~THE LUSCIOUS AFFECTION~

The bed was a haven of comfort and coziness, enveloping me in its softness and warmth. I felt my eyelids growing heavy, and before I knew it, I had drifted off into a deep and restful sleep. The stresses and anxieties of the evening seemed to melt away as I surrendered to the bed's comforting embrace.

As I slowly opened my eyes, a frown formed on my forehead. The bed didn’t feel the same as last night — it was harder, slightly uncomfortable. Confused, I glanced down… only to realize I was lying on top of Mr. Agnihotri.

"Ahhh... Mr. Agnihotri! What are you doing? Why am I sleeping on you? Oh my god, oh my god... sorry," I stuttered in panic, scrambling to get off him.

(Yeh Greek god jaise kyun dikh raha hai? Itna handsome hai yaar, par hai toh ek chamgadad hi! Jab dekho tab ghurta rehta hai!)

But before I could move away, his arms circled around me firmly, holding me in place. He chuckled softly, a sound that made my heartbeat skip wildly. His face was now just inches from mine, and before I could react, he brushed a feather-light kiss on my forehead — making me freeze on the spot.

"Good morning, my lady," he whispered, his voice low, sending shivers dancing down my spine.

My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. His voice felt like a gentle caress, and I found myself unable to speak properly. "M-morning, good Mr. Agnihotri," I stammered, cheeks burning.

He laughed — a deep, rich sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes in the most heart-fluttering way.
"Morning, good sweetheart," he teased, his tone full of mischief.

(Ohh yeh chamgadad hasta bhi hai! Mujhe toh laga tha isse bas ghurna aata hai!)

Even though he was clearly teasing me, a small involuntary smile played on my lips. There was something about him this morning — a warmth that tugged at my heart.

But then reality hit me like a splash of cold water. I couldn't trust this sudden tenderness. His past behavior, the circumstances that forced us into marriage — everything reminded me to stay cautious.

(Bewakoof jaise uski baaton se mat pighal Pakhi, hamesha yaad rakh kyu shaadi ki thi isse!)

Gathering my resolve, I tried to push him lightly, murmuring, "Mr. Agnihotri, please leave me... it's already late, I need to prepare breakfast."

Instead of listening, he lazily rested his head against my shoulder, his breath teasing my collarbone, sending tiny sparks down my skin. "Let the servants handle it," he mumbled like a stubborn child.

(Yeh chamgadad shaadi karte hi hasna aur zid karna seekh gaya!)

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to smile again. Steeling myself, I explained in a stern yet soft tone, "It's the ritual of pehli rasoi, every girl has to cook the first meal in her sasural. It's tradition, Mr. Agnihotri."

I hoped the word 'tradition' would snap him back to reason, but looking into his amused, glittering eyes, I knew reasoning with this man was almost impossible when he was in this mood.

I could hardly believe that the same Saransh Agnihotri, the ruthless businessman who struck terror in boardrooms, was now clinging to me like a mischievous boy refusing to let go.

If anyone from the business world saw him like this... no one would believe me.

Finally — mercifully — he let go, giving me a look that made my stomach flutter dangerously. Just when I thought I could finally breathe, he picked me up bridal style, making me squeal in surprise.

"Put me down! Let me go!" I protested, wriggling like a trapped kitten.

He chuckled, holding me tighter. "Biwi, don't struggle or I'll drop you," he teased, his tone light but carrying a warning that made me stop moving instantly, glaring at him instead.

(Mann toh karta hai isse bhooke sher ke aage daal doon!)

He carried me all the way to the bathroom and gently placed me down, leaving me standing there, wide-eyed and flustered.

As I brushed my teeth, sneaking glances at him through the mirror, I couldn't help but feel the strange tenderness between us — like something delicate and new was blooming.

We shared the bathroom space quietly. He took a shower behind the glass partition while I soaked in the warm tub, separated yet comforted by the invisible thread tying us together.

(Ek glass wall humare beech hai, par dil toh jaise uss taraf bhaag raha hai...)

Once he finished his shower, he gave me a small, meaningful smile before stepping out, leaving me to dress in peace.

I chose a soft kurti and pajama, adorned myself with bangles, carefully applied my sindoor, and draped my mangalsutra around my neck — each little ritual anchoring me into this strange, beautiful, uncertain new reality.

Looking at my reflection, I saw not just a girl anymore — but a wife, an Indian bahu. A role I never thought I would embrace this soon... and yet here I was, standing tall, ready to take on whatever life had written for me.

I tucked away the bitter memories of the past and walked towards the kitchen — ready to start my first day, my pehli rasoi, and face the world alongside the maddening, infuriating, yet strangely endearing man who was now my husband.

I stood in the kitchen, lost in thought as I tried to decide what to cook for breakfast. But my reverie was shattered when I heard a feminine voice calling out to Saransh....

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