The house looked different today.

Incense floated gently in the air. Fresh marigold garlands framed the temple area. Silver plates gleamed under the soft lights.

Maithili moved everywhere at once.

"Keep the diya there—no, a little to the left!"

"Careful with the flowers!"

Hriday walked out of his room wearing a yellow kurta.

The exact shade his mother had selected.

"Mom... why are we doing this puja again?" he asked, adjusting his sleeves.

"Come here."

She ignored the question and made him stand still.

From her palm, she lifted a delicate gold chain with a tiny Ganesh ji pendant.

"Mom, what is this now?"

"Shhh. Don't argue."

She made him wear it.

He looked down at it, then at her.

"You're turning me into a temple boy."

She glared.

"Stand quietly."

Shikhar entered, dressed in a white kurta—chosen by Maithili, obviously.

"Ready?" he asked calmly.

Maithili herself wore a white Jamdani saree with a red border. She looked graceful. Serene. Almost divine.

"Yes, Dad. Let's go," Hriday replied.

They walked downstairs.

"Where is Pandit ji?" Maithili asked immediately.

"He is almost here, madam."

"Almost? The muhurat is near! Call him right now!"

Before her anxiety could rise further, Hriday came from behind and hugged her.

"My sweet Mom," he said softly, resting his chin on her shoulder, "can you stop worrying for five minutes?"

He signaled the servant. "Call Pandit ji. Tell him to come fast."

The servant hurried away.

"Maithili, stop stressing," Shikhar said, placing a steady hand on her arm.

"I'm not stressing... just a little worried."

Hriday muttered, "Haan, and I am the Prime Minister."

She elbowed him lightly.

Then—

"Bring juice for Mom," Hriday ordered a maid.

"I am fasting," Maithili said calmly.

Both men went still.

Hriday straightened. "What?"

Shikhar's brows furrowed. "Since when?"

"Since morning."

Hriday looked genuinely upset. "Mom, that's not necessary! You know you can't stay hungry long. You get headaches."

Shikhar stepped closer. "Did you take your medicine?"

Maithili tried to brush it off. "I'm fine."

"You didn't answer me," Shikhar said quietly but firmly.

She avoided his eyes.

Hriday groaned. "See? You didn't. This is exactly why you shouldn't fast."

"Hri-day!"

"Mom!"

"Fine," she sighed. "Only water. I'll break my fast after the puja."

"Bring water," Hriday instructed immediately. "Room temperature. Not cold."

The maid nodded quickly.

Shikhar looked at Hriday. "Did she eat anything at all?"

"Nothing," Hriday replied.

Both father and son exchanged a glance.

The same worry.

The same protective instinct.

Maithili looked at them helplessly. "You both are overreacting."

"No," Shikhar said calmly. "We are reacting correctly."

Hriday folded his arms. "If you feel dizzy even a little, I'm cancelling this puja."

"You will not," she said sharply.

Shikhar sighed. "Maithili... faith doesn't require you to suffer."

She softened slightly. "It's for my family."

Both men fell silent.

Because they knew—

When she said that, there was no argument strong enough.

"Fine," Hriday muttered. "Then I'm fasting too."

Maithili blinked. "You already had breakfast."

Hriday looked away. "Not much."

Shikhar gave him a side look. "You ate two parathas."

Hriday frowned. "Dad."

But Shikhar's voice lowered.

"If she feels unwell, we stop everything. Understood?"

"Understood," Hriday replied immediately.

Maithili just looked at them.

Her two stubborn men.

So protective.

So alike.

She reached out and touched both their hands.

"I'm okay."

But they didn't look convinced.

"Here, water Madam."

That voice.

Hriday's attention shifted instantly.

Gauri stood there.

Wearing a soft yellow saree.

The same shade as his kurta.

His fingers paused.

For one second, it felt like coincidence had meaning.

"Thanks," Maithili smiled warmly and took the glass.

She drank slowly.

Hriday watched carefully.

"Mom, sip slowly," he said quietly.

Shikhar too was watching.

Not the water.

Her face.

Looking for any sign of discomfort.

"I didn't know you work here. Are you new?" Maithili asked Gauri.

"Madam, I've been working here for the past two weeks."

"Oh? I've never seen you."

"I'm the cook, madam. Sir appointed me."

Her eyes flickered toward Hriday.

He cleared his throat.

"Mom... I'll tell you later."

Gauri left.

Maithili looked at him curiously.

"Isn't she the cook you were praising?"

"Yes."

"And her name?"

"She is Gauri Po—"

"Maithili, Pandit ji has arrived," Shikhar interrupted smoothly.

Hriday exhaled quietly.

Saved.

For now.

"Gauri, bring the flower basket."

She tried lifting it.

It was heavy.

Before she could adjust—

"Let me."

Hriday took it from her hands.

She stepped aside.

"Thank you, sir."

"No need. This is my home. Puja is for my family."

He paused.

"Aur apne kaam mein thank you kaisa?"

He walked ahead.

From a distance, Shikhar noticed.

Not the basket.

The instinct.

The way his son reacted before being asked.

Interesting.

The puja began.

All servants sat as instructed by Maithili.

"Prosperity is for everyone in this house," she had declared.

Gauri sat beside Hriday.

Close.

Not touching.

But close enough for awareness.

She closed her eyes in prayer.

Hriday opened his.

And looked at her.

Peaceful.

Sincere.

Unpretentious.

For a fleeting moment, he forgot the mantras.

God... am I falling for my own cook?

Gauri opened her eyes suddenly.

"What, sir?"

He blinked.

"Nothing. Focus on the puja."

She nodded and closed her eyes again.

He tried to focus.

But his gaze drifted once more.

To her calm face.

To the red kumkum on the plate near the idol.

For one dangerous second—

He imagined that red on her forehead.

With his name.

He shut his eyes tightly.

This is wrong.

This is complicated.

And yet...

Why does it feel so right?

Across the room—

Shikhar noticed his son wasn't chanting.

He was watching.

And Shikhar, who misses very little—

Said nothing.

But understood more than Hriday realized.