So let's begin!

In a leafy corner of the bustling city stood the Sehgal Villa — neither the grandest nor the most modest of bungalows, but certainly the most alive. Anyone passing by could tell, from the echoes of giggles and the occasional cry of “Mummaaaaa! Aashi ne phir se—!”, that within those walls thrived a family stitched together with fierce love, stubbornness, and a chaos no one could tame — not even its own headstrong matriarch.

The villa’s heartbeat was Bela Sehgal — Inspector Bela Sehgal, SHO of Mahila Police Thana, a name criminals whispered at night and juniors worshipped with equal parts fear and loyalty. At thirty-five, she had mastered two terrifyingly opposite art forms: bringing hardened criminals to their knees in interrogation rooms — and making three tiny girls brush their teeth before sunrise.

Her husband, Mahir Sehgal, was the antithesis of her world. CEO of Sehgal Corporations — the kind of tycoon who closed multimillion-dollar deals before breakfast and still returned home with pockets full of candies for his daughters by evening. Where Bela roared like a lioness, Mahir charmed like a calm breeze. If Bela was fire, Mahir was rain. Together, they were a storm that no one, not even their children, could resist — though the little ones certainly tried every day.

Their home, neat in design but perpetually untidy thanks to small hands and smaller feet, was their sanctuary. And its walls were witness to a secret — a truth about the eldest Sehgal daughter, Kikvi, known only to Mahir and Bela.

Kikvi — their own child by official papers, the first-born by truth. She came into Bela’s arms one rainy night five years ago, after a chain of events that still knotted Bela’s stomach at three a.m. when the world slept and mothers worried. Four months later, the twins arrived — loud, pink, identical except in temperament.

Five years in, the Sehgal household was now a kingdom ruled by three little queens — each with a crown of mischief and a throne of trouble.

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It was a Monday morning — the cruelest kind in the Sehgal calendar.

“Utho! Sab utho!” Bela’s voice cracked through the upstairs hallway. It was louder than her police station’s siren.

In the largest bedroom, three lumps under a pink cartoon blanket pretended not to hear. The lumps whispered conspiratorially among themselves.

“Aashi… bol na kuch…” Kikvi hissed, elbowing her partner-in-crime.

Aashvi, the tiny mastermind, and the elder twin cracked one sleepy eye open. Her curls bounced in all directions as she sat up, smirked at Kikvi and whispered, “Chill na. Mumma ko hug karenge. Phir sab theek.”

At the other end, Vanya, youngest among them half awake, snuggled into Kikvi’s back and murmured, “Aashi, sone ka drama karein, school nahi jaana padega. Mujhe sona hai.”

But Aashvi was already rolling off the bed dramatically — landing at Bela’s feet just as she stormed in. Without missing a beat, she latched onto her mother’s leg like a baby monkey.

“Mummaaaa! Good morning! Aashi ko daantna mat please… Aashi good girl hai na!” Her big eyes glowed with manufactured innocence.

Bela’s fury melted a little, as it always did when Aashvi turned on her weapon-grade cuteness. She looked down at her middle hurricane and narrowed her eyes. “Good girl? Kal kya bola tha? No prank in school — yaad hai?”

Aashvi giggled, tugged at Bela’s nightshirt and cooed, “Wo toh chhota prank tha na Mumma…”

Behind her, Kikvi snorted, quickly covering her mouth when Bela glared at her too.

“And you!” Bela jabbed a finger at Kikvi. “Kya bola tha? Aashi ko rokne ki jagah khud uske saath badmashi karne lagti ho!”

Kikvi pouted, hiding behind Aashvi. “Mumma main toh bas masti karti hoon… Aur main rokti hoon lekin yeh sunti hi nahi…”

Aashvi turned, gave Kikvi a betrayed look. “Tu sab Mumma ko bolti kyun hai?” she whispered fiercely.

Vanya, still half under the blanket, watched her sisters with wide eyes, pretending to be sleepy and uninvolved. But Bela’s sharp mother-radar never failed.

“Vanu. Bahar niklo. Mujhe sab pata hai. Tumhare bina yeh dono kuch nahi karti. Jaldi!”

