(Cast)

Jasprit Bumrah (Jassi) A cool father, ready to do anything for his son only, Dada, silent seeker.

Bhuvenshwar Kumar (Bhuvi) A single hander who still honds onto the weight of his love, Papa, the best parent.

Angad Bumrah (Angad) Their only reason to be together, Dada’s favourite, Papa’s little munchkin.

Short story!! 

Loved this ship after writing a oneshot about them 🤭❤️ so yeah here we go, you'll enjoy it.

# (01) 

2:06 AM – The Apartment

The front door slammed against the wall with a thud, startling Bhuvi where he sat in the dim light of the kitchen.

Keys clattered to the floor. Jassi entered, unsteady, the collar of his shirt stained with sweat and the stale scent of alcohol heavy in the air.

"You're drunk," Bhuvi said quietly, rising to his feet.

Jassi didn't even look at him. "Wow. Brilliant observation, Sherlock."

"You said you'd be back by eleven."

Jassi gave a bitter laugh. "And you still waited. That's cute." His tone dripped sarcasm, his gaze finally meeting Bhuvi's with a kind of bored disdain. "Trying to play the perfect little husband now, are we?"

Bhuvi's throat tightened. "I was worried."

"For what?" Jassi snapped, kicking off his shoes. "That I'd pass out in a gutter? Please. I'm not your responsibility, Bhuvaneshwar. We're married on paper, not in real life."

"I know that," Bhuvi said softly, hurt flickering in his eyes. "But we still live together. I thought you might at least respect that."

Jassi scoffed. "Respect? Don't talk to me about respect when you walk around this house like you're owed something. I didn't ask for this marriage. You didn't either. So let's stop pretending, alright?"

Bhuvi's voice trembled. "I'm not pretending. I'm just trying to make things livable."

Jassi's expression turned stone cold. "You don't have to try. Just stay out of my way. That's all I ask."

Silence fell. Heavy. Suffocating.

Bhuvi stepped back, blinking hard. "I'll sleep in the other room tonight."

"You should always sleep in the other room," Jassi muttered as he walked past, heading straight for the bedroom without even a glance.

Bhuvi had just turned off the lights in the guest room when the door creaked open.

The smell of alcohol hit him again, stronger now.

Jassi.

He leaned in the doorway, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess, eyes dark with something that wasn't just drunkenness. Lust? Frustration? Something uglier?

Bhuvi was curled up under the thin blanket, the chill of the night matching the emptiness in his chest. The echo of Jassi's cruel words still lingered in the air, sharp as broken glass.

Then—the doorknob turned.

Jassi stepped in, slow and silent. His eyes were glassy, but focused now, locked on Bhuvi. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

"What are you—?"

Before Bhuvi could finish, Jassi was already kneeling by the bed. His fingers brushed Bhuvi's face, calloused and slightly trembling.

"You hate me," Bhuvi said softly.

"No," Jassi whispered, voice hoarse. "I don't feel anything."

A lie. A cruel one.

He leaned in, pressing his lips against Bhuvi's—hot, hungry, demanding. Bhuvi stiffened, caught off guard, but the weight of months of tension dragged him under.

The kiss deepened. Jassi's hands moved, rough at first, trailing down Bhuvi's sides, desperate, searching. His touches weren't careful. They weren't loving. They were possessive—as if trying to claim something he didn't even want to admit he craved.

Their breaths grew heavier.

Clothes fell away, layer by layer, as if each one peeled back a piece of the restraint they had built between them. Bhuvi gasped as Jassi's mouth found the curve of his neck, marking it with heat and carelessness.

There was no softness in it. No whispered confessions or romantic pretense.

Just skin against skin.

Bodies tangled in silence, broken only by low moans and gasps that neither of them would speak of in the morning. Jassi moved like a man trying to forget something—someone. And Bhuvi gave in, not because he felt loved, but because this—this fleeting intensity—was better than the cold silence between them.

Fingers gripped. Lips searched. The heat between them rose until it swallowed everything else.

And then... stillness.

Jassi lay beside him, chest rising and falling with exhaustion, his back already turned.

Bhuvi stared at the ceiling, his heart full of questions that would never be answered.

The Morning After.

The morning sun crept in through the half-drawn curtains, casting pale light across the sheets—tangled, wrinkled, and heavy with the scent of last night.

Bhuvi stirred first.

His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light. For a moment, he didn't move. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the weight of what had happened sink in. The silence was louder now. Too loud.

He turned his head.

Jassi was already up.

Dressed. Composed. Back in his usual crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, tie half-knotted around his neck. Not a single trace of vulnerability remained in his posture, as if the night before had been wiped clean from his memory.

Bhuvi's voice came out hoarse. "You're leaving?"

Jassi didn't turn around. He adjusted his cuff and said casually, "Got a meeting at ten."

Bhuvi sat up slowly, the sheet slipping off his bare chest. "About last night..."

"Don't," Jassi cut in, sharp and dismissive. He grabbed his watch from the dresser. "It didn't mean anything."

Bhuvi swallowed hard. "You came to me. You—"

"I was drunk," Jassi snapped, finally turning. His gaze was flat, unreadable. "It was a mistake. Don't overthink it."

Bhuvi's heart twisted. "So that's it? You'll just act like nothing happened?"

"That's because nothing did," Jassi said, voice as cold as steel. "You're smart, Bhuvaneshwar. Don't make this complicated."

He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed toward the door.

"Jassi..." Bhuvi stood now, bare feet on the cold floor, the sheet clutched at his waist. "You can at least talk to me."

Jassi paused at the door. For one brief second, something flickered in his eyes—guilt? Shame? Or just irritation?

Then it was gone.

"You knew what this marriage was. Don't start hoping for more."

The door closed behind him with a soft but brutal finality.

Bhuvi stood in the empty room, still half-naked, still warm from a night that clearly meant everything to him... and absolutely nothing to the man who left.

That Evening.

The front door clicked open at 8:17 PM.

Jassi stepped in, loosening his tie, sighing at the exhaustion of a long day—his expression already sour, as though walking into this apartment was the final annoyance of the evening.

He kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag by the wall, and looked up.

Bhuvi was lying on the couch.

Still in the same clothes as the morning. Eyes distant. Unmoving. The house was silent. The kitchen untouched. No scent of dinner. No clatter of plates. No warmth.

Jassi frowned. "You're seriously just... lying there?"

Bhuvi didn't respond. He didn't even turn his head.

Jassi's jaw tensed. "What, playing the tragic wife now?"

Still nothing.

Jassi walked toward the couch, voice rising, sharper now. "Let me guess—too heartbroken from last night to boil a damn egg?"

Bhuvi blinked slowly, finally speaking in a flat, lifeless voice. "There's nothing in the fridge."

"There's always something," Jassi snapped. "You're just too busy sulking."

Bhuvi sat up then, moving like his limbs were too heavy. His voice cracked with restrained anger. "You treat me like garbage, and you still expect me to keep everything running? I'm not your maid, Jassi."

"You're right," Jassi hissed. "You're not my maid. You're not anything to me."

The silence that followed that line was suffocating.

Bhuvi's eyes burned, but he refused to look away. "Then why do you keep using me like I am?"

Jassi scoffed and turned his back. "I don't owe you an explanation."

"No. You just owe me basic respect," Bhuvi said quietly.

Jassi stopped in his tracks. But he didn't turn around.

"Respect is earned," he muttered, low and venomous. "Not handed out to people who lie around doing nothing."

Bhuvi stared at his back—tall, cold, unbending. The man who had touched him like he mattered just last night now didn't even have the decency to look him in the eye.

Jassi walked into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

Bhuvi sank back into the couch, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

He didn't cry.But he didn't move either.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of silence that didn't offer peace—only tension.

The bedroom door remained closed. Bhuvi stayed curled up on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. The lights were off, but he didn't care. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but it felt so far away now. Like something he didn't deserve to fix.

He had no energy to move. No desire to cook. No appetite left after being chewed up and spat out emotionally.

In the bedroom, Jassi lay on his side, staring blankly at the wall. His stomach growled once, then again. He pressed his hand to it in irritation, then rolled over in frustration.

He was hungry. But pride was louder.

He wasn't going to ask Bhuvi for food.

He wasn't going to walk out there and risk facing that guilt in Bhuvi's eyes.

So he stayed where he was.

Eyes wide open. Jaw clenched. Shirt still half unbuttoned from hours ago.

Minutes turned into hours.

Bhuvi's eyes fluttered shut, but sleep didn't come. Just the dull ache of being unwanted. Unseen. Unloved.

In the bedroom, Jassi sighed loudly—more out of habit than purpose—and stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts a tangled mess of guilt, frustration, and something dangerously close to shame.

Both of them eventually drifted into shallow sleep.

Both with empty stomachs.

And heavier hearts.

The next morning, the aroma of toasted bread and eggs drifted through the apartment.

Bhuvi stirred on the couch, wincing at the dryness in his throat. His limbs felt like lead, and a wave of nausea swelled in his stomach before he could even sit up.

He stumbled to his feet and rushed to the bathroom.

The sound of retching filled the air.

His stomach was empty, but the sickness was real—violent, relentless, like his body was rejecting everything he had held in the past 24 hours: the hunger, the pain, the way Jassi had touched him and discarded him in the same breath.

When he finally stood up, pale and shaking, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Dark circles. Hollow cheeks. Eyes that had stopped glowing long ago.

From the kitchen, he heard the sound of a plate being set down—casual, indifferent.

By the time Bhuvi stepped out of the bathroom, Jassi was already dressed for work, sleeves crisp, hair styled, his face unreadable as always.

He was finishing the last bite of toast and sipping his coffee, standing by the dining table like nothing was wrong. Like last night didn't exist. Like Bhuvi's dry heaving in the bathroom hadn't just echoed through the walls.

There was only one plate on the table. One coffee mug. No extra toast. Not even a second glance.

Bhuvi leaned against the wall for support.

Jassi finally glanced at him. "You look like hell."

Bhuvi didn't respond. He didn't have the energy.

Jassi checked his watch. "If you're sick, take something. Don't make it worse."

With that, he grabbed his laptop bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed to the door.

No are you okay. No what's wrong. No do you need help.

Just silence.

The door closed behind him. Another quiet exit.

Bhuvi stood alone in the kitchen, the nausea creeping back. But more than that—it was the emptiness gnawing at him. Not just in his stomach, but in his soul.

Something was wrong.

More than just exhaustion.

More than just heartbreak.

He pressed a shaky hand to his stomach, confused... scared.

And alone.

AuthyyG 🧸

(02)

The morning light filters softly through the blinds, casting faint shadows across the quiet room. Bhuvi stands at the counter, his face pale, his hands trembling slightly as he sets down the small, inconspicuous box on the bathroom sink. The words on the box seem to blur together, but he knows exactly what it says.

Pregnancy Test Kit.

He’s been feeling it for days now—the nausea, the dizziness, the strange fatigue. His stomach churns at the thought, and for a moment, he wonders if this is all in his head. He’d been dismissing it as stress, or maybe the late nights. But now, standing here in front of the mirror, holding the test in his hands, there’s no denying it.

What if this is real?

Bhuvi’s fingers brush against the edge of the test. He can’t help but feel a sense of dread creeping up his spine. He thought he knew what his life would be like after marrying Jassi, that it would be focused on business, on their deal. But these days… he’s not so sure anymore. His thoughts are clouded with confusion, uncertainty, and a deep, gnawing fear.

He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to gather the strength to actually use the test.

I have to know.

With a shaky breath, he opens the box, pulls out the test, and proceeds with what he’s tried so hard to ignore. The minutes seem to drag on like an eternity as he waits for the result.

His mind races. What if Jassi finds out? How will he react?

And that question… How did this even happen?

He tries to push it out of his mind, but it’s impossible. The reality of their marriage—built on business and convenience—makes everything feel even more uncertain. What does it mean if he’s actually pregnant? What would Jassi think?

Finally, the result is visible. He stares at it, a mix of emotions flooding through him.

Positive.

His breath catches in his throat. His legs feel like they might give way beneath him.

No… this can’t be happening. Not like this.

Bhuvi grips the edge of the sink, trying to steady himself. He’s terrified. Confused. But above all, he feels completely alone in this moment.

As he stands there, the door to the bathroom opens, and Jassi enters, unaware of the heavy atmosphere. His gaze falls immediately on Bhuvi, who is holding the test, staring down at it as if it’s the only thing in the room.

Jassi doesn’t immediately speak. He just watches Bhuvi, concern rising in his eyes as the tension in the air thickens.

“What’s going on, Bhuvi?” Jassi asks quietly, his voice barely breaking the silence.

Bhuvi doesn’t answer. He can’t bring himself to. He just lifts the test slowly, offering it to Jassi without a word.

Jassi takes it, his brow furrowing as he looks at the result. His eyes shift back to Bhuvi. A long silence stretches between them.

“Are you… pregnant?” Jassi asks, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Bhuvi nods, unable to speak. The weight of it crashes down on him like a ton of bricks. His heart pounds in his chest, and he feels something in his throat tighten. He’s scared, not just for himself, but for what this means for them—for their deal, for their life together.

Jassi’s expression is unreadable for a moment. He looks down at the test again, then back at Bhuvi, his voice steady, but tinged with disbelief.

“How did this happen?”

Bhuvi swallows hard, his emotions a whirl of confusion. “I don’t know… I don’t even know what to do with this.”

Jassi takes a step closer, his eyes fixed on Bhuvi’s.

“We’ll figure it out. But this… this doesn’t change things.”

And just like that, Bhuvi was pregnant.

To the world, it was a magical thing. A new life, a miracle, a gift that many would cherish without hesitation. But for Bhuvi, it was a twisted mix of emotions. Happiness… and sadness.

He stood in the bathroom, staring at the pregnancy test, the reality of it slowly sinking in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for life, but there was a gnawing unease in his heart. His marriage to Jassi had never been about love or choice—it had been a business arrangement from the start. The weight of that truth pressed down on him even harder now. How was he supposed to raise a child in this environment? How would he be able to navigate this new chapter of their lives when he had no idea what he was doing, when he didn’t even feel fully in control of his own life?

Bhuvi felt a tightness in his chest as he remembered the night he’d gotten drunk—a night that now seemed like a blur, but one he couldn’t forget. Jassi, his hardhusband, had been cold, distant, and yet, something had happened that night. Something he hadn’t planned for.

The sound of Jassi’s voice broke his reverie, his tone softer now.

“Bhuvi…” Jassi said again, his eyes not leaving the test in his hands. There was no anger or disappointment in his voice, but something deeper, maybe concern—or perhaps confusion. Jassi wasn’t the type to express vulnerability, and Bhuvi had never seen him in a position where he had to make sense of something like this.

“I didn’t want this to happen,” Bhuvi finally whispered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I expected, but… not this.”

Jassi looked at him, the hardness in his eyes softening for the briefest moment. “You don’t have to do this alone, Bhuvi.”

But those words didn’t bring the comfort he thought they would. Instead, they felt like an obligation, a reminder that they were bound by a contract, not love. That this baby… this life growing inside him, was just another thing that tied them together in a way he couldn’t escape.

And while Jassi’s offer of support was there, the real question in Bhuvi’s heart remained unanswered: What happens now?

This baby—this symbol of a future neither of them had asked for—would change everything. It would force them to confront what they had built together, what they had allowed to happen without truly looking at each other.

And as he stood there in the bathroom, watching the test still in Jassi’s hand, Bhuvi felt a mix of conflicting emotions flooding his chest. He didn’t know what the future held. He didn’t even know if he wanted this baby, or if he was ready to become a father. But deep down, he couldn’t ignore the strange flicker of hope that tugged at him, a small, delicate feeling that maybe… just maybe, this could be something different.

A new beginning. Even if it was all wrong.

The hospital room was bright, sterile, filled with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the dull murmur of machines. But all Bhuvi could hear was the scream in his own throat and the deafening rhythm of his heart.

Pain tore through him in waves, and with every contraction, his fingers clenched the edge of the hospital bed, knuckles white, sweat soaking his hair. Nurses moved quickly around him, their words blurred. The doctor's voice came through like a distant echo.

"Almost there, Bhuvneshwar. Just a little more—push!"

His body ached, his mind foggy, and yet his thoughts went only to one person—Jassi.

Where the hell is he?

But there was no time to think. The pain surged again, and he cried out, vision blurring. And then—suddenly—a cry, not his. A tiny, raw, trembling sound that pierced the room.

His baby.

Bhuvi collapsed back against the bed, exhausted, eyes fluttering closed as the nurse held up a small, red, wiggling newborn. A boy. His son.

Tears rolled down Bhuvi's face—not from pain now, but something deeper. Something terrifying and beautiful all at once.

And then the door burst open.

Jassi.

Disheveled, breathing hard, hair a mess. His eyes darted wildly, searching, until they landed on Bhuvi—and then on the tiny baby cradled in the nurse's arms.

Time froze.

Jassi didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stared. His chest rose and fell in silence, eyes wide with something unspoken.

The nurse looked at him and asked gently, "Would you like to hold your son?"

He took slow, hesitant steps forward, as if the moment might shatter if he moved too fast. He reached out—rough, calloused hands trembling—and took the baby in his arms.

The baby squirmed a little, let out a sleepy whimper... and then settled.

Jassi's eyes filled, just slightly. He blinked quickly, jaw clenched.

