Chapter 20 : Main Tera Ban Jaunga

The morning sun was barely peeking through the curtains when the dorm-like guest room became a battlefield of productivity and sloth. Ayush had already moved like a seasoned athlete—did his morning routine and his morning prayer went upstairs to wake up Maysha for her brisk seaside jog.

Meanwhile, Maan was deep in a dream where he was still the "Great Maan Singh," until a sharp, searing heat on his index finger snapped the dream to pieces.

"What the f—!" Maan bolted upright, his eyes watering as he clutched his hand. He caught sight of Ishaan standing over him with a calm, terrifyingly steady hand holding a steaming cup of tea. Maan swallowed the rest of the curse. "—fish! What the fish, Ishaan!"

Ishaan didn't even blink. He set the tea down on the nightstand with clinical precision.

"That's right, fish," Ishaan said, his voice a cool, morning blade. "Get used to it. Aadat daalo ki tum subah utho aur apne bachon ka dhyaan rakhne ke saath-saath apni language par bhi dhyaan do. Kyunki agar acha baap banna hai, toh language bhi important hai. (Get used to waking up early and, along with taking care of your children, take care of your language. Because if you want to be a good father, language is important too.)"

"Sorry," Maan hissed, blowing on his red finger. "But you shouldn't have burnt me to wake me up! It’s not even 8:00 AM!"

"Maan, you are forgetting that you aren't just a single man anymore; you are a father-to-be," Ishaan reminded him, crossing his arms. "When will you take your responsibilities seriously? Look at Ayush—he’s already out on a morning jog with Maysha by the beach. Even Maira is doing her morning walk in the garden."

"What?" Maan’s eyes widened, his grogginess vanishing instantly. "They’re already at the beach? Together?"

The thought of Ayush getting all the "quality morning time" with Maysha while he was drooling into a pillow hit Maan harder than the hot tea.

"Yeah, you were sleeping," Ishaan noted, checking his watch. "Now, since you’ve finally joined the land of the living, you have two choices. You can head to the kitchen and help Ayush with the breakfast prep he started, or... you are free to do whatever you feel like. But remember, the schedule doesn't wait for anyone."

Maan scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over his own suitcase.

The competitive energy in the kitchen had shifted from a loud clash to a silent, calculated race for redemption. Maan stood by the counter, his sleeves rolled up and his hair still slightly damp from a hurried shower, looking like he was preparing for a high-stakes culinary audition rather than a simple morning meal.

When Ayush walked in, still breathing heavily from the jog and wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel, he stopped dead in his tracks. He had just finished marking the "Morning Jog" task on Ishaan’s clinical whiteboard with a flourish of victory, only to find the kitchen already occupied.

"What are you doing?" Ayush asked, his voice a mix of confusion and suspicion. "This was my slot. I was supposed to handle the breakfast prep after the jog."

Maan didn't flinch. "I missed the jog, Ayush. I’m making up for it. I thought I’d take the breakfast duty so the meal is ready the second Maysha finishes her shower. Fresh, hot, and exactly on Ishaan’s schedule."

"I don't need a substitute, Maan," Ayush snapped, his competitive streak flaring up. "I can handle a jog and an omelet. Move. I’m not letting you 'out-father' me just because you overslept."

"I’m not trying to out-father you," Maan replied, his voice uncharacteristically level. "I’m trying to be useful. Ishaan told me to help, but I’m choosing to take the lead. You take my breakfast spot tomorrow. You get an extra hour of sleep, I get to prove I can handle a frying pan without burning the house down. It’s a win-win."

"I don't want an extra hour of sleep!" Ayush countered, his jaw set. "I want to do what I signed up for. If I start skipping tasks, I’m no better than..." He stopped himself before saying you, but the air finished the sentence for him.

Maan just held out a spatula like a peace offering. "Just go, Ayush. You’re covered in sand and sweat. You really want to serve her food smelling like a locker room? Go. Wash up. I’ve got this."

Ayush hesitated. His competitive instinct told him to fight for the spatula, but his practical side—the side that knew his cricket career was a closed chapter and his bank account wasn't going to fill itself.He looked at the clock, then at Maan’s organized station.

"Fine." Ayush hissed, snatching his towel off his shoulder. "Tomorrow is mine. And if you mess up the protein-to-carb ratio Ishaan specified, I’m telling him it was your 'AI-fancy' idea."

"Fair enough," Maan muttered as Ayush turned on his heel and stormed off.

