Aarav noticed a woman stepping out of a room with a silver tumbler in hand—perhaps it was the kitchen.
"Son, drink this," the woman said kindly, glancing at Aarav with motherly concern.
Aarav looked at the tumbler, a flicker of hesitation dancing in his eyes.
The girl beside him caught his expression immediately and turned to the woman. "Mummy, what's in the glass?"
With a warm smile, the woman replied, "It's turmeric milk. He's hurt—this will help ease the pain and restore some strength."
"Yes, drink it. It'll do you good," the girl added, nodding gently.
Aarav had no issue with it. At home, turmeric milk was the go-to remedy for injuries. He reached for the glass, examined the contents, and just as he brought it close to his lips, the girl suddenly chimed in, teasing, "What are you staring at so seriously? There's nothing in there besides turmeric, detective!"
Before he could respond, the woman chuckled and said, "Who told you there's only turmeric in it?"
Aarav immediately paused, lowering the glass in alarm.
The girl's eyes widened. She turned to her mother. "Mummy! What do you mean?"
The woman, still smiling, replied calmly, "It's not just turmeric, dear. I've mixed in a special healing blend—passed down by my grandmother. It soothes pain and helps the body recover naturally."
The girl exhaled, placing a hand over her heart. "You could've just said that! Poor guy almost thought you spiked the milk with something mysterious."
She shook her head with a chuckle. "Uff, you scared him for no reason! Next time, start with a little reassurance—like, 'Don't worry, it's completely safe!' Trust me, it'll go a lot smoother."
The woman sighed dramatically. "Say something, and it's a problem. Don't say anything, and it's still a problem. You and your father share this habit—I've simply adapted."
She disappeared back into the kitchen, her voice trailing off with playful annoyance.
Aarav looked at the girl, a question hovering in his gaze.
Understanding the look instantly, she nodded. "It's safe. Go ahead, drink it."
Relieved, Aarav finally took a sip.
The girl quietly picked up his bloodstained T-shirt and walked off to clean it.
Aarav remained seated under the ceiling fan, letting the cool breeze ease the tension in the hall.
Around twenty-five minutes passed before she returned, holding the T-shirt.
"All clean and dried!" she announced.
Aarav raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "That quick?"
She scoffed. "Washing doesn't take hours. And by the way, it's 48 degrees Celsius outside—this isn't exactly sweater weather."
Just then, the woman emerged from the kitchen again and asked, "Son, whose guest are you?"
Aarav blinked. "Why? Do I not look like I'm from Karimnagar?"
She narrowed her eyes with a grin. "You speak like you're not. This isn't exactly the local flavor of conversation."
He smirked. "Do you keep a record of every house and their guests, or am I just special?"
The woman burst into laughter. "Oh, I don't have time to memorize everyone in the town, son. But the way you speak? Let's just say it's… refreshingly non-Karimnagar."
Everyone shared a light chuckle. Aarav, still nursing his injury, smiled for the first time in hours.
Maybe this unexpected detour wasn't so bad after all.
Aarav muttered to himself, "Wait a minute… what did Kavya aunty say again? Don't talk to anyone. And here I am, chatting away. I swear I thought I was just thinking, not speaking…"
He rubbed his temples, feeling a rising tension in his head. "Now what do I even tell them? I don't remember anything—names, places… not even the name of the guy whose house I'm crashing at."
Just then, the woman in front of him tilted her head and asked gently, "What happened, dear? You seem lost in thought."
Aarav placed his palm on his forehead and replied with a half-smile, "I wasn't really thinking anything major. It's just… suddenly, I've got this weird headache."
"Is it a migraine?" she asked, concerned.
"No, no. Someone just hit me on the head with a metal bucket," Aarav said casually, casting a quick sideways glance at the girl nearby.
She immediately looked down, visibly guilty.
"Who on earth hit you with a metal bucket?" the woman asked, alarmed.
"Let it go. It's fine. I mean, yes—I'm staying at Raghu's place, so it's alright," Aarav said, trying to deflect.
"Raghu? Who's Raghu?" the woman asked.
Aarav hesitated, his mind drawing blanks. Before he could answer, she turned around and called out, "Ji, can you come here for a moment?"
A middle-aged man stepped out of the other room, dressed in a traditional dhoti and vest. "What is it, Shrimati? Why are you shouting?" he grumbled.
"Do you know anyone named Raghu?" she asked, turning to him.
"Raghu? Which one? There are at least fifteen Raghus around here," the man replied bluntly.
"Could it be Raghu Sharma… or Raghu Sen?" the girl chimed in helpfully.
Aarav suddenly lit up. "No! I meant Raghu Singh Rajput."
The woman turned to the man. "Do you know a Raghu Singh Rajput?"
The man paused, squinting in thought. "That name rings a bell…"
Before he could finish, the woman turned back to Aarav. "Beta, can you tell us more? Who exactly is this Raghu Singh Rajput?"
The man suddenly snapped his fingers. "Ah! I remember now. Raghu Singh Rajput is part of the Weapons Merchant Association. He's also an assistant for the One Star Group's testing team."
He paused, as though savoring the buildup of information.
"His house is near that egg shop in the market," he added.
The girl interrupted, "Papa, there are like four egg shops in the market."
"I mean the one with the spicy red curry—Karimnagar's famous spot!" he clarified.
"Oh! That one," the girl nodded instantly.
"Yes! Walk past that shop into the lane, look for a large banyan tree, take the path beside it, then go straight and take a right. You'll see five or six houses in a row—the last one is Raghu's," the man declared proudly.