He hadn't expected to feel anything. Not like this. Not something so immediate, so uncontrollable. But the second his arms wrapped around that tiny, warm body, something cracked open inside him.

His cold, stone walls—the ones he built around his heart for years, the ones that kept him detached from Bhuvi, from this marriage, from himself—they didn't stand a chance.

And in that instant, Jassi knew.

He was in love—with the tiny baby in his arms, his son. His son.

And then his eyes slowly lifted to Bhuvi. Exhausted, pale, bruised from the ordeal—but alive, strong, and watching him with guarded eyes.

Jassi swallowed hard, walking over and sitting beside the bed, still holding the baby close.

He looked at Bhuvi, voice thick. "You did this... all alone?"

Bhuvi didn't answer. He just looked away, lips pressed tightly.

Jassi leaned forward slightly, lowering his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've been here. I wasn't... and I'll never forgive myself for that."

There was a long silence between them, but this time, it wasn't heavy. It was full. Of something new. Something fragile.

Bhuvi glanced down at the baby again, then back at Jassi. "He looks like me?," Jassi asked softly.

And in that moment, for the first time since their marriage began, He felt like a father.

A few days had passed since the night their lives changed forever.

The hospital stay felt like a blur — a whirlwind of doctors, soft baby cries, and restless nights. But now, back at home, things had settled into an odd kind of stillness. Peaceful… but delicate.

Bhuvi lay curled on the bed, bundled in a loose cotton robe, a small blanket wrapped around the tiny form of their newborn son resting on his chest. The baby’s warm, rhythmic breathing calmed him — a feeling he couldn’t describe, equal parts exhaustion and love. His body was still sore, healing, but he didn’t mind. Every little sound his son made, every tiny movement, felt like a miracle.

He looked down at the baby and whispered softly, “You don’t even know what you’ve done to me…”

In the quiet of the house, it was easy to forget the world outside — but not the man who lived just down the hall.

Jassi.

In these past few days, he hadn’t said much. He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t been cold in the way Bhuvi was used to. In fact, he hadn’t been anything really — just distant. Present, but emotionally unreachable. Like he was watching from the edges of a glass wall only he could see through.

He’d check in silently, sometimes peeking into the room when he thought Bhuvi was asleep. Once, Bhuvi even caught him in the early morning hours standing near the crib, staring at the baby, completely unaware of anything else.

But he never stayed long. He didn’t say tender things. He didn’t hold Bhuvi’s hand or ask him how he was doing.

He still played his cold role to perfection.

Yet… Bhuvi noticed the quiet changes. How the nursery had been rearranged overnight with everything in its perfect place. How the fridge was stocked with his favorite postnatal snacks, without him ever asking. How someone — someone with Jassi’s handwriting — had added emergency baby care numbers to the fridge in case Bhuvi needed them.

Jassi didn’t ask questions. He didn’t smile. But he was trying — in his own way.

One afternoon, as Bhuvi struggled to soothe the baby after a particularly loud crying spell, he heard a faint knock on the door. He turned, and there was Jassi, standing awkwardly at the threshold, hands in his pockets.

“Need help?” he asked, voice low.

Bhuvi looked at him, uncertain. This wasn’t the Jassi who barked orders or walked past him without a glance. This was someone else — or maybe the same Jassi, just letting pieces of himself show now.

Reluctantly, Bhuvi nodded. “He won’t stop crying.”

Jassi walked in slowly and sat beside them. His movements were careful, deliberate. He reached out, hesitated, then gently touched the baby’s back with his large palm, offering a kind of stillness that Bhuvi hadn’t expected.

The baby calmed… almost instantly.

Bhuvi’s eyes widened, shocked. “How did you—?”

Jassi shrugged. “I watched the nurse do it at the hospital.”

A pause. Then, quietly, “I’ve been reading.”

Bhuvi blinked. He wanted to ask why? But he already knew. The change might be slow. It might be wrapped in silence and hidden beneath layers of pride and regret. But it was happening.

Jassi looked down at the now-sleeping baby, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s small… but he feels like the only thing that’s real.”

Bhuvi didn’t say anything.

He just watched the man beside him — the cold husband, the distant partner — begin to melt, one quiet moment.

Naming ceremony

The house was buzzing softly with the hum of family chatter, traditional music playing in the background, and the aroma of sandalwood and sweets hanging in the air. The living room was adorned with flowers — warm shades of marigold and jasmine trailing around the pillars. It was their son's naming ceremony.

Bhuvi had dressed with care that morning. A soft cream kurta, minimal jewelry, hair neatly parted. He'd barely slept the night before — still healing, still tired — but today mattered. He wanted to look like a father. A partner. Maybe... a husband.

He'd watched the guests arrive one by one. Most had greeted Jassi with respect, some even with admiration. Bhuvi had stood beside him, clutching their baby close to his chest, heart fluttering nervously.

He tried to close the space between them.

A soft smile, a touch on the arm, an effort to mirror the way other couples around them stood — united, side by side.

But Jassi didn't move closer. Didn't glance his way. He was polite in public, careful, composed. But emotionally? Vacant.

When the priest called them forward to whisper the baby's name, Bhuvi hesitated. But Jassi stepped ahead, voice calm and clear as he murmured the name they'd loosely discussed:

"Angad Bumrah." 

The guests clapped. Sweet laughter filled the air.

Bhuvi forced a smile, eyes stinging. The name was beautiful. Their son was perfect. But the distance between him and Jassi — in that one moment — felt unbearable.

Later that evening, after everyone had left, and the house was quiet again, Bhuvi tried once more. He walked slowly into the hallway where Jassi stood alone, his back turned, arms crossed as he looked out the window.

"You did well today," Bhuvi said gently. "You looked like a real father."

Jassi didn't respond.

Bhuvi took a breath, stepping closer. "I was thinking... maybe we could try to be a real family. Not just for Angad's sake, but for us too. You and me."

That's when Jassi turned, eyes cold, voice sharp despite its quiet tone.

"Don't mistake anything I've done for something it's not, Bhuvi."

Bhuvi's lips parted, heart sinking.

Jassi continued, firm, unyielding: "I care about him. My son. That's it. I'm trying to be a good father. Not a good husband. We had a deal — and that's all we have. Don't look for things that were never there."

The words landed like glass shards in Bhuvi's chest. He stared at Jassi, unable to speak. The warmth he'd clung to these past days — the quiet gestures, the presence — all of it meant nothing to Jassi.

"I see," Bhuvi whispered, blinking back tears.

He turned away before Jassi could see the first one fall.

That night, Bhuvi didn't eat. He curled up in bed alone with Angad sleeping beside him, his stomach aching — not from hunger, but from grief. He didn't cry loudly. Just silently, the way you do when no one's watching... because no one cares.

He stroked his son's cheek gently, whispering brokenly into the dark, "At least I have you," 

AuthyyG 🧸

(03)

It was midnight by now, The house was still, cloaked in shadows and silence. Only the soft whirr of the ceiling fan and the occasional creak of wood could be heard… until a sudden, sharp cry broke through the quiet.

Angad.

The baby’s wailing pierced the night air, loud and desperate. From the nursery, it continued — high-pitched, panicked, as if something was wrong.

Jassi stirred awake in his room, frowning. He waited for a minute, then two. Normally, Bhuvi would have calmed the baby by now.

But the crying didn’t stop.

He threw off the blanket and rushed down the hallway, heart pounding for reasons he didn’t yet understand.

As he burst into the nursery, the sight that met him made his blood run cold.

Bhuvi was slumped on the side of the crib, his body leaning awkwardly against the rail, one hand dangling loosely over the edge. His robe was slightly parted, showing that he’d been feeding Angad — trying to, even through his exhaustion.

The baby was still crying, flailing his little fists in distress.

And Bhuvi? Unmoving.

“Bhuvi!” Jassi shouted, panic seizing his chest as he rushed forward.

He dropped to his knees beside him, shaking his shoulder gently at first, then harder. “Bhuvi, wake up! What the hell— Bhuvi!”

There was a faint groan, barely audible. Jassi’s eyes scanned his face — pale, lips dry, body drenched in a light layer of sweat. Dehydrated. Exhausted. Starving.

And suddenly, it hit him.

Bhuvi hadn’t eaten since the naming ceremony. He hadn’t slept properly. He had been healing from childbirth and still putting everything into caring for their son — while Jassi had stood by, watching from the sidelines, mistaking his own silence for strength and detachment for balance.

Jassi swallowed hard, gathering Bhuvi gently into his arms, his voice trembling now.

“Why didn’t you tell me… why didn’t I see this sooner…”

Angad continued to cry, and Jassi quickly scooped the baby into his arm while supporting Bhuvi with the other. He sat on the nursery chair, holding both — one protectively cradled against his chest, the other leaned against his shoulder.

And for the first time, Jassi felt helpless.

He’d built a wall so high around himself that he hadn’t noticed the one person who needed him most was collapsing right in front of him.

The minutes passed. The baby finally began to calm, sensing his father’s touch. And in the quiet that followed, Jassi gently pressed his forehead to Bhuvi’s, whispering:

“You didn’t deserve this…”

Not the loneliness.

Not the rejection.

Not the silent burden of parenting alone.

He looked down at Bhuvi again, breathing slowly now in his sleep, and something inside Jassi broke — the cold armor he’d worn for so long cracking under the weight of guilt, love, and a growing ache to be more than just a father.

He wanted to be there — really there. Not just for Angad. But for his family.

The first golden rays of morning slipped gently through the nursery curtains, casting a soft glow over the sleeping figures in the room.

Bhuvi lay curled on the bed near the crib, still recovering from last night's collapse. His breathing was slow, even, and his body still clung to the warmth of sleep. Angad, nestled in his bassinet, stirred just a little, a soft sigh escaping his tiny lips.

But Jassi was already awake.

He sat beside the crib, eyes heavy, elbow resting on his knee as he watched his son sleep. Then, his gaze shifted to Bhuvi. His forehead creased — with worry, maybe guilt. Or something deeper he couldn't name.

He stood up quietly, the wooden floor creaking beneath his steps. For a second, he looked back — just one long look at the sleeping pair.

And then... he left.

But unlike other mornings, he didn't go to his office. He didn't lock himself behind the cold walls of routine.

Instead, he found himself in the kitchen.

It felt foreign — the polished marble counters, the unfamiliar weight of utensils, the smell of ingredients he never really cared about. But his hands moved steadily.

He made porridge, soft and warm, gently flavored with cardamom and jaggery — exactly the way Bhuvi liked it. Then he cut some fruit, placed it neatly beside a flask of warm herbal tea. He packed it all onto a tray, and after a beat of hesitation, scribbled something on a small piece of paper.

Just a few words.

No decoration. No affection. Just... care, wrapped in Jassi's usual bluntness.

Eat well. And feed my son. – J.

He placed the note carefully on the tray, then walked back toward the nursery. He didn't go in. Just left the tray on the table outside the door... and left again without a sound.

Scene: Later that morning

The aroma of food stirred Bhuvi awake.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, body still aching, but there was something warm in the air — something gentle. He looked over and saw Angad still asleep. But Jassi? Nowhere.

As he sat up, confused, he caught sight of the tray.

Carefully arranged. Warm. Waiting for him.

And the note.

He read it once. Then again. And something in his chest twisted.

Eat well. And feed my son.

No "take care." No "I'm sorry." But it was something. Maybe the first real thing Jassi had done just for him.

Bhuvi pressed the paper against his lips for a second, trying not to cry. He didn't know what this meant. He didn't know if Jassi even understood what he was doing. But for now, this quiet gesture — this small sliver of kindness — was enough to carry him through the day.

And maybe... just maybe... it was the beginning of something real.

Evening – Living Room

The house was wrapped in a calm stillness, broken only by the faint sounds of the city outside and the soft rhythm of a baby suckling.

Bhuvi sat on the couch, his back propped against a cushion, his shirt lifted up just enough for Angad to latch, Angad was nestled in his arms, nursing peacefully. The room was dimly lit — cozy, golden. A bubble of quiet intimacy that felt sacred.

The front door clicked open.

Jassi stepped inside, briefcase in one hand, tie loosened. He paused, mid-step, eyes drawn instantly to the couch.

There they were.

His son… and Bhuvi.

A picture of warmth he wasn’t part of, but couldn’t look away from.

Bhuvi didn’t notice him at first — his eyes were on Angad, his hand gently stroking the baby’s back, his expression tired but soft, peaceful. He looked… safe. Like a parent. Like home.

Jassi stood there longer than he intended. Something heavy moved in his chest. An ache. A question. Maybe even a longing.

But he said nothing.

He just watched — eyes lingering for one extra heartbeat too long — before stepping inside and quietly placing his keys on the shelf.

That slight noise made Bhuvi glance up. Their eyes met.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Jassi cleared his throat, looking away. “He’s… quiet tonight.”

Bhuvi gave a faint smile, nodding. “He had a good nap. And… I ate well today.”

There was a flicker in Jassi’s eyes at that — like he wanted to say something more, maybe about the food, maybe the note. But he didn’t.

Instead, he walked past them, heading toward his room. But just before disappearing around the corner, he looked back again — not at Bhuvi this time, but at Angad, still safely nestled in his papa’s arms.

And something inside him whispered:

Why does it feel like I’m always standing on the outside?

Dinner time 

The dining table was set for two, just like it had always been since Bhuvi moved into this house. Two plates, two glasses of water, a warm bowl of dal, some rice, and soft rotis wrapped in cloth.

Bhuvi sat quietly, eating slowly. Across from him, Jassi did the same. Their eyes met only once — a fleeting glance that darted away just as quickly. The only sounds in the room were the gentle clinks of cutlery and Angad's occasional babble from his bassinet nearby.

Neither of them spoke.

Not about the food.

Not about the day.

Not about the moment last night that nearly changed everything.

The silence wasn't cold. But it wasn't warm either. It was something in between — heavy, uncertain.

When dinner was done, Bhuvi quietly stood up and began gathering the plates, but Jassi stopped him with a rare gesture — reaching out and taking one from his hand.

"I'll do it," Jassi muttered, not looking at him.

Bhuvi blinked, surprised. But he let him take the plate and stepped back. "Okay..."

Scene: Later That Night – Living Room

Bhuvi walked out of the bedroom, towel slung over his shoulder after a warm bath. His hair was slightly damp, his clothes hugged loose. The lights in the living room were dimmed, the curtains drawn — a peaceful, late-night glow hugging the room.

And that's when he saw them.

Jassi, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Angad, in his lap, chubby hands reaching up to grab at his father's nose, his little giggles echoing like tiny bells.

Jassi was smiling.

Not the cold, business-like smirk Bhuvi had seen so often.

But a real one.

A father's smile. Soft. Unpolished. Unaware. The kind of smile that came only when your heart was full — and you didn't even know it.

Bhuvi stood still, hidden slightly behind the wall.

He watched as Jassi let Angad tug on his cheeks, making exaggerated faces just to hear his son laugh again and again. The laughter was infectious. The kind that filled a home, filled hearts.

For a second, Bhuvi almost stepped forward.

But he didn't.

Instead, he leaned gently against the wall, watching them... a bittersweet expression playing on his lips.

This was everything he'd dreamed of.

A family.

A home.

But still... he was the one on the outside now.

His eyes softened as he murmured quietly to himself:

"You're so good with him... if only you knew how to love me too."

Weeks passed, and things between Bhuvi and Jassi had stayed the same—distant and cold. Jassi remained as if his feelings were still locked away, untouched by the growing tension in their marriage. Bhuvi had stopped trying to break through, accepting that perhaps this was the way things would be.

There were moments, though, when Bhuvi would catch Jassi’s gaze for a second too long, or when Angad’s laughter echoed through their home, and he’d wonder if things could have been different. But that was fleeting—like a dream that faded when he opened his eyes.

Life continued on, and Bhuvi focused all his energy on Angad. He tried to ignore the ache in his chest, hoping that the joy of fatherhood would drown out the silence that hung between him and Jassi.

But then, a new worry crept in. One evening, as Bhuvi was feeding Angad, he noticed the baby had trouble latching properly. Angad’s cries were louder than usual, and he seemed frustrated, his little hands pulling at the bottle.

Bhuvi’s heart sank. Is something wrong?

He tried not to panic, but as days passed, it seemed to get worse. Angad seemed unsettled, refusing to latch, crying more often, and not finishing his feeds. Bhuvi wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he knew something had to be wrong.

One night, after another sleepless evening, Bhuvi made up his mind. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to get Angad checked by a specialist.

A few days later, Bhuvi found himself walking into Dr. Amraan’s clinic. The tall, clean-shaven doctorin his late 20’s greeted him with a warm smile, his youthful energy bringing a sense of calm to Bhuvi’s frazzled nerves.

“Mr. Kumar! It’s good to see you again. How’s little Angad doing?” Dr. Amraan asked as he led Bhuvi into the consultation room.

Bhuvi adjusted Angad in his arms, the baby still restless as he tugged at the fabric of Bhuvi’s shirt. “He’s… been having some issues with feeding lately,” Bhuvi said, his voice low, tinged with worry. “I’m not sure if it’s latching or something else, but he’s been struggling to latch properly. He cries a lot and seems hungry even after a feed.”