Ayush didn't go straight to the shower. He sat on the edge of his narrow bed, the adrenaline of the morning jog curdling into a restless anxiety. He reached for his laptop.

The silence of the room was a far cry from the roaring stadiums he was used to. He opened a browser tab, his fingers hovering over the keys. For years, people had come to him with contracts and endorsements. Now, he was the one clicking "Apply."

He looked at his CV.

Occupation: Professional Cricketer (Retired).

Skills: Leadership, Teamwork, Physical Endurance.

He realized with a sinking heart that "Physical Endurance" didn't mean much in a 9-to-5 corporate world. He began scrolling through job boards—Sports Consultant, Junior Talent Scout, Marketing Associate. Each "Submit Application" click felt like a heavy stone being placed on his chest.

He finally closed the laptop, and he headed for the shower.

*

Ishaan had already prepared lunch for the men and for Maira before heading to the clinic, while Ayush helped to prepare the lunch by cutting the vegetables and keeping the ingredients ready so that Maan could do the main cooking while he was away for his interview.In the hall balcony, Maan had placed his laptop screen on top of a table so that Maysha and Maira could do their yoga session via the Yoga instructor's Live online session

Maira watched Maysha’s form with protective concern. Since they were both in their first month—barely five weeks pregnant—and the babies were only the size of a blueberry, every movement had to be calculated.

"Don't overstretch the lower abdominal area, Maysha," Maira said softly, her voice acting as a bridge across the silence. "Keep the movements fluid. Your body is working hard enough as it is."

Maysha didn't snap back. She simply adjusted her posture. The lack of a sharp retort felt like progress, but the distance remained a physical weight. As they transitioned into a seated stretch, Maysha caught a glimpse of Maira in the bright light. Maira looked translucent—pale and weary. Maysha’s mind flashed back to the phone call she’d overheard last evening; Sujata’s voice demanding a "Khanna Heir" echoed in her ears.

For a split second, a surge of that old, protective sisterly instinct flared up. She wanted to ask, “Is your mother-in-law's words bothering you? Does Ishaan Jeeju know?” But the impulse was instantly strangled by the memory of the betrayal. Maira hadn't told her about Maan. Even if she hadn't found the time, she should have told her immediately after Rudra and Palki’s wedding. Maysha pulled her gaze away, focusing hard on the tip of her own nose.

"Maysha..." Maira started, her voice trembling slightly. "Our babies... soon they'll be the size of a raspberry. Their tiny little hearts will be fully formed soon."

Maysha’s hand, resting on her knee, twitched. She felt a lump in her throat, a desperate urge to talk about those tiny hearts. But she forced her face into a mask of indifference.

Meri Raahein Tere Tak Hai

Tujhpe Hi Toh Mera Haq Hai

"I know. I read the book that Ayush gave me," Maysha replied curtly.

Maira’s heart sank. The book. Not her. Maira rolled up her mat silently and headed toward her room, leaving the balcony to the heavy silence.

Ishq Mera Tu Beshak Hai

Tujhpe Hi Toh Mera Haq Hai

Maysha was yet to roll up her mat. She didn't notice the shadow in the darkened hallway. Maan had been leaning against the doorframe, watching them through the glass for the last twenty minutes. The moment Maira stepped out, he turned so she wouldn't catch a glimpse of him.

Saath Chhodunga Na Tere Pichhe Aaunga

Cheen Lunga Ya Khuda Se Maang Launga

While he had already finished preparing the food, he had taken these moments to overlook their session. For the first time, his eyes weren't on his ex, Maira, but on Maysha. He remembered the dates which, for Maysha, were real—but for him, had been a leverage play. Seeing her now—bare-faced, hair in a messy knot—that old lust was being replaced by a soft, gentle affection. He realized with a jolt of shame that he had fallen for the soul of the woman he once tried to use as a weapon.

Tere Naal Taqdeeran Likhwauga

As he stepped out of the shadows, his voice was low and husky. "The alignment of your shoulders was better today."

Main Tera Ban Jaunga

Main Tera Ban Jaunga

Maysha froze, clutching her yoga mat like a shield. She turned to face the man who was now at her feet, taking care of her, but who had previously been the man yearning for her sister.

Sonh Teri Main Kasam Yahi Khaunga

Kite Vaadeyan Nu Umran Nibhaunga

"You were watching?" Maysha asked, her voice sharp to hide the awkwardness.

"I was making sure you didn't overexert yourself," Maan replied, stepping onto the balcony. He reached out to take the mat from her hand. "Here. Let me."

As his fingers brushed hers, Maysha flinched away as if burned.