Aarav blinked, then replied, "Wow… how do you know that so precisely? You even described the route like a GPS."
The girl laughed. "Papa knows every street, every corner in Karimnagar."
"How?" Aarav asked, surprised.
(Fourth wall break)
Aarav turned toward an invisible camera, whispering, "Wait a minute… is there a Google Maps here or something? Never mind. Of course not. Google left the building. Welcome to the 21st century without internet!"
"My papa's a postmaster," the girl said with pride.
"What?! Postmaster? People still use that? Haven't you heard of messaging apps? Oh, wait… I bet there's no mobile tower here. Maybe just install Wi-Fi," Aarav joked.
"High-Fi? Whatever that is. We send actual messages, handwritten. That's a postmaster's job," the girl retorted confidently.
Aarav grew silent, half-impressed and half-speechless.
"So, beta… what is your relation to Raghu Singh Rajput?" the woman asked.
Aarav hesitated, then replied vaguely, "I'm… a distant relative."
"I know all his relatives," the man said, narrowing his eyes.
Aarav snapped out of his thoughts and quickly added, "I meant *very* distant. Like… galaxy-level distant!"
The girl chuckled. "You're not just a distant relative—you're practically a myth!"
Everyone laughed, and Aarav forced a smile, still internally reeling.
"I've been sitting here for so long, and only now it hits me—I don't even know their names…" he thought.
The woman slapped her forehead. "Oh no! We never introduced ourselves, did we? I'm so sorry, beta!"
"Let me do it!" the girl jumped in eagerly. "I met him first, so I get to introduce us!"
The man teased, "Alright, but make it quick. No biography, please."
She grinned and began confidently, "I'm Iravati Joshi."
She stepped toward the man. "This is my father, Mr. Ashwini Joshi—our beloved postmaster."
Then, moving to the woman, she added, "And this is my mother, Mrs. Kusum Joshi. She handles the house and also teaches little kids nearby."
Aarav nodded thoughtfully. "Nice to meet you… finally."
Then he glanced ahead and muttered, "What a curious family… a little odd, but oddly charming."
And his eyes naturally drifted to Iravati again, a little longer this time.
Aarav glanced around the room, trying to process the chaos disguised as the Joshi family. He muttered under his breath, "This family… they're not just unique, they're a whole different species of quirky."
Before the thought could fully settle, his gaze locked with Iravati's again. A strange sense of familiarity hit him like a slow-moving truck. He blinked. Once. Twice.
Then it clicked.
"Hello again," he said, voice half-wonder, half-regret. "I can't believe I'm actually seeing you like this. Honestly, I didn't even realize how much I lost until... well, the accident did its number on me. But Iravati—seriously, if it weren't for you, I'd probably still be knocked out cold, with a steel bucket jammed on my head."
She raised an eyebrow, cool and collected. "Before you say anything else, tell me—how do I look? And don't get any ideas. No flirting. Not after everything."
Aarav exhaled, grateful she spoke, yet nervous under her gaze. His heart thudded louder than it should. *Why do I always end up saying the wrong thing?*
"You're fearless," he said at last, a shaky chuckle escaping. "That's what I meant. You're bold. Unshaken. You don't back down easily."
Just then, her voice cut in again, sharp as ever. "And I'm still waiting for your name. You think I didn't notice you skipped it?"
Aarav's brain stalled. Panic set in.
He looked at Kusum, then Ashwini, then back at Iravati—who was clearly not the type to forget small details.
"Oh. Uh, right. Sorry." He fumbled, then stopped cold. *Wait... I told them I'm related to Raghu Singh Rajput. I can't say I'm Aarav Verma now. That'll blow the whole thing!*
He scrambled for an escape, words tripping over each other. "Ah, I meant to say… do you have any… Nimbu ka Achar?"
Iravati stared. "What?"
"Nimbu ka Achar," he repeated, desperate. "It just... popped into my head."
"You weren't about to say that," she said flatly.
"I was! Well—not really. I mean, yes. But also, no. My brain just flipped for a second." He laughed awkwardly, face heating up.
Kusum slid a jar of pickle across the table with a smirk. "Here, beta. Eat this. And maybe... stop talking for a bit."
Grateful for the distraction, Aarav clutched the jar like a lifeline. But as he lifted a bite to his mouth, he could feel Iravati's eyes on him—sharp, assessing, like a hawk circling its prey.
And then, he looked straight at you.
"That… did not go as planned," he said, eyes wide with a strained smile. "Honestly, I thought I'd make a good impression. Maybe a few compliments, a dash of charm. But instead, here I am—dodging questions, almost revealing secrets, and asking for lemon pickle to save myself."
He sighed. "But hey, it's real, right? Everyone's got a weird family intro story. Mine just comes with plot twists."
Glancing at Iravati again, he muttered, "And buckets. Can't forget the bucket."
He bit into the pickle and nodded, letting the tang settle his nerves.
"Alright," he said, brushing off the tension. "Can we eat now? Or should I brace for the next wave of embarrassment?"
Kusum and Ashwini burst out laughing. Iravati rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.
And for the first time since stepping into this madness, Aarav felt like maybe—just maybe—he was going to be okay.
Why is Aarav hiding his true identity from the Joshi family, and what could happen if the truth slips out?
Is Iravati's protectiveness and sharp wit just a defense mechanism, or is she beginning to sense there's more to Aarav than he's letting on?
What really happened in the accident that Aarav keeps referring to, and how deeply is Iravati involved in it?