Dr. Amraan nodded thoughtfully, motioning for Bhuvi to sit in the chair across from him. “Let’s take a look at him and see what’s going on. It could be something minor, or it could be a sign of a latch issue or discomfort that needs attention.”

Bhuvi carefully placed Angad on the examination table, watching as Dr. Amraan gently checked the baby’s mouth, his hands steady and experienced.

“Hmm,” Dr. Amraan murmured, his brow furrowed slightly. “There does seem to be a slight issue with his latch. It could be a mild condition, like a tongue-tie, or maybe a problem with his gums. But we’ll need to do a few more tests to be sure.”

Bhuvi’s heart clenched as he listened, his mind racing with questions. What if it’s something serious? What if I’ve missed something?

Dr. Amraan continued, “I know this can be concerning, but don’t worry—we’ll figure this out. Angad’s healthy overall, and this is something we can work through.”

Bhuvi nodded, feeling a small sense of relief despite the anxiety still gripping him. “Thank you, Dr. Amraan. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Dr. Amraan smiled reassuringly. “You’re doing the right thing by bringing him in. Parenthood isn’t easy, but you’re doing your best for him.”

AuthyyG
🧸

# (04)

Later that night, as Bhuvi sat on the couch, his phone buzzed beside him. He glanced at the screen—Dr. Amraan's name flashed across the display. The message was brief but enough to make Bhuvi's heart skip a beat:

"Hi Bhuvi, I've reviewed Angad's results, and it looks like there's a mild tongue-tie. Nothing serious, but I recommend we proceed with a small procedure to correct it. Let me know if you want to discuss this further."

Bhuvi stared at the message for a long moment, his mind racing with thoughts. A tongue-tie? It wasn't anything life-threatening, but the thought of a procedure for his son made him feel uneasy. He quickly tapped out a reply:

"Thanks for the update, Dr. Amraan. I'll call you tomorrow to discuss the next steps."

As Bhuvi sent the message, he felt a strange sense of relief. He appreciated Dr. Amraan's professionalism and reassurance, but there was still a lingering worry he couldn't shake.

He placed his phone down on the table and tried to focus on the TV, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Angad.

The soft glow of the phone's screen caught Jassi's attention from across the room. He was sitting in his usual chair, a glass of water in hand, watching Bhuvi in silence. Jassi's eyes flickered for a moment, then narrowed as he watched Bhuvi pick up the phone again, his fingers pausing just before texting back.

Bhuvi didn't notice Jassi's gaze; he was too absorbed in his own thoughts, too caught up in the worry for his son. But something had changed in him, something Jassi could sense. He saw the subtle shift in Bhuvi's face—the tightness around his eyes relaxing just slightly, the way his lips pressed together before they softened. It wasn't the usual detached Bhuvi who kept his emotions at bay. This was someone who was... relieved, maybe even comforted by the conversation.

Jassi's brow furrowed, his curiosity piqued. There was something about the way Bhuvi had reacted to that text that caught his attention. Why the sudden shift?

As Bhuvi set the phone back down, he looked up, sensing Jassi's stare.

"Something on your mind?" Bhuvi asked, his voice a little more guarded than usual.

Jassi didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood up, walking over to where Bhuvi was sitting. The quiet in the room felt heavy.

"No," Jassi finally said, his tone flat. But his eyes didn't leave Bhuvi's face. 

Bhuvi stiffened slightly, but only for a second. He spoke. "Just checking on Angad's health. Nothing to worry about."

Jassi didn''t know about Angad's latching issue and thus he was confused about what Bhuvi exactly meant about Angad's health "huh?" Jassi asked "ohh its just Angad has some latching issues which makes it tough for him to feed on me". 

There was something in the air now—an unspoken question that lingered between them, one that neither of them wanted to address. But they were both concerned about their son's health aswell.

The next day, Bhuvi found himself back at Dr. Amraan’s clinic, Angad in his arms once again. The small procedure for his son’s tongue-tie was scheduled, and though Bhuvi had tried to prepare himself, the weight of the situation still pressed on his chest. His mind was clouded with worries about how Angad would handle the procedure, how he would react afterward.

The moment they stepped into the clinic, Angad began to fidget in Bhuvi’s arms, his usual quiet energy replaced with noticeable restlessness. As they entered the consultation room, Angad’s cries started, a soft whimper at first, but it quickly escalated into loud, desperate wails.

Bhuvi’s heart sank. Not again… he thought, struggling to calm his son. He rocked him gently, but the baby’s cries only grew louder, filling the room with a tension that Bhuvi couldn’t escape.

Dr. Amraan, ever calm and composed, approached with a reassuring smile, though Bhuvi could see the concern in his eyes. “It’s alright, Bhuvi. Babies sometimes get nervous before procedures. Let’s take a moment to calm him down first.”

But Angad’s crying didn’t let up. Bhuvi paced the room with him, back and forth, trying to soothe him. The sound was unbearable, a reminder of how helpless Bhuvi felt in moments like these.

Dr. Amraan watched for a moment, then spoke, his voice gentle. “I know this is hard for both of you. How about we step outside for a bit? The fresh air might help calm him down.”

Without waiting for a response, he moved to the door. Bhuvi hesitated for a second, looking down at Angad, whose face was scrunched with distress. He didn’t want to leave the safety of the clinic, but he also wanted to do whatever it took to comfort his son.

With a deep breath, Bhuvi followed Dr. Amraan outside.

They stepped into the park beside the hospital, where the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of children playing helped create a sense of peace. The fresh air hit Bhuvi’s face, and he felt the weight in his chest loosen just a bit. He continued walking with Dr. Amraan, trying to calm Angad’s cries by gently bouncing him in his arms.

“Shh, it’s okay, little one,” Bhuvi murmured softly, glancing up at Dr. Amraan. “He’s never cried like this before.”

Dr. Amraan nodded, his hands in his pockets as they strolled down the path. “It’s normal for babies to react strongly to unfamiliar situations, especially in a clinical setting. They sense the change, the unknown.”

Bhuvi looked down at his son, whose cries were softening now, though his little face still looked red from the outburst. “I just want him to be okay.”

Dr. Amraan stopped walking for a moment, turning to face Bhuvi. “You’re doing a great job, Bhuvi. Parenthood is challenging, especially when you’re dealing with something unexpected like this. But you’re here. You care. And that’s all that matters.”

Bhuvi swallowed hard, blinking away the unexpected surge of emotion. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to feel so vulnerable, but in moments like this, it was impossible to push it all down.

“Thank you,” Bhuvi said quietly, his voice thick. “I just don’t know if I’m enough for him sometimes.”

Dr. Amraan placed a hand on Bhuvi’s shoulder, his expression kind but firm. “You are. You’re doing more than enough. And little Angad, he knows that, even if he can’t say it yet.”

Bhuvi nodded, the words sinking in slowly as he continued to walk with his son in his arms. For the first time in a while, he felt a small, hopeful flicker that perhaps, despite everything, he might be able to get through this.

Jassi was at the training facility, sitting stiffly in a lounge chair, scrolling through his messages when his phone buzzed. A new snap from a teammate, Varun. The caption read:

“Your boy Bhuvi found a new best friend? 😏 Spotted him strolling in the park with that hotshot doc from your area.”

Jassi’s eyebrows drew together instantly. His thumb hovered over the image, and when he tapped it, his entire body tensed.

There was Bhuvi—his husband—walking in the sun-dappled park, Angad in his arms, and beside him, Dr. Amraan: tall, clean-shaven, talking closely with Bhuvi, their faces quietly engaged in a moment of calm, even intimacy. It wasn’t inappropriate, but it was something.

Something Jassi wasn’t part of.

His jaw clenched. Since when did Bhuvi look that… relaxed? Since when did someone else get to witness that look on his face—the one he used to give me before everything went cold?

And just like that, Jassi’s training didn’t matter anymore.

By the time Jassi got home, the house was quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and the occasional coo from the nursery. He walked in slowly, letting the door close behind him, his footsteps muted on the polished floor.

There, in the nursery, was Bhuvi—seated on the edge of the rocking chair, Angad bundled in a soft blue blanket, already asleep after the minor tongue-tie procedure. Bhuvi’s face looked pale, exhausted, and his fingers gently stroked Angad’s forehead as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

He didn’t even look up when Jassi appeared at the doorway.

Jassi’s chest tightened at the sight. He could tell Bhuvi had been through a long day—physically, emotionally, everything. The usual anger boiling in him didn’t quite land. Not yet.

“Is he okay?” Jassi asked quietly, his voice lower than usual.

Bhuvi finally looked up. “Yeah. They did the procedure. He cried a lot, but… he’s sleeping now.”

Jassi stepped closer, hesitating. “Did you go alone?”

Bhuvi nodded absently. “Dr. Amraan helped. Angad wouldn’t stop crying, he helped me calm him down.”

The calm way he said it only stirred something bitter in Jassi’s chest. So now it’s ‘Amraan’, is it? First name basis already?

But he didn’t speak the words aloud. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll take it from here,” Jassi said finally, reaching down to gently lift Angad from Bhuvi’s arms. He placed him in the crib with practiced ease.

Bhuvi gave a short nod and walked out of the room, not saying another word.

That night, well past midnight, Jassi lay awake. The glow of his phone lit the room faintly, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. His thoughts were elsewhere—circling the image, the casual walk, Bhuvi’s softness in someone else’s presence.

He couldn’t bear it anymore.

Quietly, he pushed the sheets aside and got out of bed, walking to where Bhuvi lay on the bed in the guest room—his new routine, ever since the distance between them had grown too wide to ignore.

“Hey,” Jassi said, standing in the doorway.

Bhuvi stirred, eyes barely open. “Hmm?”

Jassi took a breath. “I got a snap today. Of you and Amraan. In the park.”

Silence.

Bhuvi sat up slowly, blinking. “Okay?”

Jassi’s voice turned sharp, but not loud. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bhuvi exhaled, looking tired more than anything else. “Because you’ve made it clear I’m on my own in this. And because I didn’t think you’d care.”

The words landed like a punch. Jassi flinched—not visibly, but enough to feel it under his skin.

“I do care,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter.

“Then maybe you should start acting like it,” Bhuvi replied, meeting his gaze with none of the softness he used to have. “Not just when someone else walks beside me.”

Jassi stood still in the doorway, Bhuvi’s words echoing in his mind like a slap of cold water: “Then maybe you should start acting like it. Not just when someone else walks beside me.”

He didn’t have a response. None that wouldn’t sound hollow.

So he sighed—deep, heavy, and real. The kind of sigh that came not from frustration, but from somewhere deeper… from guilt.

But before either of them could say anything else—

A piercing wail shattered the silence.

Angad’s cry rang out from the nursery—loud, raw, desperate.

Bhuvi shot up immediately, panic flickering in his eyes. “Angad—”

“I’ll go,” Jassi said instinctively, but Bhuvi was already moving.

They both rushed down the hall, reaching the nursery together. Inside, Angad was writhing in his crib, his face red and wet with tears, his tiny fists clenched in distress.

“Shh, baby, we’re here,” Bhuvi whispered as he reached for him, but Jassi stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Bhuvi’s wrist.

“Let me,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Bhuvi hesitated, startled by the sudden change in his tone—but he let go. Slowly, he stepped back and watched as Jassi carefully lifted Angad into his arms. He held him close, rocking him gently, his big hand supporting the baby’s head with surprising tenderness.

“I’ve got him tonight,” Jassi murmured, keeping his eyes on Angad. “You should rest. You’ve done enough.”

Bhuvi blinked, unsure how to respond. It had been so long since Jassi had taken initiative like this… so long since he’d seen this version of him—gentle, present, and quietly responsible.

“I’ll just get his milk,” Bhuvi said softly, almost out of habit.

But Jassi shook his head. “I’ll warm it. You rest, Bhuvi.”

Their eyes met for a brief second—awkward, loaded, but real.

Bhuvi swallowed and gave a small nod before turning to leave the room.

Behind him, he heard Angad’s cries quieting slowly, soothed by the rhythm of his father’s arms. And for the first time in weeks, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone anymore.

AuthyyG
🧸

# (05)

The next morning, sunlight poured gently through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the quiet house. For the first time in weeks, there was a strange stillness—not tense, but peaceful. Bhuvi stirred from the bed, blinking against the soft light. He sat up and instinctively reached for the monitor... only to realize it was silent.

He got up and padded toward the nursery quietly.

The sight that greeted him stopped him cold.

Jassi was asleep in the rocking chair, Angad curled against his chest, both of them breathing in sync. Jassi's head had dropped slightly, his arms protectively around their son. His usual tension was gone—no furrowed brow, no clenched jaw. Just a father holding his child.

Bhuvi stood there for a moment longer, his throat tightening. It was something he'd yearned to see... and now that it was here, it felt almost fragile, like touching it might make it vanish.

He stepped away quietly to let them rest.

Later that morning, Jassi appeared in the kitchen freshly showered, a rare softness in his demeanor. He found Bhuvi preparing a bottle, his expression calmer than the days before.

"I'm taking the day off," Jassi said casually, leaning against the counter.

Bhuvi looked up, surprised. "You are?"

Jassi shrugged. "Thought Angad could use a little full-time dada today. Maybe take him for a walk, feed him, be around for once."

Bhuvi didn't respond right away. Just gave a small, stunned smile and said, "He'd like that."

By mid-morning, the house was unusually light. Jassi and Bhuvi shared short, quiet exchanges as they tended to Angad together. Jassi held him while Bhuvi prepped food. They took turns with the toys, the burping, the silly songs. It wasn't perfect, but it was... something.

Then—the doorbell rang.

Bhuvi paused. "That must be the cleaning service... or groceries."

But when he opened the door, it wasn't either.

It was Dr. Amraan.

Dressed casually in a light jacket and jeans, he smiled warmly, a small gift bag in hand.

"Hope I'm not intruding," he said. "I was nearby for a home visit and thought I'd check in on my favorite little patient."

Bhuvi blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Oh—uh, no, of course not. Come in."

Jassi, hearing voices, walked into the living room—and stopped dead.

His eyes immediately found Amraan, and something sharp flickered through his expression. The softness from earlier evaporated in an instant.

"Oh," Amraan said, pleasantly surprised. "Mr. Bumrah. Didn't know you'd be home today."

Jassi's tone was polite, but cool. "Took the day off."

"Nice," Amraan nodded, then crouched by Angad in his baby chair. "Hey, champ. Heard you were a brave boy yesterday. Thought I'd drop off a little something."

He handed Bhuvi the gift bag—inside was a soft, plush giraffe and a teether toy.

Bhuvi smiled slightly. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to," Amraan replied gently. "He did great. And so did you."

Jassi's jaw twitched.

Bhuvi glanced sideways at him, suddenly sensing the shift in the air. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked, hoping to smooth things over.

Before Amraan could answer, Jassi stepped forward. "Actually, we were just heading out. Taking Angad for a walk."

Bhuvi blinked. That wasn't true—they hadn't planned anything.

Amraan, perceptive as ever, caught the undercurrent but chose not to address it. He smiled again, this time more restrained. "Of course. I won't keep you. Just wanted to say hi."

He turned to Angad and gave a little wave. "See you soon, little warrior."

Then to Bhuvi, a quieter: "Text me if anything comes up."

As the door clicked shut behind him, Bhuvi turned toward Jassi.

"You didn't have to cut that short," he said quietly.

Jassi didn't look at him. "Didn't like the way he looked at you."

Bhuvi let out a short laugh, bitter and tired. "Well, maybe that's because he actually sees me."

Jassi finally met his eyes, something flickering deep in his stare—jealousy, regret, something dangerously close to hurt.

"He's not your husband," Jassi said, low.

"No," Bhuvi replied. "But he acts like one sometimes."

The silence that followed Bhuvi's words was thick, charged, and crackling.

Jassi took a slow step forward, his expression stormy. "So what, Bhuvi? You want me to believe you're suddenly all cozy with a guy you met, what—twice? And now he knows you better than I do?"

Bhuvi's eyes flashed. "Maybe he does. Maybe because he actually listens when I talk. Doesn't look through me like I'm just some burden you were forced to carry."

Jassi laughed, short and bitter. "Forced? You think I was forced to marry you?"

"You said it yourself!" Bhuvi shot back, stepping closer. "You told me this marriage was for your damn image, for your career. You married me because it looked good. Not because you ever gave a shit about me!"

Jassi's voice rose. "That was business—what do you want me to say?! I did what I had to do at the time!"

"And now?" Bhuvi asked, almost trembling. "Now that we have a child. Now that I've stayed through everything—your coldness, your silence, your complete absence. What are you doing now, Jassi?"

Jassi's fists clenched at his sides. "I'm trying. I took today off. I stayed up all night with Angad—"

"You want a medal for that?" Bhuvi snapped. "You did what I've been doing for months without a word of help from you. One night and you think you're a hero?"

"I never said I was a hero!" Jassi barked. "But God, Bhuvi, you don't make it easy! You shut down, walk around like I'm the villain in every damn moment, and then you let some smiling doctor show up and—what—get access to a version of you I haven't seen in months?!"

"You know why he gets that version of me?" Bhuvi said, voice shaking now. "Because he doesn't make me feel small. Because he doesn't leave me wondering what I did wrong every time you walk out of the room without saying a word. Because I don't have to fight for scraps of attention from him!"

Jassi stepped back, wounded in a way he hadn't expected. His voice softened—but the tension was still thick.

"I never wanted you to feel that way."