"Don't, Maan," she whispered, her eyes flashing with hurt. "Don't pretend this is 'care or Love'. We both know why you're in this house. You're here for the babies. I appreciate what you are doing for the lives growing inside of me, but I don't need the 'Great Maan Singh Khurana' charm... especially not when my sister is in the same house."

Tujhe Har Vaari Apna Banaunga

Maan stood there, the mat in his hand. "But you said you would choose one of us, right? I'm just trying to—"

Main Tera Ban Jaunga

Main Tera Ban Jaunga

"And I said, I will see," Maysha interrupted, her gaze steady and cold. "I don't want to rush with feelings by being impulsive like I was earlier to have a rebound with you. This is your second chance, Maan, and that's why to win me over... you have to prove you can be a better father."

Maysha exited the room leaving Maan to ponder over her words.

*

The house had settled into its nighttime rhythm. Ishaan’s arrival from the clinic had signaled a change in shifts; Ayush had taken charge of the girls’ dinner, while Maan handled the menu for the men. Now, the duplex was draped in a heavy, quiet stillness.

Following the schedule, Ayush made his way upstairs to check on Maysha. He knocked softly, but when the door creaked open under his touch, his heart dropped. Maysha was sitting on the edge of the bed in her black night robe, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent, rhythmic sobs.

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

"Maysha?" He rushed to her side, his voice thick with concern. "What happened? Are you in pain? Is it the babies?"

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

She looked up, her eyes red and swimming in tears, her phone lying discarded on the duvet. "Ayush... I just don't know how I'll ever go back. Being an influencer, an actress... it’s all I’ve ever known. Not being able to shoot anything, having to hide away just to protect our babies from the speculation and the negative publicity... it’s killing me from within."

She wiped a stray tear, her voice trembling. "I miss the ring light, Ayush. It was so easy for me to say I could live without it for the sake of my kids, but the reality is starting to set in. I don’t have a proper degree that could land me a decent job post-maternity. I feel... lost."

Kyun khawabon pe tere saaye hain?

Dil kyun hai tanha mera?

"Shhhhh, Maysha. Calm down." Ayush sat beside her, gently taking her hands in his. His touch was steady, a grounding force against her emotional storm. "It’s okay to feel this way. It’s the hormones, the change, the weight of it all—but you are so much stronger than you think you are."

"But my career, Ayush..." she whispered, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.

Kyun khaamoshi hai zubaan meri

Ashqon se keh paoon na

"Maysha, look at me," he said, waitng until she met his eyes. "It’s not easy for me either. Leaving the pitch, the cheering crowds, and starting from scratch. I spent my morning applying for jobs and actually went for a few interviews personally today."

Kyun dard hai itna

Tere ishq mein?

A small, proud smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "And guess what? I landed a position as a Junior Talent Scout for a reputable cricket academy. The salary isn’t as grand as my World Cup paycheck, but it’s enough. It’s enough for us, for our necessities, and for these kids."

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "And about the media... you don't have to worry. Whenever you’re ready to face the camera again—once these babies are here and settled with a nanny—you can go back. Whether the world is ready to accept the truth or not, I’m standing right beside you. I’ll stand by whoever you choose to disclose as the father, as long as it protects you from being labeled. I won't let anyone tarnish you."

Maysha leaned further into his embrace, her breathing finally slowing down. The warmth of his presence felt like a sanctuary.

"Maybe I don’t even want that limelight anymore," she admitted, her voice muffled against his shirt. "I’ve been thinking... I might start a baking course. Join a confectionery. I want to build a career where I can't jeopardize my kids to be the headline of someone’s cover story. It already tried to destroy our relationship once... but now, with the twins and the complicated mess of Maan and you in the picture... it shouldn't happen. Never again, Ayush."

Ayush pulled her into a deep, warm hug, resting his chin atop her head. The silence of the night no longer felt heavy; it felt peaceful.

"If that's what you want, then I’ll be your most loyal regular customer," he whispered with a soft chuckle. "By taking a cupcake home every single day."

Maysha let out a small, watery laugh—the first spark of genuine light in her eyes since the news of the twins—as she tightened her hold on him.

*

The house had grown quiet after the lights in the guest rooms were turned off, but in the master bedroom, the atmosphere was suffocating.

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Maira was standing by the balcony, staring out at the garden where she and Maysha had practiced yoga just hours earlier. The moonlight caught the silver of the tears streaming down her face—tears she had been holding back since the moment Ishaan left for the clinic that morning.

