Panchhi exclaimed suddenly, sliding between them and kneeling with all the exaggerated flair only she could pull off. "I want to see the little version of my Ira di and her dream boy as well."

"Panchhi..." Ira whispered, a warning wrapped in exhaustion.

"What Panchhi?" Panchhi shot back, puffing her cheeks, hands planted on her waist like a stubborn child. "I'll strictly advise your husband. Jijaji, my sister's very sensitive. Please handle her with love and care. She might chant that she doesn't believe in love, but she loves very deeply. Before marriage, she had planned for a small, happy family - she, her husband, and two kids, a boy and a girl."

She looked at Ira, eyes twinkling. "How did I sound?"

"Stupid." Ira glared, cheeks reddening. "When did I even say this?"

"You don't need to." Panchhi lifted her chin, nose scrunching smugly. "I can read your mind."

"Shut up." Ira muttered sharply. She pushed herself off the bed in a huff, nearly tripping over her own shawl as she stormed toward the door. Her head shook violently, as if trying to fling the entire conversation out of her ears.

Behind her, Jheel and Panchhi exchanged glances - half amused, half worried.

"God bless her and her future husband," Jheel sighed, stroking her belly again.

Panchhi nodded, her smile sad but fond. "Seriously."

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"Everybody is so shameless, yuck!" Ira's nose scrunched as she muttered under her breath, lifting the hem of her shawl. Her ankle twisted, and she stumbled forward with a soft gasp.

"Careful!" Her grandfather's hands immediately closed around her upper arms. The stern set of his jaw eased when he noticed her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand; the roughness of his skin made the heat on her face feel even hotter.

"You're burning," he murmured, worry slipping into his voice. He caught her wrist next, finding her pulse with practiced fingers. "Did you take the injection?"

"Y-yeah, Panchhi gave it to me."

"And medicine?!" His tone sharpened instantly, the way it always did when he was anxious.

Before Ira could reply, Panchhi burst out of the room, her long frock swirling behind her. "What happened?" Her round eyes bounced between her grandfather and her sister before she reached out, wrapping an arm around Ira's shoulders and pressing her muscles gently.

"Take your medicine properly, beti." Their grandfather cupped the back of Ira's head with a feather-light touch. "Otherwise, you'll cough all your life."

Ira's gaze lowered as she nodded slowly.

Their grandfather exhaled, then looked toward Panchhi. "Make tea. And make it tasty," he added in a half-whisper, jerking his chin toward the closed room. "Guests are inside."

"How many cups?" Panchhi asked in a low voice.

He blinked, mentally counting. "Umm... everyone will take. Make twelve... fifteen cups."

"Okay." Panchhi muttered under her breath and turned toward the separate marbled kitchen. She hooked her fingers around Ira's wrist and tugged her along.

Soon, the atmosphere inside the small kitchen grew warmer - the heat from the stove settling on their skin, the closed door trapping it like a blanket. The air smelled of ginger and cardamom cracking in the milk, tea leaves blooming into colour, and a faint trace of bay leaf drifting upward with the steam.

Panchhi leaned her hip against the counter, stirring the pot in slow circles. "Why don't you take medicines properly?" she asked softly, without looking at her.

Ira lifted both hands to her waist. "Give me fifty injections in nerves, but I won't eat those giant tablets and that nauseating syrup." Her tongue poked out, her face scrunching as if she could actually taste the bitterness again.

"Yesterday night," she continued with an embarrassed face, "I vomited at 1 am in a plastic glass, because it was an emergency."

"That's because-" Panchhi whirled around and jabbed a finger toward Ira, eyes widening. "You're so weak!" Her gaze dragged down her sister's frame, lingering on the jutting wrist bones, the hollowed cheeks, the tired shadows smudged under her eyes.

"Have you seen yourself? You look like a skeleton!" She planted her free hand on her hip. "What kind of war are you fighting that you're always overthinking? Do you sit and make strategies for it?!"

"Yeah..." Ira instinctively took a step back, sniffling as she rubbed the tip of her reddened nose with her knuckles. "Don't scold me, I'm ill."

