So let’s begin,
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The Classroom (Class 9-B) – 9:00 AM
The atmosphere in Class 9-B was heavy enough to crush a diamond.
Bela stood at the front of the class, tapping a stack of papers against her palm. The sound was rhythmic and terrifying.
Bela: "Books inside the bags. Desk clear. Only a pen and a pencil in your hand."
Groans echoed through the room, but "Team Unstoppable" didn't groan. They had been warned. They were ready (mostly).
Bela: (walking down the aisle distributing papers) "Question paper physics aur chemistry combined hai. 20 marks each. 40 minutes."
She stopped at the trio's desk. She placed the paper face down in front of Vanshu, Akshu and Khushi.
Bela: "Khushi."
Khushi looked up, flexing her fingers nervously.
Khushi: "Yes Ma'am?"
Bela: "I don't want an excuse.. Your hand is healed enough to hold a pen."
Khushi: "Ji Ma'am. I can manage."
Bela: "Good. Par dhyaan rahe... writing speed slow h abhi bhi. Time management pe focus karna. Agar paper choot gaya toh 'Injury' ka bahana nahi chalega. Marks katenge."
Khushi: "Nahi chootega Ma'am. I’ll be fast."
Bela: "Your time starts... now."
Vanshu immediately opened the paper.
Question 1: Balance the chemical equation. She smirked. Easy.
Akshu looked at Question 5: Calculate the Force. She remembered the warning. Units. Newton. Don't forget. She circled the word 'Calculate' to remind herself.
Khushi looked at the paper as if it has personally offended her, but decided to start anyway. She took a deep breath and started writing. Her handwriting was a little wobblier than usual, but her speed picked up as the adrenaline kicked in.
For the next 40 minutes, the only sound was the scratching of pens and Bela’s heels clicking as she patrolled the room like a shark circling its prey.
---
The School Playground – 11:15 AM (Recess)
The playground was buzzing with noise, but the "Sehgal Six" had found a secluded spot behind the old bleachers, away from the prying eyes of teachers and monitors.
Team Aashvi stood guard, creating a human wall, while the three teens sat on the grass.
Akshu and Vanshu had their phones out, scrolling through Google and Pinterest for ideas. The kids (who had their break at the same time today due to a special assembly schedule) had sneaked out, claiming they wanted to "play games."
Akshu: (whispering) "Okay, coast is clear. 'Operation Surprise Test' budget meeting part 2. Jaldi se 'Geometry Box' search karte h pehle . Chocolate Truffle. 3-tier."
Vanshu typed rapidly. Images of decadent chocolate cakes filled the screen.
Khushi: "Oh woww... look at that gloss. Yeh wala perfect hai. Iska weight check kar."
Vanshu: "3 KG. Price... 3500. Budget mein hai."
Akshu: "Done. Iska screenshot lele. Ab 'Chemicals' (Decorations)."
They switched to a party supply website. They picked gold and black balloons (classy, like Bela), a 'Happy Birthday' banner, and some fairy lights.
Khushi: "Ab... 'Final Assignment' (Gift)."
They hovered over the search bar. The three of them stared at the blinking line.
Vanshu: "Still no idea?"
Akshu: "Watch out of budget hai. Clothes risky hain. Jewelry... confusing hai."
Khushi: "Kuch aisa jo woh roz use karein? Aur yaad rakhein humein?"
Aashi: "Mere paas ek idea hai."
Everyone looked down at Aashi.
Aashi: "Hum kuch khareedne ke bajaye... kuch banayein? Papa ke office mein 3D printer hai na? Aur Vanshu di painting karti hain. Aur craft mein achi hain."
Khushi: "Handmade?"
Akshu: "Haan! Idea accha diya h waah chintu dimaag toh h tumhare pass..
(Aashi glared her, Akshu chuckled and ignored her continuing with the idea)
Lekin professional level ka. Socho... ek custom 'Nameplate' unke desk ke liye? Ya phir ek 'Photo Collage' frame jo hum khud design karein?"