Bhuvi scoffed. "But you didn't care enough to stop it, did you?"

Their eyes met—two people standing in the middle of a battlefield, both bleeding, both exhausted.

And in the silence that followed, Angad let out a small sound—a sleepy, confused whimper.

They both froze.

Bhuvi's shoulders dropped, his anger quickly replaced with fatigue. "I don't want to fight in front of him," he murmured.

Jassi looked away, jaw clenched. "Neither do I."

But even as they stepped away from the argument, the ache of everything unspoken still hung between them.

Night had fallen. The house was dim and still, save for the soft buzz of the baby monitor on the kitchen counter. Angad had finally drifted off after a long day, and for once, both Jassi and Bhuvi found themselves alone in the quiet.

But not at peace.

Bhuvi was curled on the edge of the couch, arms around his knees, eyes distant and tired. The verbal fight from earlier still echoed between them—unresolved, bitter, and deeply personal.

Jassi stood near the window, one hand resting against the frame as he looked out into the dark. He’d been wrestling with his thoughts all evening, torn between pride and the truth that had been buried under too many mistakes.

He turned slowly and looked at Bhuvi.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

Bhuvi didn’t respond right away. Then, finally, he nodded once, not meeting Jassi’s eyes.

Jassi sat across from him, elbows on his knees. He exhaled hard.

“I know I’ve been a bastard to you,” he started quietly. “And I know tonight was ugly. But I don’t want to keep pretending like I’m not affected. Because I am.”

Bhuvi lifted his eyes slightly, cautious but listening.

“I didn’t marry you for love, that’s true,” Jassi admitted. “I did it for reasons I won’t defend now—but I also didn’t expect that one day, I’d look at you and feel… this.”

Bhuvi stared at him, barely breathing. “Feel what?”

Jassi leaned forward, his voice rougher now, more exposed. “This fear. This jealousy. This frustration that someone else gets to hear you laugh. That I became so cold, so distant, that you found comfort in another man’s presence. And I hate it. Not because of him, but because I let it happen.”

The silence was thick.

“I watched you carry this home, our child, our marriage on your shoulders like you were the only one in it,” Jassi said. “And I didn’t help. I didn’t even speak. I just kept convincing myself it wasn’t supposed to matter.”

Bhuvi’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And does it now?”

Jassi nodded slowly. “Yeah. It does. It matters so damn much it’s choking me.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“I don’t know how to say it right,” Jassi murmured. “But I don’t want you to go to sleep thinking you’re alone anymore. I’m here, Bhuvi. I want to be here. For Angad. For you. Not because I have to. Because I want to.”

Bhuvi’s breath caught. He looked away, blinking quickly. “You can’t just say this and expect everything to fix overnight.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me right now,” Jassi said. “But I needed you to hear it. From me, not from silence.”

Another pause. This one softer.

Then Bhuvi whispered, “I wanted to hear it a long time ago.”

“I know,” Jassi said. “And I’m sorry I didn’t say it when you needed it most.”

They sat there, words lingering in the space between them, heavy but healing.

And slowly—Bhuvi leaned back, exhaling the breath he’d been holding for weeks, letting it all sink in. Not forgiveness yet. Not a fix. But maybe the beginning of something real.

Something they could build—not for image, or duty—but for each other.

Morning light spilled gently through the curtains, warm and golden. The room was still quiet, filled only with the soft, rhythmic hum of the fan overhead and the distant chirping of early birds outside.

Bhuvi stirred first.

He blinked, eyes adjusting slowly, and immediately felt it—the weight, the warmth, the stillness.

His body felt... tightly held.

It took him a second to realize he wasn't alone on the bed.

Jassi's arm was draped across his waist, firm and secure, fingers splayed protectively against his stomach. His chest was pressed up against Bhuvi's back, breathing slow and steady, face buried in the crook of Bhuvi's neck.

Bhuvi froze.

Not out of fear—but surprise. When had he come here? Last night, after that conversation, they hadn't said much else. Bhuvi had quietly gone to bed, expecting the same routine of separation and silence.

But Jassi had come to him.

Not just to sleep beside him. But to hold him.

Tightly. Like he didn't want to let go.

Bhuvi's heart beat a little faster, both soothed and confused by the closeness. The scent of Jassi's skin—warm and familiar—clung to him. His grip wasn't loose or tentative. It was protective, possessive... real.

Bhuvi slowly turned his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Jassi's face.

Still asleep, his features were relaxed in a way Bhuvi rarely saw. The harsh lines around his mouth had softened. His jaw was slack. He looked peaceful, almost boyish.

A part of Bhuvi wanted to stay still—forever, if possible.

But another part, smaller, still guarded, whispered not to fall too easily.

Still... he didn't move.

Instead, he gently brought his hand up and laid it over Jassi's, feeling the warmth of their palms together. He closed his eyes and let himself breathe.

Maybe nothing was certain. Maybe there was still hurt between them.

But in that moment, in the quiet of morning, Jassi was holding him like he never wanted to lose him again.

And for now, that was enough.

AuthyyG 🧸

(06)

Bhuvi was still half-awake when he felt a subtle shift behind him—a slow inhale, a faint stretch.

Jassi stirred.

His grip around Bhuvi loosened slightly, and a quiet sigh escaped his lips as he blinked himself into consciousness. His eyes opened just enough to take in the way Bhuvi’s hand still rested over his.

And the fact that Bhuvi hadn’t moved away.

That was what made Jassi pause—softly surprised, even a little relieved.

He tilted his head slightly, cheek brushing against Bhuvi’s shoulder. And for a long second, he just watched the soft morning light paint shadows along the curve of Bhuvi’s neck.

Then—he smiled. Small. Sleepy. Sincere.

Gently, almost like he was scared of breaking something fragile, he started to pull his arm back. But before letting go completely, he leaned in just a little closer.

“Sorry,” he whispered, barely audible, his breath warm against Bhuvi’s skin. Just for holding him without asking.

Bhuvi didn’t say anything right away—but he didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t push him away.

That silence, to Jassi, was permission. A beginning.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, glancing down at Bhuvi once more before slipping out of bed to start the day. As he left the room, he paused at the door, stealing one last look at Bhuvi still lying there, hair messy, eyes closed, wrapped in the warmth of where they’d just been together.

A quiet thought passed through him: I want to wake up like that again.

Maybe next time, with Bhuvi choosing to stay in his arms, not just tolerating it.

But for now… this was enough.

The kitchen smelled faintly of toasted bread and warm ghee. Morning sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds, lighting up the soft haze of a new day.

Bhuvi stood at the counter, a spatula in one hand and baby Angad in the other arm. He moved with a kind of practiced rhythm, shifting his hip slightly to adjust the baby’s weight as he flipped a roti onto a plate. Angad’s tiny head rested against his shoulder, sleepy but awake, occasionally kicking his sock-covered feet.

Despite everything from the past few days, Bhuvi looked… peaceful. Or at least trying to be.

From the hallway, freshly showered and dressed for work, Jassi walked in. His shirt was crisp, hair still damp, but his expression softer than usual—gentler, more present.

He paused in the doorway for a second, watching the scene.

Bhuvi in the golden morning light, cradling their child with ease. The home that felt warm for once.

Then he stepped closer.

“Let me hold him,” Jassi said quietly, voice low but steady.

Bhuvi glanced over his shoulder, surprised, spatula midair. “You sure? He’s a little clingy this morning.”

“I want to,” Jassi said, already reaching out his arms.

Something flickered in Bhuvi’s eyes—hesitation, then a reluctant softness.

He turned slightly and gently transferred Angad into Jassi’s arms. Angad blinked at the movement but didn’t fuss—he just settled against Jassi’s chest with a soft noise, his tiny fist clenching the fabric of Jassi’s shirt.

Jassi stared down at him, something shifting in his expression—tender, protective. Maybe even proud.

Bhuvi watched in silence for a moment before returning to the pan.

But Jassi didn’t take his eyes off the baby.

“Thanks,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “For not walking away.”

Bhuvi paused, back still turned to him. “I thought about it,” he said honestly. “Many times.”

Jassi nodded. “I know.”

Another quiet moment passed as Jassi swayed gently with Angad in his arms. He looked up at Bhuvi again.

“Will you let me… try again?” he asked. “To be better. To really show up.”

Bhuvi didn’t turn around. But his voice was steady when he replied.

“Show up first. Then we’ll see.”

Jassi smiled faintly, tightening his hold on Angad just a bit—like grounding himself.

And for the first time in a long while, there was no cold between them. Only warmth. And the slow return of something they had almost lost.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

The wall clock ticked past 11:42 PM, its sound sharp in the stillness of the living room. The lights were dim, but Bhuvi sat on the couch—awake, tense, and tired, legs tucked up under him, the baby monitor glowing softly beside him on the armrest.

Angad had been asleep for hours.

Bhuvi hadn't.

He'd kept dinner warm. He'd walked to the door at every engine sound that passed. He'd told himself a hundred times maybe just another call, maybe just another meeting.

But now, as the lock finally clicked and the front door opened, Bhuvi didn't move. He just watched from his spot as Jassi stepped in—tie loosened, face exhausted, and phone still in hand.

Bhuvi's voice cut through the air before Jassi could say a word.

"Showing up?" he said, voice trembling. "Did you show up today?"

Jassi blinked, frozen mid-step. "Bhuvi—"

But Bhuvi stood, fire building in his chest, voice rising with each word.

"You said it this morning. Right here, in this kitchen. That you'd show up." His eyes were red—not from tears, but from waiting too long. "Only today, you said. Not forever. Not some far-off promise. Just today. And look at the time, Jassi. Look when you reached home."

Jassi dropped his bag wordlessly, guilt crawling up his throat.

"I had a late meeting—"

"You always have a late meeting," Bhuvi snapped, hurt bleeding through every syllable. "But this time you made it different. You promised me. And I—" His voice cracked, just slightly. "I believed you. I made dinner. I kept Angad up a little longer because I thought maybe you'd want to hold him again like this morning."

Jassi swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to—"

"But you did, Jassi." Bhuvi's eyes welled up now, anger and betrayal swirling together. "Because every time I start to believe you've changed, every time I hope, you remind me exactly why I stopped asking you to show up in the first place."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Bhuvi stepped back, crossing his arms tightly around himself, trying to hold everything in.

"You say you want to be better," he whispered. "But wanting isn't enough. Not when you keep choosing everything else over us."

Jassi's shoulders sagged as the weight of those words hit him. He looked at Bhuvi—really looked—and saw just how tired he was. Not just from today. From months.

From carrying everything alone.

"I'm sorry," Jassi murmured, but it didn't feel like enough.

And Bhuvi didn't answer. He just turned away, walking toward the nursery.

Before he closed the door behind him, he said quietly, without looking back:

"If you want to show up tomorrow, Jassi... don't come with promises. Come home on time."

The door clicked shut.

And Jassi was left standing in the quiet, heart sinking, realizing he might've just used up the last of Bhuvi's hope.

Morning crept in quietly, painting the walls in a soft golden hue. The silence in the house was thick—not peaceful, but tense, tired, and aching with everything left unsaid.

Bhuvi stirred first.

His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the pale light filtering through the curtains. He glanced at the empty space beside him in bed, half-expecting Jassi to be there.

But of course, he wasn’t.

With a sigh, Bhuvi sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stepped out into the hallway barefoot. As he passed the living room, he stopped.

There, curled awkwardly on the narrow couch, was Jassi.

His tall frame was cramped and folded uncomfortably, one leg half-dangling off the edge, the other tucked beneath him. His head rested against the armrest, arm draped over his chest like he was protecting himself even in sleep.

His suit jacket was thrown over the coffee table, tie still around his neck, only loosened. His shoes were still on. His face, even in sleep, looked strained—lines etched deep from stress and regret.

Bhuvi stood there in silence, watching.

And something twisted in his chest.

Because as much as he wanted to stay angry, to protect his heart… this wasn’t the Jassi who didn’t care. This was a man who had come home too late, but hadn’t dared crawl into bed beside the one he’d let down.

He chose the couch. He chose discomfort. And he didn’t even touch the food.

Bhuvi’s eyes dropped to the floor for a second before he quietly turned away.

He walked into the kitchen and opened the microwave, only to find the plate he’d kept warm the night before—still sitting there, untouched.

The roti had dried out at the edges. The bowl of chutney beside it had a film over the top. The tea he’d poured in a flask sat beside the stove—now stone cold.

Bhuvi stood there, hands on the counter, staring at the remnants of what was supposed to be a shared dinner.

It wasn’t just about food.

It was about waiting. Hoping. Believing.

And being let down.

Again.

He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes briefly.

Don’t cry. Not today.

He began clearing the dishes in silence, his movements slow but sure. And somewhere behind him, in the living room, Jassi shifted in his sleep, still oblivious to the storm of guilt and hurt swirling just a room away.

Jassi woke with a dull ache running down his arm and up into his shoulder.

His neck was stiff, body heavy from a night spent twisted awkwardly on the couch that had clearly not been made for someone of his build. He shifted slightly, groaning as he stretched, feeling the sore pull in his muscles from sleeping wrong.

But he didn’t complain.

He just sat up slowly, rubbing his arm and exhaling through his nose, already remembering why he was there—why he hadn’t gone into the bedroom.

Because last night, he didn’t deserve that bed.

The smell of something warm and comforting drifted in from the kitchen—ghee, curry leaves, and toasted cumin.

Jassi got up, dragging his feet across the cold floor, silently moving toward the kitchen.

And there he was.

Bhuvi.

Still in his sleep T-shirt, hair loosely tied back, one hand on the stove, the other moving dishes into the sink with a practiced rhythm. He wasn’t humming. He wasn’t smiling. His movements were mechanical, precise.

The silence in the kitchen was louder than any argument.

Jassi stood in the doorway, watching him for a moment.

His voice came out rougher than he intended. “You’re up early.”

Bhuvi didn’t look at him. “Angad wakes early,” he said simply.

Jassi nodded, stepping in a bit further, ignoring the sting in his arm as he tried to stretch again. “I, uh… didn’t mean to sleep on the couch. I just… didn’t want to intrude.”

Bhuvi turned slightly, just enough to glance at him.

“Then don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said quietly, almost too calmly.

It wasn’t said in anger—but it cut all the same.

Jassi looked down, jaw tightening. “I know I messed up last night.”

“You did more than mess up,” Bhuvi replied, still not looking at him directly. “You showed me that even when you say the right things, your actions don’t always follow.”

He turned off the stove and set the last pan aside before finally facing Jassi. His voice was still even, but his eyes carried the weight of too many disappointments.

“You want to fix this?” he asked. “Start by being present. Not just in words. Not just when it’s convenient. But here. For us. For him.”

Jassi felt that hit in his chest.

“I will,” he said, voice low, sincere. “I want to. I mean to.”

Bhuvi studied him for a beat—tired, unsure, but not closed off.

Then he sighed and walked past him, brushing lightly against Jassi’s arm.

The sore one.

Jassi flinched almost imperceptibly.

Bhuvi noticed it instantly. He paused, turned halfway back.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Jassi muttered, straightening. “Just slept wrong.”

Bhuvi’s gaze softened for a flicker of a second.

“Of course you did,” he said, quieter now. “That couch isn’t made for guilt.”

And then he walked away, leaving Jassi in the kitchen—feeling the ache in his arm, and deeper still, the one in his chest.

AuthyyG🧸

# (07)

**The bathroom mirror reflected a man who hadn't slept well—**dark circles under his eyes, shirt buttoned slightly askew, and a faint wince every time he moved his sore shoulder. But Jassi said nothing, did nothing to ease it.

He didn't have the luxury of wallowing. Not today.

He adjusted his collar stiffly, ignoring the dull throb in his arm. In his mind, one thought looped over and over:

Be early. Be there.

When he stepped out of the bedroom, he saw Bhuvi in the living room with Angad, gently bouncing the baby on his lap while murmuring something soft. Angad giggled, hands waving, completely unaware of the tension in the house.

Jassi paused.

A part of him wanted to walk over, kneel beside them, press a kiss to Angad's head... maybe even say something to Bhuvi.

But the truth was, he didn't want to say another word until he could prove he meant it.

So instead, he grabbed his bag, winced again as it tugged at his sore arm, and slowly made his way toward the door.

Just as he reached for the handle, he turned, looking back.

"Angad let you Papa know ," he said, voice quiet but certain.

Bhuvi looked up, guarded as ever.

Jassi met his gaze. "That I'll be home early today."

He didn't say it as a plea. Not like last time.

This wasn't a promise for Bhuvi to believe.
It was one he had to hold himself accountable to.

Bhuvi didn't answer immediately. He just stared at Jassi—searching, weighing.

Then finally, he gave a small nod.

Not forgiveness.
Not trust.

But a flicker of acknowledgment.

And it was enough to make Jassi straighten, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag as he walked out the door.

His steps were slower. His body ached.
But his resolve didn't waver.

Today, he would show up. No matter what. 

The office was buzzing with the usual low hum of keyboards and muted conversation, but Jassi was barely present in the room. He sat at his desk, eyes fixed on his screen, though his mind kept flicking back to the kitchen that morning—Bhuvi’s eyes, the untouched dinner, the soft baby gurgles in the background.

He absently shifted his arm, immediately wincing as the sore muscle pulled tight beneath his shirt.

Ignore it. Focus.

