Akshaj went to the kitchen to place his empty tiffin box in the sink - an extremely unusual event, considering it was his mother who did that. Always had. Always would.

So it was evident that there was more to this sudden kitchen visit, especially since he had been unofficially banned from entering it for a lifetime. Patriarchy? No.

The ban from the kitchen was not ideological - it was historical.

Eight years ago, back when he was still in college and significantly dumber, he had decided to learn cooking to impress a girl from his batch.

Of course, he had lied through his teeth and told his mother he had just wanted to learn cooking to help her. He wasn’t suicidal enough to tell his orthodox Mummy that the real reason involved impressing a girl he wanted to date.

He had aimed pretty low. Dal–rice. How hard could it be? Right?

Turns out - very.

The pressure cooker had exploded like a low-budget action movie, dal splattered across the walls, ceiling, cabinets, and possibly his soul. His mother had walked in, taken one look at the carnage, slapped him away from the stove, and declared that he was never to enter her kitchen again.

Now, though, the truth behind trespassing was simple.

He was looking for his wife.

Since returning from the office, he hadn’t seen Lavanya anywhere. Usually, she sat near the verandah with her laptop and her iPad, busy with her “designing stuff.” Graphic designer, as she eloquently put it - sketching comics and layouts and things he barely understood. He wasn’t particularly creative and preferred not to interfere with her work. Why poke his nose where it wasn’t needed?

But today?

She was nowhere.

“Akshu!”

The shout made him flinch so hard he nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around, dread flooding his face, fully prepared to be caught red-handed in the forbidden kitchen by his mother.

But instead---

“Bhabhi, you scared the fuck out of me!”

Jiya Pandey stood there grinning like she’d just won a medal. The resident menace of the household, self-declared prankster, and professional troublemaker.

“I do nice mimicry, no?” she said proudly. “You thought it was Mummy, right? I should practice more, big event coming up.”

“If Maa ever finds out you’re not actually ‘chilling with friends’ every weekend but fulfilling your dream of becoming a stand-up comedian,” Akshaj said solemnly, “there will be an excellent drama in this house.”

He winked. “Do inform me when it happens. I’ll arrange popcorn.”

She scowled. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Yes.”

“It was bad.”

“Unfortunately,” he shrugged, “I am not a comedian.”

He turned to leave the kitchen, only to realize Jiya was following him - notebook in one hand, pen in the other. He stopped abruptly. She walked straight into his back with a small yelp, making him laugh.

“What exactly are you doing?” he asked.

She clicked her tongue, irritated. “I don’t have a proper script. Need jokes. Brain no work.”

“Make jokes about this house and how it works,” he suggested. “Unlimited content.”

She snorted. “True, but the topic is fitness. Some gym is sponsoring the event, and I have nothing to say because---” she gestured at herself dramatically, “---I am all about that bass.”

“Who told you to quit the gym?” he asked. “Bhaiyya goes daily. You could’ve continued with him.”

Her face twisted in disgust. “Ugh. He’s too aggressive.”

She straightened and mimicked her husband in a deep, bossy voice. “Jiyaaaa, posture galat hai... Jiyaaaa, breathe properly,” she rolled her eyes. “Pain in the ass. Absolute pain.”

“Does Bhaiyya know you think so highly of him?”

“I don’t think it, I call him a moron right to his face.”

Akshaj chuckled, loosening his tie. “Well, can’t help much with the script. I know nothing about gym.”

His eyes drifted around the house again, scanning. It was too quiet, too still.

“Where’s Mummy?” he asked casually. Then, less casually, “And... Lavanya?”

“They went shopping,” Jiya replied, scribbling furiously now. “Some cousin’s wedding next week. Mummy wanted a brand new saree - as always. Lavanya went with her to help.”

He nodded.

He shouldn’t have felt anything. It wasn’t a big deal.

And yet - something sank.

He had come home early to surprise his wife. A movie, maybe dinner after. It was their fourth month-versary, and he’d planned to celebrate it properly. Like the past month-versaries.

Didn’t Lavanya remember?

He exhaled slowly. “You didn’t go?”

“Are you a retard, bro?” Jiya scoffed. “Mummy plus shopping is a one-way ticket to hell. I value my sanity.”

She smirked. “Your poor wife volunteered. Clearly trying to stay on Mummy’s good side. Me? I prefer being the irresponsible bahu as she calls me.”

“I can see that,” he said, scanning her from head to toe.

Loose blue T-shirt. Neon pink skirt. Absolute chaos.

She smacked his arm. “Judgy aunty!”

Laughing, he turned and walked toward his room.

So much for a surprise evening with his wife.

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