Vanshu: (eyes lighting up) "Photo Collage... common hai. But... what if we make a 'Scrapbook of Memories'? Lekin normal wali nahi. Digital aur Physical mix."
Akshu: "Matlab?"
Vanshu: "Ek leather-bound diary. Usme humare saare photos— Aur Team Aashvi ke bachpan se ab tak ke photos.. Sir aur ma'am ke couple photos... Har photo ke neeche ek message. Aur beech-beech mein... chote QR codes jo scan karne pe videos play karein—humari videos, jahan hum unhe wish kar rahe hain ya unki nakal utar rahe hain."
Khushi: "Wow! Tech plus Emotion! General Sahiba pighal jayengi!"
Akshu: "Aur budget?"
Vanshu: "Leather diary aur printing ka kharcha kam hoga. Baaki sab humari mehnat. 30k mein hum cake, decoration aur ek shandaar dinner bhi sponsor kar sakte hain!"
Aashi: "Dinner? Kahan?"
Khushi: "Ghar pe nahi. Ma'am ko doubt ho jayega. Hum unhe bahar le jayenge. 'Surprise Dinner' at her favorite rooftop restaurant."
Akshu: "Perfect! Toh Gift lock: 'The Memory Book'. Cake lock: 'Pythagoras Chocolate Truffle'. Decoration: 'Gold & Black'. Dinner: 'Rooftop'."
Vanu: "Aur humara contribution?"
Vanshu: "Tum log photos select karoge aur stickers chipkaoge!"
Khushi: "Perfect idea! Hum kyun gift khareedne ke peeche bhaage... Ma'am ke paas sab kuch hai. Sir unhe duniya ka sabse expensive gift de sakte hain, aur dete bhi hain. Humari 30k ki watch, dresses, jewelry ya koi bhi gift unke liye shayad 'okay' hogi... but not special. Aur waise bhi I have a feeling agar hum apni savings unke liye gift khareedne mai use karenge toh wo shayad accept bhi na karein."
Vanshu: "Actually yaar, point h baat mai.. And kahi wo gussa hi na ho jaaye is baat se ki humne Yeh paise unke liye gifts khareedne mai lagaye wo bhi aise materialistic gifts jo sir unhe kabhi bhi de sakte h."
Akshu:" Hmm.. Sahi keh rahe ho tumlog."
Khushi: "Exactly, hum wo denge jo sir bhi nahi khareed sakte. Humari creativity. Humara talent.Yaad hai Ma’am ne ek baar kaha tha ki ‘Efforts matter more than price tags’? Toh hum efforts put karte hain. Hum “Memory Book” ke saath apni creativity utilise karte h na?”
She pointed at Vanshu.
Khushi: “Vanshu, tu artist hai. You won the inter – school competition with your sketch. Why don’t you make a portrait? Ek beautiful charcoal sketch… Bela Ma’am aur sir ka together. Ekdum realistic wala.”
Vanshu’s eyes lit up. She adjusted her glasses, her mind already visualizing the strokes.
Vanshu: “Portrait… haan! Main try kar sakti hoon. Mere paas art supplies hain. Canvas aur framing ka kharcha hoga bas. Main usme detailing karungi… unki smile, unki eyes… Sir will love it, aur Ma’am definitely emotional ho jayengi.”
Khushi: “Exactly! Aur Akshu…”
She turned to Akshu, the tech wiz.
Akshu: “Mai samjah gayi.. Mai editing queen hoon. Vanshu ki portrait ko digital touch de sakti hoon final look ke liye. Aur uske alawa… ek Video Montage bana sakte h. Hum sab ki photos, videos, aur messages record karke. With voiceover and special effects. Cinematic style mein.”
Vanshu: (grinning) “Video Tribute! Yes! Aur usme background music ‘Maa’ wala daalna, emotional wala. Aur text effects use karke unke best dialogues bhi likh sakte h!”
Kiku: “Aur hum? Hum kya karenge?”