He rolled his shoulder discreetly, trying to loosen it up, when—

“Jaaaassi!”

A familiar voice rang out far too cheerfully.

Siraj.

Jassi didn’t even have time to react before Siraj, as always way too comfortable with boundaries, slid up beside him and threw an arm playfully around his shoulder—right on the sore one.

“Dude, where were you last night?” Siraj grinned, oblivious. “We had such a chill hangout—Vicky, Yuzi, me. You didn’t even reply to the group!”

Pain shot down Jassi’s arm. His jaw clenched instantly, but he stayed still, refusing to yelp or shove Siraj away.

Instead, he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Siraj. My shoulder.”

Siraj blinked, confused at first, then quickly pulled back. “Oh—shit, bro, sorry! I didn’t know—”

Jassi exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from his face. “It’s fine,” he muttered. “Just sore. Slept weird.”

Siraj leaned against his desk now, far too comfortable, eyes narrowing. “Why are you so stiff lately, man? Something going on at home?”

Jassi didn’t reply.

Siraj kept talking, unbothered. “You know, if it’s the domestic drama thing, you could always crash with me for a few nights—detox the mind, if you know what I mean.” He winked, laughing like it was a joke.

But Jassi’s jaw tightened again—not from pain this time, but from a simmering frustration.

He turned to Siraj, voice cool.

“I’m fine at home. And I won’t be staying late today.”

Siraj raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? Someone’s on baby duty?”

Jassi’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Someone’s trying to do better.”

Siraj held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to poke the tiger.”

Jassi turned back to his screen, silently willing the hours to move faster. The pain in his shoulder was sharp, but the weight of that moment in Bhuvi’s eyes hurt far worse.

He had one job today. Show up.

And not even Siraj—or his sore shoulder—was going to keep him from it.

The break room was unusually quiet that afternoon. A few colleagues milled about near the coffee machine, others scrolled on their phones in silence. Jassi leaned against the counter, sipping from his mug, trying to ignore the ache in his shoulder and the quiet buzz in his chest that hadn’t stopped since morning.

That’s when he heard the click of heels. Sharp. Purposeful. Uninvited.

“Jasprit, right?”

Jassi looked up.

Standing before him was Shree—a newly joined intern from PR. Young, smart, always dressed like she walked off a runway. And painfully aware of it.

“Yeah,” he said curtly, glancing at his coffee.

She smiled, tilting her head slightly. “You know, you’ve got this whole… brooding-husband-in-a-suit vibe. It’s kind of dangerously hot.”

Jassi blinked once. Slowly. “Excuse me?”

Shree didn’t miss a beat. “I know you’re married. Everyone knows. But honestly, I’ve seen the way you look around here—like you’re barely hanging on. Don’t worry, I don’t judge. Married or not… everyone needs a distraction sometimes.”

She took a step closer. Too close.

Jassi straightened, the tension in his jaw back. “You’re out of line.”

Shree’s smirk didn’t falter. “Or maybe just being honest. You don’t seem happy. You didn’t even wear your ring today.”

He held up his hand then—his wedding ring very much there, a little loose, but present.

“I don’t need to wear my happiness on my face for it to be real,” he said, voice cool, each word sharp. “And I don’t entertain girls who mistake confidence for disrespect.”

Shree paused for a moment, clearly not used to being shut down.

“Relax,” she said finally, scoffing. “No need to act so offended. It was just a casual offer.”

Jassi leaned in slightly, calm but deadly serious.

“Next time, don’t offer things you wouldn’t want said about you behind your back.”

And with that, he stepped around her and walked out of the break room, the pain in his shoulder still there—but the fire in his chest sharper.

He didn’t care if it was risky to speak like that to a colleague.

Because he was married. To someone who waited for him. Who carried their child. Who deserved better.

And he was going to be that better.

The day had dragged on longer than Jassi would have liked. He’d been trying to keep his promise to Bhuvi in his mind all day, reminding himself that he needed to be home early. The hours crawled, but he kept his focus. He was going to be home. He had to be.

But then Siraj walked in with a grin that Jassi instantly recognized.

“Jassi, buddy, tonight’s the night! We’re going out. You have to come. No excuses,” Siraj said, voice almost pleading as he leaned over Jassi’s desk.

Jassi looked up, already feeling that familiar twinge of irritation at Siraj’s clinginess. “I’m not sure. I promised I’d be home early tonight.”

“Come on, man,” Siraj persisted, pushing the group’s plans with exaggerated enthusiasm. “We’ve got the whole crew—Vicky, Yuzi, and the rest of us. It’ll be fun. Just one drink, and then you can bail whenever you need to. No big deal.”

Jassi hesitated. His instinct screamed to walk away and keep his word to Bhuvi. But he felt the weight of Siraj’s expectations, the pressure of the group’s insistence.

“Alright,” Jassi muttered, voice tight, “but just one drink. I’m leaving early.”

Hours later, the night had slipped away. Siraj and the guys had been louder, more relentless in their cheers than Jassi anticipated. One drink turned into two, then three, and the easy conversation slowly became more boisterous and carefree, pushing Jassi further and further from his resolve.

His phone buzzed twice in his pocket—two messages from Bhuvi. He checked them discreetly:

“You said you’d be home early. Angad’s been restless. Where are you?” “Jassi?”

His heart sank.

“I gotta go,” Jassi muttered, standing up abruptly, but the guys weren’t having it.

“Come on, one more drink!” Yuzi laughed, grabbing his arm.

Siraj leaned in with a teasing grin. “You’re not gonna leave now, are you? You’ve gotta let loose every once in a while, Jassi. It’s good for the soul.”

Jassi winced. He was not in the mood. His mind was back home now—back to Bhuvi and Angad. But the guys pushed again. The laughter, the camaraderie—it was like a chain pulling him back.

When Siraj finally drove him home much later than planned, the sky was already dark, the streets dim and quiet.

By the time they reached Jassi’s apartment, he was both angry with himself and exhausted. He could already feel the tension in his body, the strain in his arm, and the weight of his guilt as he glanced at the time on his phone—almost midnight.

Siraj pulled up in front of the building, the engine idling. “Hey, man. We missed you tonight, but glad you came. See you around!”

Jassi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he opened the door, stiffly stepping out.

“Thanks for the ride,” he muttered, then added under his breath, “I shouldn’t have come.”

Siraj raised an eyebrow. “Hey, take it easy, alright? It’s just one night. You’ll be fine.”

Jassi nodded sharply, turning away without another word. He needed to face Bhuvi now, and he knew it wouldn’t be easy.

As he walked through the entrance and up to his apartment, the door was already open—soft light spilling from the hallway.

Inside, Bhuvi stood in the living room, holding a now-sleeping Angad in his arms. The baby was curled up, peaceful.

But Bhuvi’s eyes were tired, wary, hurt.

Without a word, Jassi stepped inside, his heart sinking even further.

Bhuvi didn’t ask, didn’t yell. He simply looked at Jassi, and it was the look that said everything.

The tension in the apartment was thick, suffocating—like a storm hanging on the edge of a break. Neither of them spoke as Jassi stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on Bhuvi. The baby, Angad, was gently cradled in his arms, still fast asleep, a serene image in the middle of all this quiet chaos.

Bhuvi didn’t look at him. Not once. He didn’t say a word as he moved past Jassi, his steps slow, deliberate, as though he were walking through a fog of his own thoughts.

The weight of the silence pressed against Jassi, and the guilt gnawed at him harder than it ever had before.

He had broken a promise. And this time, it was more than just not showing up. It was the repeated failure to be present, to do right by the man he claimed to love, and to the baby who had nothing to do with his mistakes.

Jassi’s throat tightened as he watched Bhuvi walk past him. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

Bhuvi didn’t pause, didn’t falter in his motion, but the quiet force of his restraint was almost worse than any outburst.

Bhuvi walked into the nursery and closed the door behind him, locking it softly.

That click of the lock was like a shot in the heart. It echoed through the room, deafening, as if to say, I need space.

And Jassi? He stood there, frozen. His body didn’t move, his mind didn’t clear. It was as if he was suddenly bound by the silence he had helped create.

Finally, Jassi took a step forward. But before he could reach the door, the hollow emptiness of the apartment seemed to settle deeper, pressing him back. He exhaled sharply and turned away from the door.

He knew he had crossed a line.

And this time, there was no easy fix. No promise he could make to make it right.

AuthyyG🧸

# (08)

The morning light crept into the apartment slowly, almost as if even the sun was hesitant to disturb the silence that had settled between them.

Jassi woke up on the couch again—his tall frame bent awkwardly, neck stiff, shoulder throbbing with more sharpness than yesterday. But it wasn't the soreness that made him stay motionless for a few moments. It was the emptiness.

No sound of Bhuvi in the kitchen. No soft coos from Angad in the nursery.

Just silence.

Heavy, punishing silence.

He sat up, rubbed a hand over his face, and reached for his phone. A few missed work calls. Messages. Meetings. But his fingers hovered above the screen and then pulled back.

He couldn't go. Not today.

Not when guilt was anchoring him to the floor.
Not when his body ached like it had been fighting his own choices.
Not when the people he was supposed to come home for were shutting him out behind a locked door.

So he opened the company group chat and typed a short message:
"Taking another day off. Unwell."

It wasn't exactly a lie. His shoulder was a mess. But more than that, something else was unwell. Something between him and Bhuvi that had fractured further last night.

He needed to be here. He needed to stop running.

He sat for a while, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it held all the answers. The guilt was crawling in his chest—I shouldn't have gone out. I should've said no harder. I should've walked away.

When he finally stood up, he walked to the nursery door and just... paused.

He didn't knock.
Didn't call.
Didn't want to push.

Instead, he leaned his forehead against the wood for a second, breathing in slowly.

"I'm here today," he whispered. "And I'm not going anywhere."

And then he turned and walked away—towards the kitchen. Toward whatever small thing he could do today.
Even if it was just waiting.
Even if it was just sitting in silence until Bhuvi was ready to speak again.

Because this time, he wouldn't miss the moment when Bhuvi needed him most.

The kitchen felt hollow without the usual soft sounds of Bhuvi bustling around it. Jassi stood at the stove quietly, letting the steam from the chai rise into the morning light. The scent of cardamom and ginger filled the air—familiar, comforting. A small attempt to feel like things were okay, even if nothing was.

He poured the tea into a mug and carried it to the living room, the warmth of the cup grounding his sore hand. He sat on the edge of the couch, alone, the silence still hanging like a curtain between rooms.

He took a sip. It burned just a little—enough to remind him he was here. That he hadn't run this time.

And then—the nursery door creaked open.

Jassi's breath caught.

Bhuvi stepped out, hair messy from sleep, eyes tired but unreadable. Angad was in his arms, shifting restlessly, making soft fussing noises. Bhuvi didn't say anything. He didn't even glance in Jassi's direction.

He just walked slowly to the couch opposite him and sat down.

The silence wasn't gone—it was still loud—but it had changed. It wasn't cold now. It was... raw. Fragile.

Jassi didn't move.

He watched as Bhuvi adjusted his position, held Angad close, and gently lifted his oversized sleep T-shirt just enough to allow the baby to feed. Angad latched, calming almost instantly. The softest sounds of suckling filled the space.

Bhuvi sat still, one arm supporting Angad's tiny body, the other resting over his lap, head tilted slightly down in a protective instinct only a parent could understand.

Jassi's throat felt tight again. Not with guilt this time—but with something that humbled him.

This was his family. Right there.
Messy. Silent. Wounded. But his.

He didn't say anything. Just held his cup tighter, fingers curling around the warmth like a lifeline.

And in that heavy, delicate quiet, he just watched.
Watched his son feed, watched Bhuvi breathe—his jaw tight, lips pressed, chest barely moving.
And somehow, just the act of being present felt louder than any apology could.

Jassi sat still, the chai in his hands slowly growing cold, but he barely noticed. His eyes never left them—Bhuvi and Angad.

The baby was nestled comfortably, content now, one tiny hand resting over Bhuvi's chest. The whole image was quiet, sacred, and yet heavy with everything they hadn't said in days.

Bhuvi didn't glance at him once.

Jassi's eyes traced the curve of Bhuvi's back, the way his shoulders rose and fell steadily. Even in silence, he carried so much—hurt, exhaustion, love. Jassi knew it. He'd watched him carry all of it without complaint.

And now, he couldn't keep it inside anymore.

He set his cup down carefully and spoke—his voice low, almost too quiet.

"I saw the dinner... untouched."

Bhuvi didn't respond. Not even a blink. But Jassi noticed the way his arms tightened a bit more around Angad.

Jassi swallowed.

"I should've come home."

Still, silence.

But Jassi didn't stop.

"I thought it was just one drink. One hour. I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to let you wait like that. Again." His voice cracked slightly at the end.

Bhuvi's head dipped, not in response, but like he was focused on Angad, whose suckling had slowed now, drifting toward sleep.

Jassi leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together tightly.

"I know I keep saying I'll show up. And I keep failing. You don't deserve that." He looked down for a moment. "You didn't even yell at me last night. You just... walked away. And that hurt more."

He exhaled shakily.

"I'm sorry, Bhuvi. I mean it. I don't want to keep messing this up. I want to be here. For him. For you."

A pause.

Then, softer—raw:

"Please don't shut me out completely."

Bhuvi still didn't speak. But his hand, resting over Angad's back, paused for a moment—stillness that said he heard him.

Jassi didn't expect forgiveness yet.
He didn't deserve it yet.
But he was still sitting there.

And he would keep sitting there.
Because this time, he wasn't walking away.

The silence didn’t break. Not even after Jassi’s words hung in the air like an unanswered prayer.

Bhuvi finished feeding Angad quietly, adjusted his shirt, and gently lifted the now-sleepy baby against his shoulder. He didn’t look at Jassi—not even once.

Jassi stayed where he was, still and watching, the cold cup of chai forgotten on the table.

Bhuvi stood, carefully balancing Angad in his arms, and walked past him without a word. Just the soft shuffle of his slippers across the floor, the faintest sigh from the baby, and the door to their bedroom closing gently behind them.

And Jassi sat there.

Still.

Waiting.

Regret curling around him like a second skin.

An hour passed.

The apartment remained hushed, but the sounds of movement from the bedroom slowly began to stir life back into the space.

A closet door opened. A zipper slid. A drawer shut.

Jassi stood and walked to the hallway just as Bhuvi stepped out, Angad bundled in a soft onesie, a diaper bag slung over Bhuvi’s shoulder. He was freshly changed, hair combed back, lips pursed in that way that told Jassi he was trying not to feel too much.

Still, no words.

But Jassi understood. Bhuvi was going to the clinic. The routine check-up with Dr. Amraan.

Jassi moved forward and spoke quietly.

“I’ll drive.”

Bhuvi blinked, surprised for the first time all day. His gaze met Jassi’s—briefly. There was a flicker there. Not forgiveness. Not acceptance. But not resistance, either.

He didn’t say no.

He simply nodded.

Jassi took the diaper bag gently from his hand. Then reached out, silently, to hold Angad.

After a pause, Bhuvi handed the baby over, their fingers brushing just slightly. The contact was brief, but electric with the ache of everything unsaid.

And then, without another word, they walked out the door together.

Not speaking.

But this time, at least, side by side.

Jassi had insisted. And not just on driving—he’d insisted on holding Angad, too.

So Bhuvi sat in the passenger seat, watching out the window, while Jassi drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm cradling their baby boy against his chest. Angad, bundled up and sleepy, nestled right into the curve of Jassi’s arm as if it was the safest place in the world.

Jassi’s posture was careful. Protective.

Every time he hit a bump, his grip instinctively tightened, his eyes flicking down for even the smallest sound from Angad. But the baby didn’t cry. In fact, he sighed—soft and warm—like he could feel the shift in his father.

Bhuvi glanced over, just once, and caught sight of it. Jassi wasn’t smiling. But there was something so quietly full in his face—like he was trying to memorize every heartbeat he could feel from the tiny chest against his own.

He didn’t speak the whole drive.

But his hand occasionally brushed his son’s back. Fingers curled gently. Almost reverently.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was just a man, trying to hold on to something he should’ve never let go of.

Trying, this time, to mean it.

And Bhuvi… He didn’t speak either.

But his fingers gripped the edge of his jeans tightly. And though he kept his eyes on the road ahead, his heart was watching Jassi.

Even if he wasn’t ready to say anything yet.

The clinic was tucked behind a line of flowering trees, quiet and sun-drenched, like it belonged to a world softer than the one Bhuvi had been living in lately.

Jassi pulled into the lot and parked without a word. He handed Angad gently back to Bhuvi, who took him without comment, adjusting the blanket around his small form as they stepped out of the car.

Inside, the waiting room smelled of disinfectant and mint. A few soft toys sat untouched in a corner. A nurse greeted them and led them straight through, already familiar with the baby's checkup schedule.

And then—

"Well, look who it is," came a warm, familiar voice from the doorway.

Dr. Amraan.

Late 20s, tall, clean-shaven, with that easy smile that could charm a storm into calming down. He walked in with his sleeves rolled up, clipboard in hand, eyes lighting up the moment he saw them.

"My two favorite visitors."

Bhuvi laughed softly—for the first time in what felt like days. A real one. It made something twist tightly in Jassi's chest.

"It's been a while, Amraan," Bhuvi said, adjusting Angad in his arms. "He's gotten heavier."