When Ishaan entered, he saw her small, trembling frame. He walked over, his movements efficient and practiced, his mind still running through the medical checklists of the day.

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

"Maira, you should lie down on the bed," Ishaan said softly, his voice carrying that familiar, clinical weight. "I need to perform your routine check—pulse, blood pressure, and I want to check the fetal heart rate before we sleep."

He reached for her hand to guide her, but Maira pulled back, a jagged sob finally breaking through her composure.

"Maira? What is it? Are you in pain?" Ishaan asked, his voice calm but layered with that clinical detachment that had become his shield lately.

Kyun nazrein teri yun anjaan hain?

"I’m alone, Ishaan," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I am standing in my own home, surrounded by my family, and I have never felt more alone in my life."

Ishaan went still. "Maira, I’m right here. I’m taking care of everything. Your diet, your rest, your vitamins—"

Aankhein hain meri bhi num

"You’re taking care of the baby!" she cried out, turning to face him, her eyes bright with hurt. "You’re talking to me because I’m carrying your child. You’re checking on me because it’s your duty as a doctor. But where are you, Ishaan? Where is my husband?"

Kyun pa kar bhi tum ko khoya hain?

The silence that followed was deafening. Maira wiped her eyes aggressively. "Today... it was only the second day since Maysha moved in, but for the first time, I felt the true weight of this silence. You weren't here to check on me, and Maysha... she looks through me like I’m a ghost.You’re assessing Ayush and Maan every hour on who is the better father, but you’ve forgotten to be a husband. This is exactly what I warned you about, Ishaan. I told you that bringing everyone under one roof, with all this unresolved baggage, would end up breaking us. I feel like I'm losing my sister and my husband at the same time."

Hum kyun na ban paaye hum?

Ishaan looked at her, and the doctor’s mask thatfinally cracked. He saw the translucent paleness of her skin and the hollow look in her eyes. Without a word, he didn't reach for his stethoscope. Instead, he slowly sank to his knees on the floor before her.

Kyun dard hai itna

Tere ishq mein?

Maira gasped softly as Ishaan leaned forward, resting his forehead against her stomach. He stayed there for a long moment, feeling the steady rhythm of her breath. Then, he pressed a lingering, reverent kiss to the fabric over her womb.

"Hey, little one," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he had been suppressing for weeks. "I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy trying to build a fortress around this family that I forgot to check if your mother was okay inside the walls. I'm here now. I promise."

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

He wrapped his arms around Maira’s waist, pulling her close while still on his knees, anchoring her to him. He slowly rose, his hands sliding up to her shoulders until he met her tear-filled eyes. The clinical detachment was gone, replaced by the raw vulnerability of the man who had loved her since they got engaged.

Kyun dard hai itna

Tere ishq mein?

"I've been so hard on you because I was hurt," he admitted, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. "I used my anger over Maan as a shield. But if my emotional distance is causing you this much distress, then I need to stop. I won’t let my silence be the thing that breaks you."

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

He cupped her face, his gaze intense and sincere. "I will try, Maira. I will try not to be mad. I will make sure to give you the time you need—not just as a doctor checking vitals, but as your husband. I'm not just here for the baby. I'm here for you."

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Rabba ve, rabba ve

Aa, aa, aa, aa

At his words, the last of Maira's defenses crumbled. She collapsed against him, burying her face in his shirt as a fresh wave of tears broke through. She cried into his chest, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as if she were afraid he might disappear if she let go. Ishaan pulled her into a tight, protective embrace, resting his chin on her head and swaying her gently.The rhythmic sound of Maira’s sobbing gradually slowed, replaced by the heavy, exhausted breathing of a woman who had finally let go of a crushing burden. Ishaan felt the dampness of her tears soaking through his shirt, a warm, wet reminder of the pain his silence had inflicted.

Ishaan hooked his arms under her knees and back. He lifted her effortlessly, her head naturally falling into the crook of his neck.

He carried her the short distance to the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he laid her down against the pillows.

Habit took over. Ishaan began to straighten up, his eyes instinctively darting toward the nightstand where his medical briefcase sat. He needed to check her blood pressure; the emotional outburst could have caused a spike that wasn't good for her or the baby.

But as he moved to pull away, he felt a small, firm tug. Maira’s fingers had curled around his wrist, her grip desperate and grounding.

"Ishaan, no," she whispered, her voice thick and raspy.

"Maira, I just need to make sure—"

"For now, just be my husband," she interrupted, her eyes pleading with him through the moonlight. "Don't be a doctor. Our baby is fine... I can feel it. But your wife isn't. She’s broken, Ishaan, and she needs your comfort, not a diagnosis."