Akshu: “Tum log us video ke stars hoge! Tum teeno ke interview clips honge video mein jahan tum Ma'am ke baare mein cute cheezein bologe.”
Vanu: “Main bolungi ki Mummy best paratha banati hain!”
Khushi: “Perfect.”
Vanshu: “Aur tu, Khushi? Tera kya contribution hai?”
Khushi smiled, a shy blush creeping up her cheeks.
Khushi: “Main… main likhungi. Mere paas kuch shayaris hain jo maine Ma’am ke liye likhi thi par kabhi sunayi nahi. Main ek poem likhungi—‘The General and The Mother’. Mere words, meri aawaz mein. Main wo poem recite karungi party mein.”
The group fell silent for a moment, absorbing the idea. It felt right. It felt personal.
Vanshu: “Yeh… yeh expensive watch ya gifts se lakh guna better hai. Ma’am ro dengi pakka.”
Akshu: “Toh plan set? Gift ka kharcha almost minimal hoga. Sirf framing aur printing cost.”
Khushi: “Haan! Aur jo paise bachenge… usse hum sabse best ‘Pythagoras Geometry Box’ (Cake) layenge aur Rooftop Dinner humari taraf se sponsor hoga. Sir ko paise dene ki zaroorat hi nahi padegi. Pura celebration ‘Team Sehgal’ ke paison se!”
Aashi: (clapping silently) “Yay! We are independent organizers!”
Khushi: “Toh chalo, phones andar rakho. Koi teacher aa rahi hai.”
Akshu and Vanshu quickly shoved their phones back into their socks. They stood up, dusting off their skirts.
Khushi: “Yaad rakhna, ghar pe koi sketching ya editing open mein nahi karega. Sab kuch raat ko hoga jab General so jayengi.”
All: “Done!”
They walked back towards the building as the bell rang, no longer burdened by budgets or brands. They had something better than money—they had art, words, and a whole lot of love to pour into the “Final Assignment.”
The Sehgal Mansion – Living Room – 7:30 PM
The house was suspiciously quiet. Usually, this hour was filled with the sounds of TV cartoons, Khushi complaining about Maths, or Akshu fighting with Aashi over the remote.
But today, the scene was different.
Team Aashvi was seated on the rug, furiously cutting colored paper (under the guise of an “Arts & Crafts” school project).
Team Unstoppable was at the dining table, books spread out like a fortress.
Bela walked down the stairs, observing them. She was dressed in her casual kurtis, holding a cup of tea. Her detective radar was pinging.
Bela: (sipping tea) “Aaj suraj kaha se nikla tha? Itni shanti? No arguments? No drama?”
Khushi looked up from her notebook. She was actually writing the opening lines of her poem, but she had labeled the page “Linear Equations: Rough Work” in bold letters.
Khushi: “Bas Ma’am… aapne kaha tha na ‘Surprise Test’ kabhi bhi ho sakta hai. Toh hum risk nahi lena chahte. We are… focused.”
Bela walked towards the table.
Bela: “Good.”
She stopped behind Vanshu.
Vanshu was sweating. Underneath her Chemistry textbook lay a sheet of drawing paper where she had just started the outline of Mahir and Bela’s face.
Bela leaned in.
Bela: “Vanshu, kya padh rahi ho?”
Vanshu slammed her hand down on the page, covering the drawing, while simultaneously pointing at the open Chemistry book with her other hand.
Vanshu: “B…Benzene Rings! Ma’am, Benzene ka structure draw kar rahi thi. Bohot complicated hai. Hexagonal shape perfect nahi aa raha.”
Bela looked at the page Vanshu was covering.
Bela: “Let me see. Shayad main help kar sakun.”
Vanshu’s heart stopped. Akshu kicked Khushi under the table.
Khushi: (suddenly shouting) “Ma’am! Ma’am, ek doubt hai! 2x + 5y = 10 mein agar x zero hai toh y kya hoga? Jaldi bataiye please, flow toot jayega!”
Bela turned her head towards Khushi, annoyed by the sudden volume.