Dr. Amraan stepped closer, crouching slightly to meet Angad's wide, blinking eyes. "And taller, too. Look at those cheeks!" He leaned in, making a soft sound that instantly drew a gummy smile from the baby.

Angad giggled. Reached out.

Amraan grinned. "He remembers me. I'm touched."

Bhuvi's expression softened completely. He didn't even seem to realize how naturally he shifted Angad's weight to bring him closer to Amraan.

They slipped into easy conversation. Talk about feeding patterns, growth milestones, Bhuvi's struggles with latching that now seemed to be easing. Amraan listened attentively, asking questions, nodding, offering advice like a friend more than a doctor.

And all the while, Jassi stood a few steps back, arms crossed loosely, watching the exchange.

Watching Angad reach out. Watching Bhuvi relax.

Something clenched behind his ribs. A strange, quiet ache. Not jealousy—but a haunting realization.

This was how Bhuvi looked when he felt seen. Heard. Safe.

And Jassi couldn't remember the last time he had made Bhuvi feel that way.

Dr. Amraan gently tickled Angad's chin, drawing another peal of laughter. "You've got a charmer here," he said, glancing at Bhuvi with a soft look.

Bhuvi smiled. "He's the light of the house."

Jassi felt that line like a bruise.
No mention of him. No glance.

Just the baby.

And for now... maybe that's all Bhuvi wanted to protect.

Inside the clinic room, the soft hum of the AC and the gentle rustle of papers filled the background as Dr. Amraan prepped for the check-up. Bhuvi settled into the cushioned chair near the exam table, Angad cooing in his lap, legs kicking softly.

Jassi leaned against the far wall, arms folded, silent.

He didn't want to interrupt the rhythm.
Because for once, Bhuvi looked alive again. And Angad was thriving in it.

Amraan moved around the space with an easy familiarity, his white coat fluttering behind him as he jotted down notes.

"Let's see this little champ," he said brightly, reaching out. "Come here, buddy."

Without hesitation, Bhuvi stood and gently handed Angad over. The baby didn't even whimper—his face breaking into a wide grin as Amraan lifted him into his arms with practiced ease.

Jassi's jaw tensed.

It was a strange thing—watching another man hold your child like he belonged.

Amraan held Angad up to eye level. "You've grown so much. Look at these strong little arms, hmm?"

Angad babbled in response, hands flailing. Bhuvi chuckled under his breath, clearly at ease. His body language was open—relaxed in a way Jassi hadn't seen in days.

"Latching still a bit fussy?" Amraan asked, his tone shifting back to professional warmth.

Bhuvi nodded. "Better than before, but... there are still moments. I was worried it was me."

"No," Amraan said gently, glancing at Jassi briefly before looking back to Bhuvi. "You're doing everything right. This stage comes with its hurdles, but from the looks of it, Angad's thriving. You've clearly been taking excellent care of him."

Jassi's heart gave a quiet, painful twitch.

You. Not you both. Just you.

He knew it wasn't intentional—but it stung anyway.

Amraan handed Angad back after the usual height and weight checks. Bhuvi took him close again, instinctively kissing the top of his head, murmuring something only the baby could hear.

Amraan scribbled down a few last things, then looked back at Bhuvi. "Keep doing what you're doing. If it gets harder, you call me. Anytime."

"I will," Bhuvi said, meeting his eyes with a grateful look.

Something about the connection there—the comfort, the quiet understanding—felt loud to Jassi, even from the corner of the room.

And for the first time in a while, Jassi wondered:

Had he already lost them without even realizing? 

AuthyyG🧸

(09)

The evening sunlight filtered through their apartment, casting long shadows on the floor. Jassi stood near the dining table, phone in hand, the glow of the screen reflecting in his tired eyes.

A message from work. An office party. Mandatory attendance. Upcoming project reveal. Plus one allowed.

He hesitated.

Normally, he wouldn’t even ask. He’d go alone, give a quick nod to formalities, and come back late with nothing to show for it but silence between him and Bhuvi.

But this time… He turned toward the hallway.

Bhuvi was sitting on the floor in the nursery, gently bouncing Angad in his lap, reading softly from a picture book even though the baby was more interested in chewing the edge of the page. His hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he looked—serene. Detached from the weight of the last few days. Focused only on their son.

Jassi walked to the doorway and cleared his throat.

“Hey… Bhuvi?”

Bhuvi looked up. The look wasn’t cold—but cautious. The kind of look you give someone when you’re not sure what they’re going to take from you next.

Jassi swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“There’s… an office party tonight. Boss is announcing a new project. It’s kind of mandatory.” He paused. “They said we can bring a partner.”

He watched Bhuvi carefully.

“I was wondering… if you’d come with me?”

It was new. Completely. Jassi had never invited Bhuvi to a single work event before.

Bhuvi blinked, caught off guard. He closed the book slowly and adjusted Angad in his lap.

“You want me to come?” he asked, tone even, unreadable.

Jassi nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Bhuvi tilted his head slightly, his fingers tracing tiny circles on Angad’s back.

“Can I bring Angad too?”

His voice was gentle—but there was a question hidden beneath the surface. Maybe even a test.

Jassi looked down at the baby—who looked up at him like he was waiting too.

And then Jassi nodded, soft and sure.

“Yeah. Of course. We’ll bring him.”

Bhuvi didn’t smile. Not yet. But the wall in his eyes… flickered. And that was more than enough.

The venue was buzzing with light chatter, clinking glasses, and the faint hum of soft music. Corporate suits mingled in polite circles, and the boss stood near the center, already surrounded by senior staff. Jassi entered with Angad in his arms, carefully adjusting the tiny headphones the baby wore to muffle the noise, while Bhuvi walked beside him—dressed neatly, a little nervous, but collected.

They looked like a family. And for the first few minutes, that’s how people saw them.

Jassi was gentle with Angad, nodding to colleagues while Bhuvi stood besides him and greeted those who stopped to coo at the baby. There were a few surprised smiles from coworkers—most of them had never seen this side of Jasprit Bumrah.

But it didn’t last long.

Because soon enough, Siraj appeared, drink in hand, too loud and too familiar as always.

“There he is!” Siraj clapped Jassi’s sore shoulder, making him wince, and laughed without noticing. “You finally brought the fam, huh?”

Jassi gave a stiff smile. “Yeah. Bhuvi, this is Siraj.”

Bhuvi nodded politely. “We’ve met before.”

But Siraj barely acknowledged it—already leaning a little too close to Jassi.

“You’re lucky, man. Your baby’s damn cute.” Then he lowered his voice with a wink. “And your husband doesn’t look like the jealous type.”

Bhuvi’s jaw clenched.

And that was only the beginning.

Soon, the new girl—Shree, young, ambitious, and very full of herself—strode toward them in a tight dress, eyes locked right on Jassi.

“Jasprit, you didn’t tell me you were married,” she purred, deliberately ignoring Bhuvi. “You should’ve mentioned your wife was this cute.”

She smirked, clearly enjoying the moment, clearly knowing Bhuvi wasn’t his wife.

Bhuvi’s jaw tightened. Hard.

Jassi didn’t notice at first. He chuckled awkwardly and shifted Angad in his arms, avoiding Shree’s obvious attempt to touch his arm.

But she persisted.

“Anyway, they just announced the project. It’s a huge one. We’re going to be paired with different departments—so get ready to spend late nights at the office.” Her gaze flicked toward Bhuvi, eyes sharp. “Hope that’s not a problem at home.”

That was it.

Bhuvi stepped forward, finally speaking. His voice cool, laced in sugar that tasted like poison.

“It’s not a problem. We’re used to him coming home late.” He turned to Jassi with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Right, love?”

Jassi blinked, caught completely off guard.

Shree raised her brows.

Siraj grinned, sipping his drink like he’d just seen something worth watching.

But it wasn’t over.

Bhuvi gently took Angad from Jassi’s arms, kissed the baby’s forehead, and looked directly at Shree.

“And by the way… I’m not his wife.” He smiled flatly. “I’m his husband.”

Silence cracked between them.

Shree blinked, lips parting slightly in surprise. Jassi looked between them, unsure whether to be proud, panicked, or both.

Bhuvi turned to him one last time, eyes narrowed.

“I’ll be in the car. Enjoy the rest of your late-night conversations.”

And with that, he walked out—Angad resting against his chest, head tucked under his chin.

Jassi stood frozen.

For once, he was the one being left behind.

Jassi didn’t think—he just moved.

He excused himself from the group with a few mumbled words and quickly made his way to the door, his heart racing in his chest. He barely heard the faint calls of his colleagues behind him. His eyes were locked on the figure of Bhuvi, already halfway across the parking lot, Angad nestled safely in his arms.

Bhuvi was walking fast, his footsteps heavy with something Jassi couldn’t place. He wanted to call out, but the words caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say?

“Bhuvi,” Jassi said, his voice low as he caught up. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the other man’s arm.

Bhuvi didn’t stop.

“Please. Wait—”

But Bhuvi didn’t turn. He kept walking toward the car, ignoring Jassi’s attempts to catch up. The night air was cool, and the lights from the building behind them cast long shadows on the pavement. Jassi could feel the tension wrapping tighter around him with every step he took.

“Bhuvi, I didn’t—” he began, finally stepping in front of him to block his path. “I didn’t mean for it to go like that. You have to understand—”

Bhuvi’s eyes locked on his. Cold. Unyielding.

“I don’t think you do understand, Jassi.” His voice was quiet, but every word hit with a sharpness Jassi wasn’t prepared for. “I don’t think you understand what it feels like to be on the outside of your own life. To see you, looking all good, acting like a picture-perfect family in front of everyone, while I’m standing there—being ignored.”

The words cut through him like a knife, leaving him speechless.

“I don’t need to prove anything to anyone, Jassi. But I do need you to see me. To see us.”

Jassi’s chest tightened. His mind scrambled for the right words, but there was nothing. Nothing that felt right enough to repair the fracture between them.

“I didn’t mean to—” His voice was quieter now, tinged with guilt. “I never meant for you to feel that way. I’m sorry.”

Bhuvi stood still for a moment, just staring at him. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—anger, hurt, maybe even disappointment. And then he sighed, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect, Jassi.” His voice softened, just a little. “I’m asking for something real. For you to be here. With me. With us.”

A long pause hung between them.

Finally, Bhuvi turned toward the car again, but before he opened the door, he glanced back.

“You can stay at the party if you want. But I’m going home with Angad.” He gave a small, tight smile. “That’s where I belong.”

And just like that, he opened the door, got in, and shut it softly behind him, leaving Jassi standing alone in the parking lot.

Jassi stood there for a long time, his mind swirling, his heart heavy. Finally, with a deep breath, he turned and made his way back to the office—this time with the weight of everything he’d been ignoring pressing down on him harder than ever.

Jassi stood outside the car for a moment, letting the cool air wash over him. Then, with a resolve he didn’t fully understand, he opened the passenger door and slid into the seat next to Bhuvi.

Bhuvi didn’t say anything at first. He kept his eyes straight ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly, as if holding himself back from saying more. Angad, who had been sleeping peacefully in his arms, stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

Jassi’s heart raced. This wasn’t just about the office party. This wasn’t about the apology he had given moments ago. This was about something deeper. He didn’t want to be the one left behind anymore. He didn’t want to lose what they had built together.

He turned to Bhuvi, his voice soft but firm.

“I’ll go home with you then.” Jassi didn’t wait for an answer, his hand reaching out toward Angad.

There was a long pause. Bhuvi’s eyes flickered for just a moment toward him, and then—without a word—he carefully handed the baby over to Jassi. Angad’s tiny form settled into Jassi’s arms, his little head resting against his chest.

The weight of his son in his arms felt real, solid. It was a weight he had taken for granted for too long.

Bhuvi shifted the car into gear, and they drove in silence for a few minutes. Jassi could feel the tension in the air, but this time, it wasn’t the oppressive kind. It was the kind of silence that held a promise of change—of something that could still be fixed.

Jassi glanced at Bhuvi, his gaze softening.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so caught up in everything. Work, the pressure… I forgot what really matters.”

Bhuvi didn’t respond immediately. But his hand, resting on the gear shift, tightened for a brief moment before he relaxed again.

“We both have.” His voice was quieter now, less guarded. “But we can work through it. Together. You and me, Jassi. And Angad.”

The car slowed as they approached their apartment complex. Jassi held Angad a little tighter, his chest swelling with a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a while—hope.

When Bhuvi parked the car, Jassi looked at him one last time, his voice full of unspoken things.

“Let’s try again, Bhuvi. This time, for real.”

Bhuvi met his gaze, the tension slowly easing from his face. He nodded.

“Yeah… we’ll do it right this time.”

Jassi smiled softly, the weight of their shared promise lifting. With Angad in his arms, the night felt just a little bit lighter.

Jassi stepped out of the car, carefully adjusting Angad in his arms as he stood up, feeling the cool night air on his face. He paused for a moment, his eyes glancing at the door, his heart still pounding from everything that had just happened. But now, it was different. It wasn’t about guilt or the weight of unspoken words anymore. It was about showing up. Showing up for his family. For Bhuvi.

With a soft breath, he opened the door and held it for Bhuvi, waiting as the other man stepped out of the car. As Bhuvi approached, Jassi looked up at him, a steady, unwavering look in his eyes.

Without thinking, he reached for Bhuvi’s hand.

It was the kind of moment that felt small but monumental—something that hadn’t happened in a while, but now felt more natural than ever.

Bhuvi’s eyes met his, and there was hesitation. Just a flicker. But then, something shifted. A softness passed between them as he took Jassi’s hand, fingers interlocking.

The weight of everything that had been said—and unsaid—seemed to lighten between them. They stood there for a brief moment, just holding onto each other, Angad resting peacefully in Jassi’s arms.

“Let’s go home,” Jassi whispered, his voice full of quiet determination.

Bhuvi didn’t respond with words, but the gentle squeeze of his hand said everything Jassi needed to hear. Together, they walked back toward their apartment. The walk wasn’t rushed. There was no tension anymore, just a sense of peace that hadn’t been there before.

Jassi’s heart beat in time with Bhuvi’s steps, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was losing anything.

They walked side by side, holding hands, the soft weight of Angad between them—together again, for real this time.

AuthyyG🧸

# (10)

Jassi gently carried Angad, the soft weight of his son comforting him, as he walked into their bedroom. He placed the baby down on the bed, making sure he was settled comfortably, his tiny hands reaching out instinctively, fingers curling slightly as he slept peacefully.

He paused for a moment, just looking at his son. Angad, with his soft breaths and the little smile that sometimes played on his lips even in his sleep, was the thread that tied everything together. The symbol of everything Jassi wanted to protect, to nurture, and to be present for.

After a long exhale, Jassi stood up and walked back to the nursery. His footsteps were soft against the floorboards as he entered the room, the faint scent of baby lotion and fresh sheets filling the air. His heart swelled just looking at the crib, the tiny, neat space that had once been so separate from their shared life. But today, it felt like it was time for that to change.

He carefully pulled the crib out from the corner of the nursery, the wood creaking softly as he dragged it through the doorway. He walked back into their room, positioning the crib right beside the bed. It was perfect. Close enough for him and Bhuvi to keep watch over Angad at night, but far enough to still allow them their own space.

When Jassi stood back and looked at the crib next to the bed, a sense of peace washed over him. This was home. This was where their family would grow. No more silences, no more hesitations. Just love, togetherness, and the quiet strength of family.

He glanced over his shoulder, where Bhuvi was still standing in the doorway, his eyes on Jassi.

"It's perfect," Jassi said quietly, his voice full of emotion.

Bhuvi nodded, walking over to him. He placed a hand on Jassi's shoulder, the simple touch grounding him.

"Yeah... it is," Bhuvi replied softly, the tension in his face easing, replaced with something warmer. "We'll take care of him. Together."

Jassi smiled, his chest tightening with a mixture of relief and love.

"Together," he echoed, the weight of everything they'd been through slowly melting away.

As they stood there, side by side, looking down at Angad in the crib, they both knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter.

That night, their bedroom was quiet—almost too quiet. The soft hum of the night filtered through the slightly open window, and the moonlight spilled in, casting pale shadows across the floor.

Jassi had changed into his sleepwear first, quietly making sure Angad was comfortable in the crib right beside the bed. The little one stirred slightly but soon settled again with a tiny sigh, his small chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

Bhuvi came in a few minutes later, dressed in a soft oversized t-shirt, his hair a little damp from a quick shower. He didn't say anything, and neither did Jassi. There was nothing tense between them—no harsh air, no sharp silence—just a quiet that lingered from everything unsaid.

They both slid into bed, each taking one side.

They didn't face each other.

Jassi laid on his side, his back turned slightly toward Bhuvi, staring at the faint outline of the crib just a foot away. He could hear the soft sounds of Bhuvi breathing on the other side, steady but distant. His fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, wanting to reach out, to bridge the space between them—but he didn't.

Bhuvi lay flat, hands folded over his stomach, his eyes tracing the ceiling. The room felt heavier than it looked. He could feel the dip in the mattress where Jassi's weight was, feel the warmth of someone who was once so close, now just... near.

So close, yet not close enough.

Minutes passed.

Neither of them spoke. But neither of them could sleep either.

The space between them wasn't angry—it was aching.

