Author's POV:
In the HaveliIn the heart of Delhi's posh Lutyens' Bungalow Zone, where manicured lawns whispered under the winter sun and the distant honk of auto-rickshaws mingled with the call of koels, stood the sprawling haveli of the powerful politician Raghuvrer Chauhan.
It was a fortress of red sandstone and marble arches, its courtyards echoing with the ghosts of old Delhi summers. Yet inside, mornings bloomed softly, painting beautiful vignettes of life, fresh marigold garlands on the gates, the aroma of aloo parathas wafting from the kitchen, and the golden light filtering through jharokhas, reminding one that even in grandeur, simple joys flickered like diyas. Ira stirred in her lavish bedroom, a sanctuary drowned in shades of purple.
Velvet walls shimmered like amethyst under the morning glow, framed by paintings of mehndi-clad hands and Rajasthani folk dancers. Her king-sized bed, draped in silk sheets, cradled a fluffy teddy bear the size of a child, its button eyes watching over her dreams. But the real wake-up call came with paws thundering across the Persian rug.
Goofy, her three-year-old Rottweiler, launched himself onto the bed with a joyful woof, his massive frame shaking the mattress. His glossy black-and-tan coat gleamed, tail wagging like a metronome. Ira sat up, laughing as his wet nose nudged her cheek.
"Arre meri jaan, (aww my baby) Goofy! Good morning, my fluffy monster," She murmured, burying her face in his neck, inhaling his earthy scent mixed with lavender shampoo.
In that cuddle, time paused, a pure, beautiful moment where love needed no words, just sloppy licks and her giggles echoing off the purple walls. Goofy's eyes sparkled with uncomplicated devotion, tail thumping as if saying, Tera birthday hai, boss!
Her phone shattered the bliss, buzzing insistently on the bedside table. The screen flashed "Maa."
Ira sighed, the warmth fading into familiar resignation. She answered before the first ring ended.
"Get up...."
"Yes, Maa, I woke up! Main abhi neeche aa rahi hoon" (I'm coming down now)
Ira cut in, her voice a mix of affection and autopilot.
Madhu's chuckle crackled through.
"Achha, beta, jaldi aa ja. Breakfast thanda ho jayega." ( Okay dear come soon. Breakfast is getting cold)
Ira hung up, staring at the ornate phone case. In this huge haveli, we communicate through cells, not hearts, she thought wryly, the irony stinging like Delhi's winter chill. Beauty surrounded her, crystal vases brimming with lilies, a balcony overlooking fog-kissed gardens, but it felt hollow.
The phone buzzed again. "Anjali" calling.
Ira grinned; her bestie since school, through college crushes and now dance academy chaos.
"Happy Birthday, meri drama queen! Tu 25 ki ho gayi, ab toh shaadi kar le, warna main Gresham ko bol dungi propose again!" (Now that your 25, get married soon or should I tell Gresham to propose to you again)
Anjali's voice exploded, half-laughing, half-teary.
Ira burst out laughing, tears pricking her eyes from the emotion. "Anju, tu pagli hai! Shaadi? Pehle tu apni love life sambhal, uss gym trainer ko propose kar de. Aur haan, thanks yaar... tu nahi hoti toh yeh din boring hota."
(Anju, your crazy! Marriage? First you handle your love life, propose to your gym trainer, and yeah thank you, because of you today everything is possible)
Anjali sniffled dramatically. "Emotional maat ho yaar? Aaj academy mein surprise hai, so shh! Ab ready ho ja, late mat hona."
(Don't get emotional, today there is a program in our academy right? Don't be late)
YOU ARE READING
His Spy Wife
RomanceHe was never meant to be a good man. Power had shaped him, and darkness had refined him. Vihaan Suryavanshi a name whispered in fear, never spoken in trust. She, on the other hand, lived in rhythm, not in the shadows. Ira Chauhan a girl whose world...