Bela: “Khushi, chillao mat. Aur agar x zero hai, toh 5y=10, matlab y=2. Itna basic doubt?”
Khushi: “Oh… haan. Sorry. Dimaag blank ho gaya tha.”
Bela shook her head and looked back at Vanshu. But in that split second, Vanshu had slid the drawing sheet inside the Chemistry book and closed it.
Vanshu: (opening a fresh page) “Ma’am, wo galat ban gaya tha toh maine page palat diya. Phir se try karungi.”
Bela eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then nodded.
Bela: “Theek hai. Akshu, tum phone pe kya kar rahi ho? Physics phone pe nahi hoti.”
Akshu quickly minimized the video editor app and opened the Calculator.
Akshu: “Calculation Ma’am! Values badi hain.”
Bela: “Scientific calculator use karo. Phone distract karta hai. 8 baje tak study time over. Phir dinner.”
She turned and walked towards the kitchen.
As soon as she was out of earshot, the three teens collapsed onto the table.
Vanshu: (whispering) “Meri jaan nikal gayi thi. Benzene Ring ke chakkar mein meri band bajne jaisi halat ho gayi thi.”
Akshu: “Khushi, nice save with the ‘x’ value.”
Khushi: “Maths pehli baar kaam aaya meri life mein.”
Team Unstoppable’s Bedroom – 12:30 AM (The Night Shift)
The house was dark. The “General” had retired to her quarters. But in the teens’ room, the “Night Shift” had just begun.
They had stuffed towels under the door crack to prevent light from leaking into the hallway.
Vanshu’s Corner:
Vanshu had set up a makeshift easel using a pile of books on her bed. A small reading light was clipped to her headboard, illuminating the canvas. The charcoal pencil moved swiftly. She was focusing on Mahir’s eyes first.
Akshu’s Corner:
Akshu was sitting under her blanket with her laptop (brightness low), headphones on. She was syncing a clip of Aashi dancing with Khushi. She giggled silently, typing captions.
Khushi’s Corner:
Khushi was sitting on the floor, surrounded by crumpled balls of paper. She was chewing the end of her pen, staring at a fresh page.
Khushi: (muttering) “Aap Hitler hain, par pyaari hain…” Nahi, rhyme nahi kar raha. “Aap gussa karti hain, par care karti hain…” Too cliché.
Suddenly, the doorknob turned.
The three of them froze. Vanshu threw a blanket over her sketch. Akshu slammed her laptop shut. Khushi pretended to be asleep on the floor.
The door creaked open. A beam of torchlight swept across the room.
Voice: “Room service.”
It wasn’t Bela. It was Mahir.
Yes, Mahir knew about the plan. They brought Mahir into the plan to maintain a proper record of their expenses. Team Aashvi had secretly narrated everything to him, ensuring that every detail was perfectly aligned. After all, Mahir’s supervision would be invaluable—not only in executing the plan smoothly but also in keeping Bela distracted and occupied while they carried out their work.
The girls let out a collective breath of relief.
Khushi: (sitting up) “Sir! Aapne toh dara hi diya! Humein laga General Sahiba raid pe aa gayi.”
Mahir stepped inside, closing the door softly. He was holding a tray with three mugs of hot chocolate and a packet of biscuits.
Mahir: “General Sahiba so rahi hain. Unhe lagta hai tum log so rahe ho. Par mujhe pata hai ‘Operation Surprise Test’ night shift mein chalta hai.”
He placed the tray on the floor.
Vanshu: (uncovering her sketch) “Sir, dekhiye. Start kiya hai. Kaisa lag raha hai?”
Mahir crouched down, squinting at the sketch in the dim light. He saw the outline of Bela’s face—the strict jawline but the soft eyes Vanshu had captured perfectly.
Mahir: (softly) “Wow, Vanshu. Yeh… yeh toh bilkul waisi hai. Perfect.”
Akshu: “Sir, video ke liye mujhe aapki help chahiye. Aapke phone mein wo purani video hai na jahan Ma’am Vanu ko swimming sikha rahi thi?”