The request hit him harder than any medical emergency ever could. Ishaan slowly sat back down on the edge of the bed, the clinical distance he had maintained for weeks finally dissolving into nothing. He didn't reach for his stethoscope; he reached for her.

Maira took his hand, her skin pale against his, and guided his palm to her face. She leaned into his touch, her cheek resting against his warmth as if his hand were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. "Just stay," she murmured, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. "Help me sleep."

Ishaan watched her, his heart aching with a mixture of guilt and a renewed, fierce protectiveness. He stayed perfectly still, his palm acting as a shield against her intrusive thoughts, until her breathing became slow and rhythmic.

When he was certain she had finally drifted into a deep, healing sleep, he moved with the stealth of a shadow. He gently withdrew his hand from her face and leaned over to click off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a soft, velvety darkness.

He didn't go to the other side of the bed. Instead, he slid under the covers right beside her, pulling her small frame back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, spooning her closely, his chin resting near the crown of her head. In the silence of the night, he didn't think about Maan, the betrayals, or the "Better Father" competition. He simply held his wife, offering his warmth as a sanctuary until the first light of morning.

*

The morning after the heavy conversations, the house felt charged with a different kind of energy. Ishaan had already left for a morning seminar, and Ayush was in the garden, obsessively researching scouting reports for his new job.

Maysha was heading toward the kitchen to grab a refill of the ginger tea Maan had prepared for her in a flask earlier that morning—a small, consistent gesture of care which was impossible for her to ignore.But as she passed the large, sun-lit spare room she saw Maan, who had converted into a temporary dance studio. The door was slightly ajar. Usually, music would be blaring, but today it was silent—save for the rhythmic thud-thud of feet hitting the floor and the sound of heavy, disciplined breathing.

She shouldn't have stopped. She knew she shouldn't have looked. But curiosity won.

She peeped through the gap and caught her breath. Maan was in the middle of a floor-work sequence. He was half-naked, wearing only low-slung black joggers. His skin was slick with sweat, glistening under the morning sun like a bronze statue.

As he transitioned from a handstand into a smooth roll, every muscle in his sculpted six-pack rippled with effortless power. The "Great Maan Singh Khurana" wasn't just a name; in this moment, he was pure, raw athleticism.

She watched the sweat bead on his collarbone, and her mind betrayingly flashed back to those "fake" dates. Back then, Maan hadn't been able to keep his hands off her. He would kiss her with a hungry, restless temptation every chance he got, convincing her it was love. He had insisted on those late-night phone calls, the low-timbred intimacy of phone sex that had once made her feel like the most desired woman in the world. She had been the one trying to catch up, trying to nurture a genuine spark for him, unaware that for him, it was a tactical maneuver.

Then came the night of the party—the one-night stand that changed everything—when he had recorded their intimacy. The memory turned her stomach. She hated him more because he was once her elder sister’s ex who had used her as mere leverage. Worse still, he’d had the guts to leave her messages on "seen" when she typed to him that she was pregnant, before finally blocking her entirely.

She had built a wall of pure, unadulterated anger to protect herself and the twins. But as she watched him now—this raw, unrefined version of the man who had once been so polished—the wall began to sweat.

Her pregnancy hormones, usually her source of mood swings and morning sickness, decided to play a cruel game of treason. Her pulse hammered against her throat.She felt intimidated. Not by his fame, but by the sheer, magnetic pull of his presence. He looked like Akhil from Bad Newz coming out of the water—completely aware of his power, even in the silence.

Suddenly, Maan stopped. He grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from his neck, his chest heaving. He turned toward the door, his eyes sharp and observant.

"Looking for the ginger tea I prepared, or just checking my form?" he asked, his voice low and husky from the exertion. A small, knowing smirk played on his lips—the classic Khurana charm, but with a new edge of genuine confidence.

Maysha snapped out of her trance, her face flushing a deep crimson. She stood up straight, clutching her robe.

"I... the floor was creaking. I thought something broke," she lied poorly, her voice higher than usual.

"And put a shirt on, Maan. It’s a house, not a gym." she continued saying in a sharp voice.

She turned on her heel and hurried upstairs, her heart racing. 'It’s just the pregnancy,' she told herself, shaking her head as if she could rattle the image of his abs out of her mind. 'It’s just the heat.'

But as she reached the top of the stairs, she knew. The "Better Father" competition just got a lot more complicated.