It held tired hearts. Worn-out attempts. And something tender that still hadn't been broken, only bent.

Eventually, Jassi turned his head slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder toward Bhuvi's silhouette in the dark.

He didn't say a word.

But his eyes stayed there, long after Bhuvi had closed his own.

And somewhere between silence and sleep, they both held on—in their own quiet, stubborn ways.

Together in the same bed.
But apart—for now.

The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The stillness of the early morning was broken only by the faint cooing noises from Angad in his crib, stretching his tiny limbs in sleep.

Bhuvi stirred first, blinking slowly as he adjusted to the light. At first, he couldn’t quite register the warmth wrapped around him—the solid weight pressed so close, the steady rhythm of breathing near his ear.

And then he realized.

Jassi.

Jassi’s arm was slung around him, tight and firm, his chest pressed flush against Bhuvi’s back. His grip wasn’t possessive… but it wasn’t gentle either. It was the kind of hold that spoke of fear, regret, and an unspoken desperation to keep something from slipping away.

Bhuvi didn’t move. He stayed still, unsure if Jassi was awake or if this closeness had happened unconsciously in the middle of the night.

But then he felt it—the slight brush of Jassi’s nose against the back of his neck. A quiet exhale. And the faintest murmur, so low Bhuvi almost didn’t catch it.

“Don’t go far again…” Jassi whispered, still somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. “I can’t take that.”

Bhuvi’s chest tightened, his fingers clutching at the blanket near his heart.

Jassi shifted slightly, tightening his hold even more, almost as if he feared Bhuvi would vanish if he let go. His face nuzzled closer into the crook of Bhuvi’s neck, warmth radiating from every point of contact.

And for the first time in a while, Bhuvi didn’t pull away.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Instead, his hand slowly reached up, resting on Jassi’s arm, holding it in place—not to remove it, but to ground it. To acknowledge it. To accept it.

The space that had existed between them the night before?Gone.

For now… they were exactly where they needed to be.Together.

The soft rustle of the blanket accompanied Jassi’s slow awakening. His eyes blinked open lazily, the morning light casting a golden rim around everything in the room. But the first thing he became aware of wasn’t the light or the gentle sounds outside—

—it was Bhuvi, still warm in his arms.

Jassi didn’t move. He didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he held Bhuvi tighter, his arm draped protectively over his waist, chest pressed against Bhuvi’s back as if he could somehow shield him from every bruise he’d caused.

Bhuvi shifted slightly at the sensation, his breath catching. Then, slowly, he turned around in Jassi’s arms.

Their faces were inches apart.

So close, Bhuvi could feel the quiet heat of Jassi’s breath brush his cheek. His eyes flicked up, and for the first time in a long while, they met Jassi’s gaze from this close—vulnerable, raw, and unguarded.

Jassi didn’t flinch. He just looked at him—really looked at him. No words, no half-truths, no guilt-ridden silences.

His thumb gently brushed Bhuvi’s side, a silent anchor. His voice, when it came, was husky from sleep, low and sincere.

“Stay like this… just a little longer.”

Bhuvi’s throat tightened, but he didn’t look away. His own hand, hesitant but soft, found its way to rest on Jassi’s chest. The steady thump of Jassi’s heartbeat throbbed beneath his palm.

He didn’t answer with words either.

He didn’t need to.

Because he didn’t pull away.

And in that quiet morning, with nothing but the hum of their shared breath and the soft coos of their baby nearby, something heavy between them began to crack—not in a destructive way, but in the way ice thaws at the first sign of warmth.

They lay there, close and still, as if holding each other tightly might somehow rewrite the distance of all the nights before.

Maybe it would.

Maybe it already had.

A sharp, familiar cry pierced the soft cocoon of their closeness.

Angad.

Both Jassi and Bhuvi stirred instantly, their tender moment shattered by the urgent wail of their baby. Jassi blinked, his arms still instinctively wrapped around Bhuvi as they both turned toward the crib beside the bed.

Angad was awake—tiny fists clenched, face scrunched, and voice full of demand. His cry was sharp and impatient, the kind that said “Now. I need you now.”

Bhuvi sat up first, brushing his hair back and reaching toward the crib, but Jassi moved too, his hand gently stopping Bhuvi before he could lift Angad.

“I’ve got him,” Jassi murmured, his voice still thick from sleep but soft with intent.

Bhuvi hesitated, watching as Jassi leaned over and gently picked up their son, cradling him with practiced ease. Angad’s cries lessened the moment he felt the comfort of his father’s arms, his little fists slowly unclenching.

Jassi sat back on the edge of the bed, swaying slightly, rocking Angad as he hummed something low under his breath—something that barely resembled a tune but was filled with heart.

Bhuvi sat behind him, watching the two of them. There was a look on his face—unreadable at first—but then it softened into something so painfully fond it almost hurt.

Because in that moment, this was what mattered.

The silent warmth. The baby they were raising. The quiet promise that maybe, just maybe, they could mend everything that had cracked between them.

Angad let out one more tiny grumble before settling down again, his cheek pressed against Jassi’s shoulder.

Jassi turned slightly to glance back at Bhuvi, their eyes meeting.

“You want to feed him?” he asked gently.

Bhuvi nodded wordlessly, reaching his arms out. Jassi passed Angad over carefully, and their fingers brushed—brief, electric, and wordless.

As Bhuvi adjusted to feed their son, Jassi remained on the bed, close but not overstepping. Still watching. Still present.

And for the first time in days, everything just… fit.

Even if only for a fleeting moment, it felt like home again.

It was a quiet, golden weekend morning—the kind that arrived without rush or responsibility. The apartment felt warmer than usual, not from the sun alone, but from the soft buzz of comfort that had returned in small pieces over the past few days.

Angad was on a makeshift play mat spread out over the living room floor, surrounded by his plush toys and random teething rings. Jassi lay flat on his stomach beside him, resting on his elbows, holding out a stuffed panda and making little growling noises that made Angad squeal in delight.

“Who’s this, huh?” Jassi asked in a mock deep voice. “Is this Mr. Panda invading your kingdom?”

Angad slapped at the panda with a gummy grin, and Jassi dramatically pulled it away with a gasp. “No mercy, little prince!”

From the kitchen, Bhuvi watched the scene as he stirred the contents of a pan. He wore a loose t-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, sleep still lingering in his movements.

Jassi’s eyes drifted to him between panda battles.

“That t-shirt’s definitely mine, Bhuvi,” Jassi called out lazily, a teasing edge in his tone. “I’ve been looking for it all week.”

Bhuvi didn’t even glance back. “Finders keepers,” he replied coolly, but a small smile played at the corner of his lips.

“Is that your new rule?” Jassi grinned. “Because I might start finding all my hoodies mysteriously wrapped around you soon.”

Bhuvi rolled his eyes, grabbing two plates from the shelf. “You act like you wouldn’t be thrilled to see that.”

Jassi chuckled, shifting to sit up and picking up Angad who had started crawling over to chew on his shirt collar. “Caught in the act,” he said softly to his son, “your other dad’s a thief, Angad. But a cute one.”

Bhuvi turned then, raising a brow as he set the plates on the table. “And you’re just annoying before breakfast.”

Jassi gasped, exaggerated. “Unbelievable. Attacked in my own home.” He kissed the top of Angad’s head. “Good thing your loyalty lies with me, huh champ?”

Angad let out a burble of approval—or perhaps it was just gas—but it made both of them laugh.

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet.

But the teasing, the warmth, the shared laughter? It felt like them again. Like a version of themselves they hadn’t seen in a while—playful, tender, slowly rebuilding.

And in the quiet that followed, Jassi caught Bhuvi looking at him—not with anger, not with pain—but with a softness he hadn’t seen in weeks.

He held that gaze for a second longer than he should’ve… and it was enough to hope again.

The day stretched out slowly, comfortably, like the kind of weekend that felt stolen from time itself. No alarms, no calls, no emails. Just sunlight filtering through the curtains and the soft sound of baby giggles echoing through the apartment.

Jassi was on the living room floor with Angad again, the baby now crawling like he had a personal mission to conquer every inch of the carpet. Every time he reached for something—whether it was his toy giraffe or Jassi’s slipper—Jassi would clap or cheer dramatically.

“Yes! My little explorer is on his first expedition!” Jassi cried, laughing as Angad drooled all over the poor giraffe. “Next stop: stealing your other dad’s patience!”

From the kitchen counter, Bhuvi sipped his chai, eyeing the two of them with a half-suspicious, half-fond look. He leaned against the counter, one eyebrow arched.

“You’re going to make him think the living room is a warzone,” Bhuvi said.

Jassi turned his head to grin at him. “It is. A warzone of love and chaos, and guess what—he’s winning.”

Bhuvi tried to suppress a smile as he walked over with a small bowl of mashed banana for Angad. Jassi’s eyes immediately lit up—not at the banana, but at Bhuvi.

“You bringing food for our prince or for me?” Jassi asked, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. “Because I’ve also been crawling around and making cute faces.”

“You’ve been lying on the floor groaning about your back and calling that parenting,” Bhuvi said dryly, handing the bowl to him.

“Hey,” Jassi said, mock-offended, “this back has held a baby, carried him in one arm, worked ten hours, and still looks good in fitted shirts—don’t act like you haven’t noticed.”

Bhuvi turned away, ears slightly pink. “You’re impossible.”

“And still, you’re wearing my t-shirt,” Jassi shot back, now trying to feed Angad, who was far more interested in grabbing his dad’s nose than eating the banana.

Angad let out a joyful squeal as his tiny fingers latched onto Jassi’s face, pulling at his cheeks.

“Ouch! Betrayed by my own son,” Jassi laughed, twisting away gently, and looked at Bhuvi. “He gets that sass from you, clearly.”

Bhuvi walked past them, brushing his fingers gently across Angad’s hair before muttering, “At least one of us has sense.”

Jassi tilted his head, watching Bhuvi head back into the kitchen. Then, loud enough for him to hear:

“You love me. Just admit it again already.”

Bhuvi didn’t look back. But his voice carried over casually:

“Feed the baby before I throw the banana at you.”

Jassi looked down at Angad, who was now smacking the bowl with his hand, banana smeared across his chin.

“We got roasted, buddy,” he whispered to his son with a sigh. “Your other dada is too powerful.”

Angad giggled. And somewhere in that laughter, the edges of all the past hurt continued to soften.

The late evening sun filtered through the curtains in streaks of orange and rose, casting a calm glow across the quiet apartment. The day had slowed down. Laughter had faded into gentle silences, and now it was time for Angad’s last feed before bedtime.

Bhuvi sat on the bed, legs folded underneath him, gently cradling Angad in his arms. The baby had been fussy—restless and hungry, small fists batting at Bhuvi’s chest until he finally settled against him, latching on instinctively.

Jassi leaned against the doorframe, towel thrown over his shoulder from a quick shower, still drying his hair. His eyes moved toward them—toward the way Bhuvi held their son so securely, with quiet strength and soft patience.

But then… his gaze lingered.

There was a quiet intimacy in the scene that caught Jassi off guard. The way Bhuvi’s head tilted slightly back, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, a soft hiss slipping past his lips. It was barely a sound—but Jassi heard it.

A quiet, involuntary response from Bhuvi as Angad’s new tooth scraped a little too sharply against sensitive skin.

Jassi’s expression shifted—conflicted and suddenly still. His breath caught for a moment as he watched the tiniest wince flicker across Bhuvi’s face, followed by a deep breath to settle himself. He was used to this. It wasn’t new. But something about witnessing it from this angle—unguarded, maternal, quietly intimate—pulled at Jassi in a way he didn’t expect.

Bhuvi glanced up, sensing the stare. Their eyes locked.

Jassi looked away almost immediately, guilt flashing across his face—as though he’d looked at something too personal, too tender, something he hadn’t earned the right to witness so fully yet.

But Bhuvi didn’t say anything. He just turned his gaze back down to Angad, gently shifting the baby in his arms, letting him feed in peace.

And though no words passed between them, a quiet understanding hung in the space.

It wasn’t just about feeding the baby. It was about all the roles Bhuvi had stepped into without hesitation—caregiver, protector, constant.

And Jassi… Jassi was still learning how to step in. How to stay.He stood there a moment longer.

The soft rhythmic sound of the ceiling fan filled the quiet of their bedroom, only broken by Angad’s tiny sighs as he drifted into sleep.

Bhuvi leaned over the crib gently, adjusting the blanket around Angad’s small form. He moved with care, brushing his fingers along the baby’s cheek before pulling away slowly, reluctant but content.

As he straightened up and turned, he didn’t expect Jassi to be right there—standing close, eyes deep and unreadable, as if holding something back for far too long.

Before Bhuvi could speak, Jassi’s hands reached forward.

One hand cupped his cheek, the other followed slowly—tender, trembling just slightly. Bhuvi froze, startled by the sudden intensity, his lips parting but no words coming.

Jassi’s thumb brushed along Bhuvi’s cheekbone, and when he finally spoke, his voice cracked low with emotion.

“I don’t know when it happened, or maybe I always knew it… but it scared me.”

Bhuvi didn’t move. He couldn’t—not when Jassi was looking at him like that, raw and exposed, like he was laying his soul bare.

“You walked into my life like you had no intention of staying, but somehow, you made a home out of all the broken places in me,” Jassi whispered. “You took care of everything—Angad, this house, even me. And I kept standing on the sidelines… pretending I didn’t feel it too.”

Bhuvi blinked, his jaw trembling faintly. He wanted to speak, to interrupt, to say it wasn’t fair—but Jassi continued, his voice shaking now.

“I thought I could keep it all about business. That marriage, the baby—it was just… structure. Duty. But you—” his hand dropped to Bhuvi’s waist, pulling him just an inch closer, “you made it all real. You made it matter. And I think I’ve been in love with you far longer than I ever dared to admit.”

A silence fell between them.

Bhuvi’s lashes fluttered, breath uneven. He stared up at Jassi, seeing the truth of it in his eyes, the pain, the guilt, the longing. It was everything he had waited to hear… yet didn’t know if he could believe, not fully. Not yet.

But then Jassi leaned his forehead down to Bhuvi’s, closing the space between them. His eyes shut, lips barely brushing against Bhuvi’s as he whispered,

“I’m sorry it took so long. But I’m here now… if you’ll still have me.”

Bhuvi closed his eyes, chest rising and falling like a tide caught in a storm. And for the first time in a long while… he let himself lean in. Not with words, not with forgiveness yet, but with quiet closeness.

A pause. A chance. A beginning.

Bhuvi stood still, his forehead resting gently against Jassi’s, both of them suspended in that quiet, tender space—hearts racing, breath shallow, years of complicated emotions catching up all at once.

Jassi’s hands remained warm against Bhuvi’s cheeks, grounding them both. His thumb brushed softly under Bhuvi’s eye, tracing the faint tiredness there, the quiet ache of being strong for too long.

“Can I kiss you?” Jassi whispered, his voice barely audible, like he was afraid the question might shatter what they had managed to rebuild in this fragile moment.

Bhuvi didn’t speak. He just nodded, once—small, trembling, but sure.

And then Jassi leaned in.

Their lips met gently, hesitantly at first, as if learning the shape of something they both wanted but had never dared to hold too tightly. It wasn’t a desperate kiss. It wasn’t rushed or fiery.

It was slow.

Meaningful.

Soft, but full of everything that had gone unsaid for weeks—for months.

Jassi tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough, his hand sliding to the back of Bhuvi’s neck, fingers curling into the hair there. Bhuvi’s hands, once frozen by hesitation, found their way to Jassi’s chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

When they finally pulled apart, Jassi didn’t step away.

He rested his forehead back against Bhuvi’s again, their breaths mingling between them. Bhuvi’s eyes fluttered open, glassy but calm.

“I wanted this,” Bhuvi murmured quietly, voice hoarse. “For so long.”

Jassi just nodded, gently wrapping his arms around Bhuvi and pulling him close into a full embrace—tight, unyielding, like he was afraid to let go again.

“Then let’s not waste another night,” he whispered. “Stay with me. Here… like this.”

They slid beneath the covers, side by side for once—not divided by silence or guilt, but held together by something slowly, finally healing.

Jassi curled his arm around Bhuvi, holding him close. Bhuvi let his head rest against Jassi’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

And somewhere between the kiss and the quiet, they both drifted into sleep—

Not as broken pieces trying to make sense of their story… But as two hearts trying, at last, to write a new chapter together.

AuthyyG🧸

# Bonus🎗

The night was still and quiet, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of the trees outside. Moonlight spilled in gently through the window, casting pale silver shadows across the room. The crib stood quietly beside the bed, Angad sleeping peacefully, his little chest rising and falling with each breath.

Bhuvi stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open to the dim room, as if something inside him had called him awake—not fear, not noise. Just... longing.

His eyes drifted to his side—Jassi was there, asleep on his back, the lines on his face finally softened in rest. The steady sound of his breathing filled the silence.

Bhuvi didn't think twice.

He slowly shifted under the covers and crawled closer—careful, gentle—until his head rested against Jassi's chest, his arm slipping around his waist, fingers tightening just enough to feel the warmth of him. He buried his face into the crook of Jassi's neck, the scent of him—familiar and comforting—wrapping around him like a second blanket.

And then, in the faintest breath, soft and broken and real, he whispered:

"I need you, Dada..."

The words weren't loud. They weren't meant to wake him.