"Shut up!" Panchhi snapped, pointing a stern finger right at Ira's forehead. "And prepare the snacks."

Ira scrunched her nose and turned away, her shawl slipping off her shoulder as she moved. She tugged it back up with an irritable flick, the IV taped to her left forearm peeking out for a moment.

She reached the counter and began arranging fruits, biscuits, sweets, and namkeen on three separate plates. An apple rolled away, wobbling right to the edge. She muttered something tragic under her breath and caught it just in time.

Panchhi turned back to the stove, pouring the steaming tea into a medium-sized aluminium kettle. A wisp of steam curled up and kissed her cheek, making her wince.

Then she grabbed three ceramic cups, placing them in the ceramic tray with quick, practiced flicks. Tea flowed into them in a smooth amber stream. By the time she turned around, her irritation had faded from blazing heat to faintly glowing embers.

"Follow me!" she commanded, lifting the tea tray in one hand and the warm water bottle in the other. Three steel glasses clinked lightly between her fingers, balanced with surprising skill.

Ira hurried after her with the snack tray pressed to her chest. The IV tugged slightly when she moved too fast, making her wince and slow down again. Her shawl slipped once more, and this time she puffed out a defeated breath, not even bothering to fix it.

Panchhi peeked over her shoulder, saw Ira struggling with the tray and the IV and the slipping shawl, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she let out an audible sigh.

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"-true, true." The grandfather laughed, shifting on the high wooden stool.

"But Bhushan-ji!" he exclaimed suddenly, lifting both his palms. "I've stopped being a broker for marriages. Both my sons have strictly prohibited me from following that path."

He leaned back, then immediately bent forward again, his elbows brushing his knees. "And I've already married off the children who were of age. The rest of my grandchildren, Nakul and Ira, their parents will decide. And Panchhi and Purav are still very young."

His voice softened with tired acceptance. "And time has changed. Today's kids don't really like our ways."

Bhushan smiled, a tired chuckle slipping out as he glanced sideways at his son. Siddharth stood stiffly beside him, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor as though it held all the answers.

"Definitely, neta ji!" Bhushan exclaimed, swinging an open arm around his son's shoulder in a sudden clamp.

Siddharth's eyes widened at the unexpected pull. His gaze darted between the elders in quick, nervous flickers, like a student caught whispering in class.

Bhushan continued, turning back to the old man. "Now see my gentleman, no girl seems to fit his standard. Isn't it, barkhurdar?" His eyebrows lifted, lips curling into a smug, teasing smile as he studied the slow bloom of embarrassment on his son's face.

"Papa..." Siddharth muttered, his voice thin, eyes dropping again.

"What type of girl do you want as your life partner?" the grandfather asked, leaning forward a little.

"Huh?" Siddharth's expression faltered. His shoulders stiffened, and his eyes shot up as if the question had come from a subject he'd never studied.

"What huh?" Bhushan cut in before he could recover, his grip around his son's shoulders tightening. "Tell me the qualities. We'll try to find one that matches your taste."

"Pa-"

"Nana..." a tiny voice called from near the door before Siddharth could present his complaints to the elders for this unwanted interrogation.

The sound made him pause mid-breath. He closed his eyes briefly, a long sigh slipping through his lips as he mentally thanked the person for the interruption.

The old man's eyes shifted toward the speaker, and he instantly stood up, his voice warming. "Come, come inside."

Siddharth straightened a little, watching the doorway as two girls stepped into the room.

The first girl, her skin tone close to his own, had slightly chubby cheeks. Her long black hair fell neatly to her waist, contrasting with the long printed orange frock brushing against her ankles. A brown shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, tucked in carefully. She walked ahead with an unreadable expression, her steps firm and assured, even though her small hands were full with whatever she was carrying.

Behind her came the second girl, taller than the former. Her skin tone settled somewhere between olive and fair, and her hair, damp with oil, clung in uneven strands around her face, falling messily to her armpits. She wore white pyjamas scattered with bright blue Doraemon prints. A grey shawl hung loosely from one shoulder, slipping down enough to hide one hand completely. With the other, she balanced a tray holding three plates of snacks, the edges of the plates rattling lightly with each step she took.

