The Matchmaking Bed ~ KaYu OS

Some beds creak. This one meddles in love.

Yug and Kairi traveled to a sleepy small town for a court case. Thanks to a suspicious “booking error”—very likely the handiwork of Gujiya and Mairi—they were left with no choice but to stay at an old haveli-turned-guesthouse. Only one room was left… with one creaky, ancient bed.

The hotel receptionist was chewing gum like she was bored of her own existence. Her nails tapped on the desk as she flicked her computer screen. “Sorry, sir, madam… only one room left.”

“One room?” Kairi’s eyebrows shot up. “We booked two.”

“Yes, but there’s been a mix-up.” The woman shrugged, as if this were their problem, not hers. “Festival season, ma’am. Full house.”

Yug exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Of course this would happen.” His voice was flat, sardonic. “Of course I end up trapped with you.”

Kairi planted her hands on her hips. “Excuse me? As if I enjoy being anywhere near Mr. Arrogant-Lawyer-Saab.”

The receptionist’s gum popped. “So… should I hand you the key or…?”

Yug grabbed it before Kairi could, muttering under his breath, “Might as well face the firing squad.”

The room was old. Not “vintage” old. Not “heritage charm” old. Just… creaky. The kind of room where the wallpaper peeled in curling strips, the chandelier swayed when you sneezed, and every shadow seemed to linger a bit too long.

And in the center stood the pièce de résistance: one massive wooden bed, carved with swirls and roses, its posts heavy as gravestones. The mattress dipped slightly in the middle, as if it had already swallowed couples whole.

Kairi stood at the door, glaring at it. “No. Absolutely not. I am not sharing a bed with you.”

“Relax,” Yug said, dropping his bag on a dusty chair. “I’ll take the bed. You can take the floor.”

Her mouth fell open. “What kind of medieval male chauvinist logic is that?”

“Practical logic.” He began unbuttoning his cuffs. “I’m taller. My back is more valuable to society. Case closed.”

Kairi rolled her eyes. “If you’re society’s treasure, then society needs a refund.”

The lights flickered. Both froze.

Kairi glanced at the chandelier. “Please tell me that’s just bad wiring.”

“Bad wiring,” Yug confirmed a little too quickly.

A low groan echoed from the bed. The wood creaked as if… shifting.

Kairi’s voice dropped. “Did it just… sigh?”

Yug cleared his throat. “Old furniture does that.”

Then the blanket puffed up. All on its own. Like someone invisible had just flopped onto it.

Kairi squeaked and darted behind Yug, clutching his arm without thinking. “That’s not furniture!”

He stiffened, torn between brushing her off and… not hating the feel of her hand gripping him. “It’s… air pressure. Draft. Logic, Sharma. Use it.”

The blanket tightened, pulling itself neatly across the mattress. And then, as if for dramatic flair, a pillow slid to the center of the bed with a heavy plop.

Both of them stared.

“Air pressure?” Kairi whispered.

Yug swallowed. “Very… organized air pressure.”

Ten minutes later, they sat on opposite sides of the room, avoiding the bed entirely. Yug scrolled on his phone with forced calm. Kairi hugged her knees on a chair.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “We’re lawyers. Rational adults. We don’t get scared by… whatever this is.”

As if on cue, the wardrobe door creaked open with a long, theatrical squeeeak.

Kairi jumped. “Rational my foot!”

“Wind,” Yug said automatically, though the window was shut.

Then the bed groaned again. This time, the blanket puffed up like a chest inhaling. Out of nowhere, the words SLEEP TOGETHER appeared, faintly pressed into the sheet.

Kairi’s jaw dropped. “D-Did it just—?”

“Nope,” Yug said quickly, standing. “Nope, I did not see that.”

But the letters deepened, clearer now. SLEEP. TOGETHER.

Kairi’s face turned crimson. “This ghost has… no manners!”

Yug smirked despite himself. “Bold, though.”

“Oh, shut up!”

The blanket suddenly flung itself off the bed and wrapped around both of them, yanking them forward until they stumbled, tangled in the sheets.

Kairi landed against Yug’s chest with a soft thud. Her breath caught; his cologne was warm, steadying, distracting. Their eyes met—too close, too intimate.

The lights stopped flickering. The air stilled. Almost as if the room itself sighed in satisfaction.

Neither spoke.

The silence stretched after the blanket incident, heavy and awkward. Kairi peeled herself away from Yug’s chest and scrambled upright, cheeks flaming.

“This is absurd,” she said, straightening her kurti. “I’m not letting some invisible… matchmaking poltergeist dictate my life.”

Yug leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, wearing that infuriating half-smile. “Could’ve fooled me. You clung to me like I was your personal bodyguard.”

Kairi huffed. “I did not cling. I sought temporary proximity for survival. Big difference.”

“Mhm.” His smirk widened.

Before she could retort, the lamp on the bedside table flickered and flared to life—casting a rosy glow over the bed. The air smelled faintly of roses too.

Kairi blinked. “…Did it just light a romantic candlelight mood?”

Yug pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course it did. Why wouldn’t the resident ghost also be a part-time wedding planner?”

The wardrobe door banged shut. Then opened. Shut. Open.

Finally, it spat out a stack of pillows that flew through the air and landed neatly on the bed.

“Oh no,” Kairi muttered. “It’s nesting.”

“Correction,” Yug said dryly, “it’s scheming.”

The chandelier gave a theatrical shake, and suddenly the ceiling above them spelled faint, glowing words in dust: TRUST EACH OTHER.

Kairi squinted. “Oh, wonderful. We’re in a Bollywood version of Ghost Therapy.”