But Jassi stirred.

His arm instinctively curved around Bhuvi, pulling him closer, his hand splaying gently across his back like he'd been waiting—hoping—for this. His voice was rough with sleep, but warm, protective, deeply there.

"I've got you, baby," he murmured, eyes still closed. "I've always got you."

Bhuvi let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and tucked himself deeper into Jassi's embrace, finally feeling safe—held—not just as a parent, not just as a partner... but as someone loved.

And in that quiet, midnight moment, their broken pieces didn't feel quite so broken anymore.

Just healing.

Together.

The soft whisper of sheets shifting filled the room, and Jassi opened his eyes—fully now. Bhuvi was curled against him, face tucked into his neck, breath slow and warm against his skin. The words "I need you, Dada" still echoed in his mind, delicate and raw.

He looked down, brushing a few strands of hair from Bhuvi's forehead. His heart clenched. There was no way he was letting Bhuvi carry all of it alone anymore.

With quiet care, Jassi gently slid his arms under Bhuvi—one around his back, the other under his knees—and picked him up in one smooth motion. Bhuvi stirred lightly but didn't resist, letting his arms lazily loop around Jassi's neck.

"Where...?" he murmured sleepily.

"Shh," Jassi whispered against his temple. "I've got you."

He padded across the quiet room, the floor cool under his feet, and stepped into the nursery—the soft scent of baby powder and warmth still lingering in the air. With careful hands, he lay Bhuvi down on the spare bed beside the crib, the same bed Bhuvi had used countless nights for comfort while caring for Angad.

But this time, Jassi wasn't leaving him there.

He joined him.

Settling beside Bhuvi, Jassi leaned in slowly, hovering just over him, his hand resting over Bhuvi's chest as if grounding him there. Their eyes met in the soft moonlight, something deeper flickering in both.

"Can I... stay?" Jassi asked, voice low.

Bhuvi gave a slow nod, his eyes never leaving Jassi's. "Only if you mean it."

Jassi dipped his head and kissed him—slow and warm, lips brushing with intention. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was full. Honest. A promise.

His hand slipped under the hem of Bhuvi's shirt, gliding along warm skin, fingertips tracing the ridges of his waist gently, reverently. Bhuvi's breath caught, his body arching just slightly toward the touch.

Their foreheads rested together again, breath mingling.

"I'm right here, Bhuvi," Jassi whispered, lips brushing over his cheek, "and I'm not leaving—not again."

They didn't rush.
They didn't speak much more.
They just held each other, letting hands and soft kisses say what words couldn't.

In that quiet nursery, with their son sleeping soundly in the next room, Jassi and Bhuvi finally let go—of the weight, the distance, the silence—and found something far more intimate than just touch.

They found home. 

The next morning Jassi and Bhuvi was already in their bed besides them layed their little one, Angad fists clenched but still dreaming. 

Jassi lay on his side, propped up slightly on his elbow, watching Bhuvi with quiet intensity. The night had passed in shared breaths and soft touches, but now, in the delicate quiet of morning, Jassi couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Why... last night?" he asked gently, brushing his knuckles against Bhuvi's cheek. "What made you come to me like that?"

Bhuvi blinked up at him, sleepy but open. He hesitated for a second, then looked away, lips tugging into a bittersweet smile.

"I usually... dream about it," he admitted softly. "About you touching me. Not just like a husband out of duty. But with... love." His voice broke slightly, his eyes flickering back to Jassi's. "And I—I always wake up before it ends."

Jassi stilled, hand faltering.

The words pierced something in him. Something guilt-shaped and deep.

Bhuvi didn't mean it to hurt. He said it with calm honesty, not accusation. But to Jassi, it felt like a mirror—reflecting all the time he'd spent avoiding what they could have been. What Bhuvi had quietly longed for while he'd kept his distance.

"I didn't know," Jassi whispered, his voice low and rough. "You kept it all to yourself."

Bhuvi smiled gently, though there was pain tucked behind it. "What was I supposed to do, Jassi? I married a man who wouldn't even look me in the eyes when I tried to talk about feelings. So, I stopped trying. And I started dreaming."

Jassi leaned in then, resting his forehead against Bhuvi's once again—like he did the night before. Like a vow.

"I should've seen you," he said, guilt thick in his chest. "Not just as the father of my child... but as someone who's always been right there. Loving me without asking anything back."

Bhuvi closed his eyes, holding back the ache that swelled in his throat.

"You still can," he whispered. "If you want to."

Jassi pulled him close then—no hesitation this time—and wrapped both arms around him.

"I do. I want to... every single day," he said softly into Bhuvi's hair. "Let's stop living in dreams, Bhuvi. Let me give you the real thing."

They stayed like that for a while—hearts close, the past beginning to melt away.

And from the crib, as if perfectly timed, came Angad's soft cry, calling them gently back to the world they were building.Together.

The tender silence was broken by the soft wail of Angad stirring in his crib.

Both Jassi and Bhuvi turned toward the sound, and without needing to say anything, Jassi moved first. He rose from the bed, shirt loose against his skin, and leaned over the crib with a kind of ease he hadn't always shown.

"Hey, champ..." he whispered, gently scooping the little one into his arms. Angad squirmed, then blinked his big eyes open, meeting his father's face with a sleepy pout that melted instantly as Jassi bounced him lightly.

Bhuvi sat up, watching them—one hand tucked beneath his chin, the other smoothing the sheets. His heart ached in the best way. There was something deeply grounding in seeing Jassi this way—present, tender, his love not needing loud declarations anymore.

Jassi looked over his shoulder and smiled. "He needs his Papa."

Bhuvi let out a soft laugh. "He needs milk, and you look too confident to do that."

"I can try," Jassi teased, carefully handing Angad over. "But I think we'd both end up crying."

Bhuvi took Angad and adjusted his shirt, cradling their son as he began to feed. Jassi settled beside them, his arm behind Bhuvi on the headboard, close without overwhelming.

They sat there for a long moment—three of them, tangled in warmth and trust. The early light streamed in through the window, casting a golden hue over everything.

Jassi leaned down, brushing a kiss on Angad's head, then one on Bhuvi's temple.

"You two are my whole world now," he murmured.

Bhuvi didn't look up. He just smiled, soft and quiet, eyes on Angad.

"Then let's not waste any more time."

Their son made a small sound of agreement—half yawn, half sigh—as he finished feeding, and the two men looked at each other, laughter bubbling softly in the middle of that new, fragile peace.

It wasn't perfect.

But it was real.
And for now, that was everything.

Later the Morning, The sun was gentle, the skies clear—one of those rare days when everything felt perfectly still, as if the world had paused just for them. Jassi had been quiet all morning, but with a calm sort of energy that Bhuvi was starting to recognize—not hesitation, but planning.

So when Jassi finally turned to him and said, "Let's go somewhere... just the three of us," Bhuvi smiled.

"Now?"

"Right now."

A couple of hours later, they were driving through green stretches on the edge of the city, with Angad strapped securely in his car seat, babbling away in the back. Bhuvi sat beside him, occasionally reaching back to hold his tiny hand while Jassi stole glances at them through the rearview mirror—heart full and soft.

They arrived at a quiet little spot—just a park with tall trees, a small lake, and not too many people. Jassi laid out the blanket beneath a tree while Bhuvi carefully spread out Angad's toys. Their baby squealed in excitement at the open space and the dancing leaves overhead.

Jassi knelt beside Angad and kissed his cheek dramatically, making the boy laugh out loud. The sound was music. Pure, unfiltered joy.

Bhuvi watched them both—Jassi crawling around like a dorky lion trying to "catch" Angad, who kept rolling away with delighted giggles. He laughed, shaking his head, and joined in, sitting cross-legged, arms open as Angad eventually crawled right into his lap.

Jassi collapsed next to them, breathless, eyes bright with something Bhuvi hadn't seen in a long time—peace.

"This," Jassi whispered, resting his head on Bhuvi's shoulder, "is what I didn't know I needed."

Bhuvi kissed the side of his head gently. "And yet, here you are."

They sat like that until the sun began to dip lower, Angad eventually falling asleep in Jassi's arms, his tiny fingers clutching his father's shirt.

"You brought us here," Jassi murmured, looking at Bhuvi. "You held everything together, even when I didn't know how to. I hope you know that."

Bhuvi's throat tightened. He reached over and took Jassi's hand, lacing their fingers together.

"We did it together. Maybe in our own ways... but we made it."

They didn't need any more words. They just sat, a quiet family tucked beneath a tree, breathing in a soft kind of forever.

The evening sun had slipped beneath the horizon by the time they returned home, casting a golden glow through the windows. The house was quiet—comfortably so, filled with the kind of peace that only comes after a day well spent.

After settling Angad down with a fresh diaper and soft pajamas, they sat on the living room floor with cushions scattered around them. Bhuvi sat on the couch, cross-legged, gently humming as he played with Angad’s tiny fingers.

Jassi walked in from the kitchen, two mugs of warm milk in his hands. He handed one to Bhuvi, kissed the top of his head, and then… with a sudden grin, set his mug down and dramatically flopped onto the couch—right across Bhuvi’s lap.

Bhuvi blinked, almost spilling his drink.

“Jassi!” he laughed.

“What? He got to be on your lap all day,” Jassi grinned, gesturing toward Angad, who was now crawling determinedly over his father’s chest. “It’s my turn now.”

Bhuvi rolled his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips, and gently set the mug aside. He let his hand settle into Jassi’s thick hair, combing his fingers through it slowly as Jassi let out a satisfied sigh.

Angad, meanwhile, had decided Jassi was the perfect mountain to climb. He crawled up onto his father’s chest, plopped himself right down, and giggled.

Jassi chuckled and wrapped one arm around Angad’s tiny back while his head stayed nestled in Bhuvi’s lap.

“You see this?” Jassi mumbled, looking up at Bhuvi from below. “This is my dream life. Both of you. Just like this.”

Bhuvi didn’t say anything. He just looked down at them—his husband, eyes closed in peace, and their son, babbling softly while resting against Jassi’s chest—and felt something heavy inside him finally give way.

Love. Safety. Belonging.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Jassi’s forehead. “Then stay in it, Jassi. Stay in your dream… with us.”

And in that still, glowing room, a family of three stayed wrapped in each other—tangled in limbs, in warmth, in a kind of love that didn’t need to be spoken anymore.

It was there. Always. Finally. Home

The night settled in like a soft blanket, wrapping the home in stillness. Angad had fallen asleep in the crib beside their bed, his tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

Jassi lay on the bed, shirtless, one arm tucked behind his head, watching Bhuvi change into his sleepwear. There was something about the way Bhuvi always fumbled a little with his drawstring pants, biting his lip in concentration, completely unaware of the eyes fixed on him.

"You know," Jassi said lazily, "I should probably help you get those on. Might save time... or spice things up."

Bhuvi turned, one brow arched. "Save time for what? You planning to wrestle me into sleep again, dada?"

Jassi smirked. "Only if you beg nicely."

Bhuvi threw a pillow at him—soft, harmless, but full of sass. Jassi caught it effortlessly and placed it under his head, clearly unbothered.

"God, you're so full of yourself sometimes," Bhuvi muttered, crawling onto the bed beside him.

"Mmhm," Jassi replied, eyes twinkling. "But you married me. Who's the real fool here?"

Bhuvi rolled his eyes and straddled one of Jassi's legs, gently massaging his sore shoulder.

"Still wondering, honestly," he teased. "But then I look at Angad's smile and your stupid dimples and I figure... maybe I made one or two decent choices."

Jassi's lips curled up, his hand slipping up to hold Bhuvi's waist.

"Only one or two?"

Bhuvi leaned closer, their noses nearly brushing. "Fine. Maybe three. But don't let it get to your head."

"Too late," Jassi whispered, eyes softening. "It's already filled with you."

That shut Bhuvi up—for half a second—before he sighed dramatically and collapsed beside Jassi, head on his chest.

"Ugh. That was disgustingly sweet."

"You love it."

"Maybe," Bhuvi whispered, fingers trailing lazy circles on Jassi's stomach. "But don't ever stop being stupidly sweet. Even if you try to act tough all the time."

Jassi kissed the top of Bhuvi's head, pulling him closer. "I'll only stop when you stop being mine."

Bhuvi looked up. "So... basically never?"

Jassi grinned. "Exactly."

And in the quiet hush of their shared warmth, with their baby sleeping nearby, their laughter softened into breathless little moments that made everything feel complete.

The room was still dim with sleep when a tiny wail sliced through the silence.

"Mmm... it's your turn," Bhuvi mumbled, half-asleep, nudging Jassi with his foot.

"No, no... it's Thursday. You handle Thursdays." Jassi's voice was muffled into the pillow.

**"It's Tuesday."

"...Same thing."

But Angad's cry grew louder, this time more frustrated—almost like a baby version of "how dare you ignore me."

Jassi groaned theatrically and rolled out of bed, dragging the blanket halfway with him. Bhuvi turned over, smiling sleepily as he watched Jassi shuffle to the crib like a grumpy bear.

"Good morning, commander," Jassi murmured as he scooped up Angad, who immediately stopped crying, gave a soft sigh, and snuggled into Jassi's chest with a fistful of his shirt.

"Oh, now you're cute," Jassi whispered, swaying a little.

He walked over to the bed with Angad still curled against him and climbed back in beside Bhuvi.

"He missed me," Jassi said smugly.

"He missed the warmth," Bhuvi teased, adjusting the blanket.

Angad let out a small squeak and made a soft noise as he rooted instinctively against Jassi's shirt.

"Looks like he's hungry," Bhuvi said, reaching over.

Jassi pouted dramatically. "I was his bed. Now I'm just his delivery guy."

"You're lucky to even have a role," Bhuvi smirked, pulling Angad gently from Jassi's arms and settling him against his chest to feed. Angad latched with a soft sigh, while Jassi lay there watching them—quiet, fond.

"How does he always look like he's drinking nectar from heaven?" Jassi whispered.

Bhuvi chuckled. "Because he is. It's just bottled love with a hint of exhaustion."

Jassi turned onto his side, facing them, head propped on one hand.

"You look so soft with him."

"Soft? What am I usually—sandpaper?"

"No, you're... you. You're gentle in ways you don't even notice." His hand reached over to touch Bhuvi's thigh under the blanket, a quiet gesture of affection.

Bhuvi looked up from Angad, eyes meeting Jassi's.

"You're trying to charm me this early?"

"It's not charm if it's true."

They stayed like that—Angad nursing quietly, Jassi resting his head near Bhuvi's lap, their legs tangled under the blanket, a home wrapped in the smallest, purest things.

As the morning passed gently, the sounds of Angad’s soft cooing and quiet giggles filled the room. The sun had risen higher, casting a soft golden hue through the window, and the atmosphere in their home was peaceful, almost dreamlike.

Jassi lay there, watching Bhuvi feed their son, his heart swelling with something deep and tender—something he could never quite put into words. The sight of them together, so effortlessly in sync, filled him with a warmth that lingered even after the moment had passed.

Bhuvi glanced down at him, a quiet smile playing on his lips. “I still can’t believe we’re here.”

Jassi smiled back, eyes softening as he reached out and gently cupped Bhuvi’s face. “I can. I knew I’d get here… eventually. And I knew you’d be the one to make me believe in it.”

Bhuvi’s smile widened, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist—just the three of them, in their own little bubble of love and connection.

Angad let out a small, contented sound, and Bhuvi looked down at him. “You’re growing up too fast, little one.”

Jassi sat up, pulling Bhuvi into a gentle hug from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder as they both watched their son. “We’re not ready for it, are we?”

Bhuvi shook his head softly, a laugh escaping him. “No. I’m not ready for him to stop needing us this much.”

Jassi’s hand rested lightly on Bhuvi’s stomach, where the hint of his own feelings—his own need to protect and cherish—lingered.

“Maybe we’ll never be ready,” Jassi whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. “But we’ll always have each other. You, me, Angad… we’ll figure it out.”

Bhuvi leaned into him, eyes closing for a moment, allowing himself to feel the comfort of Jassi’s arms. “As long as we’re together, Jassi, we’ll be alright. We’ve already got everything we need.”

Angad gave a small whine, pulling both their attention back to him. They shared a quiet laugh, and Jassi quickly got up to check on the little one, who was still nestled in Bhuvi’s arms.

The day unfolded slowly, with them laughing together over small moments, making breakfast in the kitchen, and simply existing in each other’s company. They spent the day taking care of Angad, each little milestone he reached—his first giggle, his first time grabbing onto a toy—becoming a moment they cherished.

As the evening came, the family settled in front of the TV, a blanket wrapped around them, Angad sleeping peacefully in his little bassinet beside them.

Jassi glanced at Bhuvi, catching his eye with a soft, knowing smile. “You were right.”

Bhuvi raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“This life. This… this little world we’ve made together.” Jassi’s voice was low, but full of certainty. “It’s exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed.”

Bhuvi chuckled, leaning in to kiss Jassi’s cheek. “I know. I’m pretty great.”

Jassi smiled, shaking his head. “No. We’re great. All of us.”

They sat there, wrapped in warmth and quiet joy, knowing the future would bring its own challenges, but for now, in this moment, they were perfect. They were home. Together.

And with that, their journey continued, one small step at a time, but always forward—together.

Via credits, ChatGPT. ~The end.