Three Years Later

Time: 3:56 A.M.

Location: Mumbai

Status: Raining.

The kitchen light flickered above him like it, too, hated being awake at this ungodly hour.

Aryan stood shirtless, hair a mess, eyes half-closed, holding a bowl that could only be described as criminal.

Vanilla ice cream.

Drenched in honey.

Topped with… Gems.

GEMS.

The candy. Not diamonds.

He stared at the bowl, disgust written all over his sleep-deprived face.

“This is disturbing,” he muttered to no one in particular, pouring just a little more honey with the elegance of a man who had accepted defeat. “This shit should be illegal .”

Still grumbling, he shuffled through the dark hallway, thunder rumbling outside. The rain tapped against the windows like nature itself was laughing at him.

He entered the bedroom, where she sat cross-legged on the bed, glowing and round and smug—six months pregnant and absolutely thriving in her midnight power.

Kiara looked up the moment he walked in and grinned like she hadn’t just summoned him from his precious sleep to make this monstrosity.

“You took forever,” she complained sweetly, snatching the bowl from his hands like a dragon claiming her treasure.

Aryan collapsed face-first onto the bed beside her, groaning into a pillow.

“Because I had to fight my dignity in the kitchen.”

Kiara ignored him, moaning happily around a spoonful of ice cream, honey, and Gems. “Mmm… this is so good.”

He cracked one eye open and glared at her.

“You are literally torturing me.”

She reached over and poked his cheek. “You love me.”

“Yes.”

“And you love this naughty baby girl I’m growing.”

“Yes again.”

She giggled and shoved another spoonful into her mouth, looking far too pleased with herself. A moment passed before she casually looked over at him.

“Oh. I forgot. I also want mango pickle.”

Aryan’s eyes flew open.

“WhAT?"

She gave him the most innocent smile in existence. “Pickle. Mango. Spicy. Now.”

“I just—I made you dessert disgust, woman! At 4 A.M.!”

“3:56,” she corrected cheerfully.

He threw the pillow over his head. “Kill me. Just kill me now.”

“You’re the one who put a baby in me.”

"Arghh" He groaned in tiredness

She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Please, Aryan? For your daughter and her mother?”

That got him.

He sat up, dead inside. “Fine. But if I see you mixing the pickle with the ice cream, I’m throwing up.”

As he left the room again, muttering about lawyers and his dignity being buried somewhere in the kitchen sink, Kiara smiled, rubbing her belly lovingly.

“Your daddy’s dramatic,” she whispered to her bump. “But we’ll keep him.”

Thunder cracked again outside, and in the distance, the sound of a cabinet slamming open echoed through the flat.

“WHERE THE HELL IS THE DAMN PICKLE?!”

“BOTTOM SHELF, LEFT SIDE!” she yelled back, laughing.

She took another bite of her midnight mess and sighed.

Marriage?

Still spicy.

Still chaotic.

Still perfect.

I will miss this journey with you all.

The End