Third person’s pov!

Ganga Verma pushed open the door to Aradhana’s room, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The room was cool and dark, with the curtains drawn shut and the air conditioner humming softly in the background.

“Aaru, wake up,” Ganga called, her voice patient but firm. “It’s already late, and I have an important case in court today.”

This was the fifth time Ganga was coming into her daughter’s room to wake her up.

The only response she received was a muffled groan as Aradhana snuggled deeper into her blanket. Her face disappeared under the quilt, only the hood of her kigurumi night suit visible above it.

“Five more minutes, Mumma,” Aradhana’s sleepy voice came from beneath the covers.

Ganga sighed, walking closer to the bed. 

“Five minutes? You have been saying that for an hour now!” She shook Aradhana’s shoulder harshly. “Come on, I really need to leave soon.”

“Mmm… the court can wait…” Aradhana murmured, pulling the blanket over her head as if it were armor against her mother’s persistence.

“Fine. If this is how you want to play it…” Ganga rolled her eyes, her patience running out. 

She marched to the wall, flipped the switch, and turned off the air conditioner and ceiling fan.

The room quickly grew warmer, and within seconds, Aradhana shot up from her bed with a loud huff of annoyance. 

“Mumma!” She whined dramatically, glaring at her mother through sleep-crusted eyes. “Why are you so cruel? It’s inhumane to wake someone up like this!”

Ganga smirked, clearly unfazed by her daughter’s theatrics. 

“I warned you, didn’t I? Now, listen carefully—I have to leave in a few minutes, and I won’t have time to water the plants on your balcony. You will have to do it today.”

Aradhana froze mid-yawn, her eyes wide. Ganga Verma is so fond of her plants that she doesn’t even let the househelp near her plans. Her biggest disappointment is that her only daughter didn’t inherit the love for plants as she did.

“Me? Mumma, me? Water the plants?” She gasped as if she’d been asked to do the impossible. “No way! You know I am allergic to that.”

“Allergic?” Ganga scoffed, crossing her arms. “To what exactly? Fresh air?”

“To plants!” Aradhana said, shivering dramatically as if just saying the word was enough to give her hives. “And creepy crawlies that live in them. You know what happened when I was five!”

“Oh, don’t start with that story again. That was twenty years ago, Aaru. Let it go!” Ganga rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. 

Aradhana ignored her mother and launched into the tale as if it had just happened yesterday. 

“I went to pluck a rose—one tiny rose—from your precious garden. And what did I find? A snake!”

“It was not a snake,” Ganga corrected, her voice heavy with exasperation. “It was a millipede.”

“A millipede is close enough! It had legs, too many of them, it moved, and it was terrifying!” Aradhana declared, pointing an accusing finger at her mother. “I screamed the entire house down for good reason.”

“And scared the life out of us, the neighbors, and probably the millipede too,” Ganga muttered under her breath.

Aradhana ignored her and flopped back on the bed dramatically, clutching her blanket like it was her last hope. 

“Mumma, I am not made for chores. You know this. I am your little princess—delicate and precious.”

“Oh yes, very delicate,” Ganga replied dryly. “That’s why you were stomping around the garden yesterday trying to steal a bud from my plants.”

“How do you know about that?” Aradhana sat up straight, eyes wide with horror. 

Ganga smirked, enjoying the rare look of panic on her daughter’s face. 

“You were not exactly subtle, Aaru. You stepped into my garden for the first time in twenty years, and it was to steal a plant?”

“I was borrowing it, Mumma! It was for a… a very important purpose,” Aradhana mumbled, suddenly finding her blanket very interesting.

“Oh really! What was that important purpose that you actually willed yourself to go into the garden?” Ganga asked, crossing her arms across her chest and staring down at her daughter.

“It was a social service, momma. You know how I am into charity and all. That was a part of it..” Aradhana said.

“Enough drama, Aaru. I have to go, and I mean it—you are watering the plants today. End of discussion.”

“Mumma, noooo!” Aradhana wailed, collapsing onto the bed in protest. “Why must you torture me like this? Just let the plants survive on their own. They are stronger than you think!”

“Get up and water the plants, or I am turning off the Wi-Fi and taking the modem with me before I leave.”

“You fight dirty, Mumma. Very dirty.” Aradhana sat up instantly, glaring at her mother. 

“And you are lazy,” Ganga shot back, grabbing her handbag and heading for the door. “Now do it, or the Wi-Fi is gone.”

“Fine! I’ll do it. But if another millipede shows up, I am suing Mother Nature.” Aradhana groaned, flopping dramatically onto her bed one last time.

“Yeah yeah! Do whatever you want,” Ganga called over her shoulder, laughing as she left the room.

Aradhana let out another long-suffering sigh, glaring at the ceiling. 

“This is why I should have been born into royalty. Chores are for peasants,” she muttered to herself before dragging herself out of bed and toward the balcony like it was a death sentence.

As she stepped into the balcony and saw the few plants decorating her balcony, she sighed.

Harshad Oberoi’s favourite hobby is gardening. He probably has a garden adjoining his bedroom even, who knows!

Oh god! What if some millipede crawls into their bedroom from the garden? She shuddered imagining that..

She remembered her daring garden escapade from the day before, the memory vivid. 

Wrapped head-to-toe in the PPE suit, gloves, and even safety goggles—looking like she was prepping for a medical emergency—she had tiptoed into the garden. Her heart had raced with every creak of the soil beneath her feet as she scanned the pots for any sign of lurking creatures.

Aradhana crouched by the balcony door, peering out cautiously as if the plants might lunge at her the moment she stepped closer. She clutched the small watering can like a weapon. 

“Okay, Aaru, you can do this. No creepy crawlies. No snakes—just quick watering and back inside.”

Taking a deep breath, she darted forward and splashed water into the first pot, all the while keeping a wide berth from the leaves. Her gaze flickered nervously over the soil. No movement. Good sign.

“This is all Harshad Oberoi’s fault. Why couldn’t I fall for someone who loves air-conditioned malls? But nooo—he had to be a nature boy, all green thumbs.” By the third pot, Aradhana was muttering to herself. 

“Do you know what I am doing for love? I am risking my life!” She stopped to stare accusingly at a particularly large plant.

Suddenly, a dry leaf rustled in the pot next to her. Aradhana froze, eyes wide, heart pounding. 

“Please be the wind. Please be the wind.” But the wind wasn’t blowing. She shrieked, dropped the watering can, and bolted back inside.

“Nope! I am done. Harshad Oberoi, you and your stupid plants better appreciate this.” She slammed the door shut, triple-locked it, and leaned against it, panting.

A/N

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