She looked visibly frustrated... or maybe it was anger, settled in the tightness of her jaw and the quick, irritated dart of her eyes as she entered.

As soon as the girls settled the snacks and everything on the table with quiet efficiency, their grandfather spoke up with a warm smile. "Ira, Panchhi, greet them." He gestured toward Siddharth's father before turning his attention to the irritated girl. "He's the teacher in the high school, and has helped a lot getting things done for your mother's safety."

Before the girl could respond, Siddharth's father leaned forward slightly, recognition lighting his face. "Ah! Is she Vaidehi's daughter?"

The old man nodded with a soft chuckle. "Yes, Ira."

"Ira..." Bhushan repeated thoughtfully, rolling the name on his tongue with a small smile. His gaze shifted to the other girl. "Then this must be Urmila's daughter."

"Yeah, Panchhi," the old man confirmed.

Both girls immediately straightened, pulling on polite smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. They ducked in unison, one hand pressed to their chest, the other reaching toward Bhushan's feet.

"Ayi, ayi, ayi!" Bhushan recoiled slightly, pulling his feet back while placing a gentle hand on both their heads. "Daughters don't touch feet," he said affectionately, tapping their crowns with soft pats. "You are Lakshmi."

The sisters stepped back, sheepish smiles tugging at their lips, their eyes lowered.

"And he's Siddharth, Bhushan ji's son,' the grandfather continued, gesturing with quiet pride toward the young man. "He's a barrister."

A faint hush settled in the room for a moment, the kind that comes when introductions finish and new gazes meet, unsure yet respectful.

Panchhi blinked, her eyes shifting between her sister and the young man. The two of them were looking at each other without blinking, their gazes held low through their eyelashes, as if an unspoken conversation had started the moment their eyes met.

Ira blinked first. Her lips curled into a small half-smile, hesitant yet polite. She pressed a hand lightly against her chest, fingers brushing the fabric near her collarbone, and dipped her chin in a gentle greeting.

Siddharth mirrored her almost instantly. His shoulders loosened a fraction as he offered a small nod and a soft smile in return.

With her eyes still lowered, Ira stepped toward the table, the loose end of her shawl brushing lightly against the floor. She shifted the tray aside and quietly began rearranging the glasses before filling them with warm water.

Panchhi took the cue and reached forward, wrapping her fingers around the warm steel glass and offering it first to Bhushan, then to Siddharth, and finally to their grandfather.

The elders kept talking, the rhythm of their conversation rising and falling like old music - laughter touching the air, then drifting into quieter notes of long-buried memories. Through it all, Siddharth's gaze remained caught, always returning to the two sisters.

He watched Ira struggle briefly with the snack plate, her fingers trembling just enough to send the biscuits sliding dangerously close to the edge before she steadied them with a quiet exhale. Panchhi, noticing, leaned in instantly and slipped an arm behind her sister's back, whispering something close to her ear. Ira nodded once. Her face, caught somewhere between tired and expressionless, softened for a moment before she turned and walked out on silent footsteps.

Siddharth's eyebrows drew together. "What happened?" he asked, his voice dropping to a hush.

Panchhi looked at him, a small, awkward smile tugging at her lips. She lifted the snack plate toward him with both hands. "She-she has a high fever," she murmured.

"Oh..." Siddharth exhaled, accepting the plate. "That's why she looked so frustrated."

A short, sudden laugh slipped out of Panchhi as she stacked the empty trays. "That could be her resting face as well."

Siddharth shook his head with a faint grin. "So frustration is her default setting?"

"Pretty much," Panchhi replied, lifting the trays. "Especially when she's sick."

Siddharth's smile lingered for a second before fading into something quieter, thoughtful. "She should rest," he said softly.

Panchhi nodded. "She will. I'll keep checking on her."

Her eyes swept over the room one last time, checking every glass, every plate, every small sign that the guests were settled. Then, satisfied, she dipped her head slightly and slipped out after her sister.

A/N: Yeah... the first meeting happened. Let me know-was it enjoyable or boring?