“Just what I needed on this trip,” Yug muttered, though his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

Later that night, after exhausting themselves arguing with the ghost (and each other), they gave up. Kairi sat cross-legged on one end of the bed, Yug sprawled on the other, a pillow fortress between them.

“Don’t cross the pillow wall,” she warned, pointing.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He closed his eyes. “Though apparently, someone else dreams of it for us.”

Kairi glared, but couldn’t stop the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

For a while, the room was quiet except for the creaks of the old house. Then, in the stillness, Yug’s voice softened.

“You know,” he said, eyes still closed, “I don’t actually believe in ghosts.”

Kairi tilted her head. “That’s surprising, given how pale you went earlier.”

“Touché.” He cracked one eye open, smirking. But then it faded. “I’ve just… seen scarier things than flickering lights.”

She studied him, sensing the rare crack in his armor. “Like what?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His fingers toyed with his watch chain absently. “People. Betrayal. Promises that weren’t worth the breath it took to make them.”

Kairi’s chest tightened. She’d seen glimpses of this side of him before—the cynic whose sharp tongue hid scars. But tonight, under the watchful silence of a matchmaking ghost, it felt more raw.

“You pretend you’re untouchable,” she said softly. “But you’re just… afraid of being touched in the wrong way again.”

His eyes met hers, startled.

And just then, the ghost—unable to resist dramatics—blew out the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Kairi squeaked. Yug’s hand instinctively reached across the pillow wall, finding hers.

She froze. He didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

The ghost, satisfied, let the silence stretch.

By morning, they’d both pretended nothing happened. But the ghost was relentless.

When Yug tried to sip his tea, the cup lifted out of his hands and hovered toward Kairi instead.

“It likes me better,” she teased, taking the sip with exaggerated delight.

When Kairi attempted to comb her hair, the brush floated over to Yug.

He scowled, running it through his already neat hair. “Happy?” he asked the air.

The wardrobe spat out a long scarf that promptly tied their wrists together before they could stop it.

“Unbelievable,” Yug muttered, tugging. “This ghost is a sadist.”

Kairi laughed so hard she nearly toppled onto the bed. “Or just has better matchmaking skills than you’ll ever have.”

The sound of her laughter filled the room, bright and unguarded. Yug found himself staring longer than he should.

And when their eyes met—still bound together by the scarf—the laughter softened into something quieter. Something fragile.

Something real.

The evening descended with a thunderstorm. Rain lashed against the shutters, wind howling like the haveli itself was alive.

Kairi tugged at the doorknob after dinner. “I need some fresh air.”

The knob refused to turn. She frowned, twisting harder. Nothing.

Yug stood behind her, arms crossed. “Don’t bother. It’s locked.”

“Then unlock it!”

“I tried.” He held up the useless key. The metal bent as if twisted by invisible hands.

The chandelier above them gave a triumphant clang.

Kairi turned, glaring at the ceiling. “You cannot just trap us here like prisoners!”

A faint giggle rippled through the room.

“Wonderful,” Yug muttered, pacing. “Not only do we have a ghost, it’s also got a sense of humor.”

The blanket on the bed puffed up, arranging itself neatly with two pillows side by side. A second later, the lamp dimmed into a soft, golden glow.

Kairi groaned. “Oh no. It’s setting the mood.”

“Trapped in a room by a matchmaking ghost,” Yug muttered, rubbing his temples. “My mother would call this karma.”

Hours passed. The rain didn’t stop. They ended up on the bed again—Kairi propped on one side with a book, Yug lying on the other, staring at the ceiling like it might offer legal advice.

“This is ridiculous,” she said finally. “I should be panicking. But I’m… not.”

“Shocking,” Yug drawled. “You usually panic at everything.”

“I do not!”

“You panicked when the waiter gave you the wrong chutney.”

“That was a valid panic,” she snapped, then caught herself smiling.

He chuckled, the sound low, warm.

The lamp flickered once. The blanket shifted again, inching them closer.

Kairi gasped. “It’s moving us!”

Yug didn’t resist this time. His arm brushed hers. Their eyes met.

The storm outside roared, but inside the room, time slowed. His hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. She froze—not out of fear, but because her breath had caught somewhere in her chest.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Then don’t,” she whispered back, though her body leaned closer despite her words.

And when their lips met, it wasn’t fireworks or lightning. It was quieter. Softer. The kind of kiss that unraveled knots inside you without asking permission.

The lamp stilled. The chandelier stopped swaying. Even the rain seemed to hush.

The ghost, satisfied, retreated into silence.

The kiss broke, but neither moved far. Yug’s forehead rested against hers. His breathing was uneven, as though he’d been holding this back for longer than he cared to admit.

“You terrify me,” he said, voice raw.

Kairi blinked. “Me? Why?”

“Because you make me want things again,” he admitted. “Things I swore I’d buried. Trust. Home. Love.”

Her heart clenched. She cupped his cheek gently. “Maybe that’s not terror. Maybe that’s… hope.”

The bed creaked under them, almost approvingly. The blanket slid higher around their shoulders, cocooning them.

Kairi laughed breathlessly. “It really won’t stop until we…”

Her words faded into the press of his lips against hers again, this time deeper, hungrier. The kiss turned into touch—hesitant hands finding courage, bodies inching closer until space dissolved.

The storm outside softened to a lull. The lamp dimmed lower, giving them privacy.

For the first time in the old haveli’s long memory, the restless spirit was at peace. Its work was done.

As Kairi and Yug surrendered to each other—slowly, tenderly, like two halves finally learning they were one—the room fell silent, no creaks, no flickers, no whispers.

Because love had replaced the haunting.

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The End.

rserving this too

Wow youre on a roll