Vanya popped out, blinked up at Bela with her perfect butter-wouldn’t-melt face. “Mumma… Aashi hi thi sab mein… Kiku bhi uska saath deti hai… main toh… main toh…”

Bela groaned. “Main toh kuch nahi! Bas aakhri mein sab saboot mita deti ho tum!”

Vanya giggled. She knew she was her Papa’s shield. He always saved her from her mother’s scolding, calling her Papa ki sabse good girl. She played the part flawlessly.

Just then, Mahir appeared at the door, looking every bit the dashing CEO — crisp shirt, tie askew thanks to a tiny chocolate-sticky handprint from Vanya during breakfast.

“Good morning, Team Drama!” he greeted, lifting Vanya effortlessly and kissing her cheek. “Ready for school?”

“Maine bola tha na Mahir ji — yeh teenon kal phir Principal ke office mein thi. Frog prank, imagine kariye!” Bela ranted, arms flying.

Mahir chuckled, balancing Vanya on his hip. “Arre frog toh bas paper ka hi tha na Bela… Aashi ne bola tha cute prank tha.”

“Aap mat paksh lijiye inka! Aapki bigdi hui army hai yeh teenon!” Bela scolded him, though her lips twitched at the corners.

Aashvi, sensing victory, hugged Mahir’s leg now, too. “Papa! See? Mumma bohot daant rahi hai!”

Kikvi joined in, wrapping around Mahir’s other leg, dramatically sobbing, “Papa save us!”

Mahir gave Bela a helpless grin. “Dekho na, inse kaise gussa hoon main?”

Bela shot him a glare that could silence an entire police chowki. “Aap mat sambhaliye inko, main dekhti hoon!”

---

Breakfast was a battlefield of parathas, spilled milk, and hurried ponytails. Vanya sat obediently beside Mahir, feeding him bits of her buttered toast while Kikvi and Aashvi whispered about their next prank under the table.

Every now and then, Bela would catch them whispering and tap the table. “Main sun rahi hoon, Aashi!”

Aashvi flashed an angelic smile, showing her tiny teeth, “Mumma main toh bas Vanu ko spelling sikha rahi hoon!”

“Hmm. Spelling! Mujhe pata hai kaunsi ‘spelling’ hoti hai tum dono ki!”

---

When the van honked, Mahir gathered the three together, hugging them in one armful. Bela checked their bags twice, slipped a tiny note in Kikvi’s pencil box — You are my brave girl, no matter what. It was her way of protecting what only she and Mahir knew — a truth that would one day shake their world if it ever came out.

As they ran out — Aashvi first, dragging Kikvi, and Vanya calmly waving at Mahir from the steps — Bela caught Mahir’s arm. Her fierce mask slipped, and in that fleeting second she was just a wife, a mother, a woman in love with her imperfect world.

“Mahir ji… kabhi kabhi darr lagta hai… agar—” she whispered, eyes darting to Kikvi who was waving at them from the van window.

Mahir pressed his lips to her forehead. “Daro mat. Kuch bhi ho, main hoon, Bela. Hum sab sambhal lenge. Humesha.”

He paused, and for a second his eyes flicked to the photo on the mantel — a smiling woman in a white coat, gone too soon but never truly gone.

They watched the van roll away, carrying their secrets and their storms — their three baby hurricanes, ready to spin more mischief into the world, carrying pieces of their parents’ hearts with them.

In the Sehgal Villa, peace never lasted long. But then again, what’s a home without some noise, some trouble, and three little queens ruling over two very outnumbered adults?

And somewhere, in the middle of everyday battles and bedtime cuddles, Mahir and Bela clung fiercely to the truth they had vowed to guard — a truth that one day might test their family like never before.

But for now — they had breakfast kisses, school van chaos, frog pranks, and endless “Sorry Mumma!” — and that was enough.

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END OF PROLOGUE

The first part will be updated soon! Meanwhile, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Did you enjoy the plot so far? Do you have any ideas or suggestions? Feel free to share them — your feedback means a lot to me!

Thank you!❤️