The CID office was unusually quiet that Friday morning. Senior Inspector Daya, usually the one busting through doors and catching criminals like he was in an action film, was nowhere to be found.
Inspector Abhijeet raised an eyebrow. “Bhai kaha gaya aaj? No loud boots, no chai-slurping?”
Tarika chuckled, “He took leave na. Neeti ka birthday hai kal. Full planning mode mein hai.”
Abhijeet smirked. “Ohhh. Daya the decorator. Interesting.”
---
Meanwhile, at Daya’s bungalow, it was total chaos—but the good kind. Balloons, streamers, flower garlands, catering lists, music system setups… Daya was in full dad-mode. Well, not dad—bhai-mode. And the general in command? A 6-foot-tall tough cop trying to coordinate ribbon colors with a decorator who only spoke in aesthetic vibes.
“Bhaiyaaa!” Neeti came running from the upstairs balcony, her long wavy hair flying behind her. She wore one of Daya’s oversized t-shirts, clearly claiming it as her uniform for the day. “Yeh pink ribbons kyu? I told you I want lavender and gold! Yeh kya Peppa Pig theme bana diya!”
Daya looked up from the guest list, completely unfazed. “Pink, lavender, purple... sab ek hi family ke toh hai.”
Neeti rolled her eyes, dramatically placing a hand on her forehead. “God, bhaiya, you’re killing my birthday vibe! Tu CID ka case itni asaani se solve karta hai, par yeh party nahi?”
He grinned. “Murder solve karna easy hai. Tera mood manage karna? Impossible.”
Neeti flung a cushion at him, laughing. “aap na... I swear!”
---
Two hours later, the bungalow was buzzing like a mini-wedding. The backyard had fairy lights strung from every tree, a floral stage was half-ready, and waiters were testing mocktail flavors in the kitchen. Daya, dressed in casual jeans and a black tee, had his sleeves rolled up and a pencil tucked behind his ear like he was some kind of event manager gone rogue.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Shreya.
She walked in with a bright smile, holding a box of cupcakes. “Birthday ke liye something sweet. Homemade.”
Neeti squealed, hugging her. “Meri Shreyaaa! You saved me from bhaiya’s ‘rustic decor’ plans. Please take over!”
Daya looked up. For a second, his expression softened. Shreya in casuals, hair in a loose ponytail, sleeves dusted with flour—she looked...happy. Peaceful. And suddenly, this violent, duty-bound man wanted nothing more than to protect that peace.
But of course, he said none of that.
Instead: “Homemade cupcakes? CID ke liye ya birthday ke liye?”
Shreya raised a brow. “Aapke sarcasm ka flavour thoda kam ho toh yeh taste bhi le lo.”
Neeti burst out laughing. “Sahi jawaab. Chal Shreya, tujhe backdrop bhi dekhna hai. And bhaiya ka tragic color sense bhi fix karna hai.”
Daya muttered, “Drama queens, both of you.”
---
As the day went on, the trio fell into an effortless rhythm.
Shreya and Neeti sorted the decor—choosing lavender-gold satin ribbons, pastel flower combinations, and a photo booth plan that involved old embarrassing photos of Neeti (and some hidden ones of Daya that she’d secretly collected over the years).
“Bhaiya ka 90s style mullet! I am printing this for the photo wall,” Neeti giggled.
Shreya gasped. “Omg, Daya sir had long hair?!”