Mahir: “Haan, drive pe hai. Main share kar dunga subah.”
He looked at Khushi, who was holding her notepad.
Mahir: “Aur humari Shayara? Kuch likha?”
Khushi: (shyly) “Sir, words match nahi ho rahe. Main chahti hoon unhe pata chale ki hum unhe kitna maante hain, par ‘Thank You’ bolna bohot chota lagta hai.”
Mahir sat down on the rug next to Khushi.
Mahir: “Khushi, Bela ko fancy words nahi chahiye. Usey sachai pasand hai. Likho ki tum kaisa feel karti ho jab wo tumhe daantti hai, aur phir jab wo tumhe raat ko check karne aati hai. Ya care karti h secretly.. The contrast. Wohi uska sach hai.”
Khushi smiled, inspiration striking.
Khushi: “The contrast… yes! Like a coconut. Bahar se sakht, andar se soft.”
Mahir: (laughing) “Coconut mat likh dena poem mein please. Thoda poetic raho.”
He stood up.
Mahir: “Chalo, fuel up. Hot chocolate piyo aur kaam karo. Par 2 baje tak so jana. Agar kal school mein neend aayi aur Bela ne pakda, toh main bacha nahi paunga.”
Trio: “Yes Sir! Thank you!”
Mahir looked at them once and slipped out of the room like a secret agent.
The girls sipped their hot chocolate, fueled by sugar and support.
Vanshu: (picking up her charcoal) “Okay team. Let’s make this masterpiece.”
For the next two hours, the only sounds in the room were the scratching of charcoal, the clicking of keys, and the scribbling of a pen. They were tired, yes. But for the woman who stood as their shield, they would work all night.
The Master Bedroom – 12:45 AM
Mahir closed the door to the teens’ room softly, the image of their tired but determined faces etched in his mind. He walked down the quiet hallway, the tray in his hand now empty, but his heart full.
He entered the master bedroom.
The room was bathed in the soft blue light of the moon filtering through the curtains. Bela was asleep. She was lying on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, her breathing slow and deep. Her hair was spread across the pillow, softening the sharp features that terrified students and criminals alike.
Mahir set the tray down on the console and walked over to the bed. He sat on the edge, careful not to shift the mattress.
He watched her.
To the world, she was SHO Bela Sehgal—tough, uncompromising, the law.
To the school, she was Mrs. Sehgal—the strict Maths teacher who demanded discipline.
To the kids, she was Mumma/Ma’am—the protector, the provider, the anchor.
But to him?
He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead.
Mahir: (whispering) “Tum sabki ho Bela… par sabse pehle tum meri ho.”
He thought about the kids’ plan—the ‘Memory Book’, the cake, the dinner. It was perfect. It celebrated her impact on their lives. It celebrated the Mother and the Mentor.
But what about the Wife? What about the Lover?
Mahir leaned back, his mind rewinding the tape of their life.
He remembered the Courtship Days. The shy Bela who wasn’t an SHO yet, just a fierce girl with fire in her eyes. The way they used to sneak out for cutting chai and samosas in the rain because she loved the smell of wet earth.
He remembered the Promotion Day. The day she got her stars. She had come home trying to act tough, but she had cried in his arms because she was so proud yet overwhelmed. He had saluted her that day, and she had laughed—that rare, carefree laugh he hadn’t heard in a while.
He remembered the Pregnancy Phase. “Team Aashvi” was in her tummy. The mood swings. One minute she wanted to arrest him for breathing too loud, the next she wanted to cuddle because she felt “fat.” He remembered pressing the hot water bag to her swollen feet while she ate imli (tamarind) dipped in chocolate sauce.
He remembered the Post-Pregnancy Chaos. The sleepless nights, the diaper duties, and how she managed to get back in shape and back on duty with a resilience that left him in awe.
And he remembered the day she brought Khushi, Akshu, and Vanshu home. The way her maternal instinct expanded effortlessly to shelter three more souls.
Mahir: (thinking) Bachon ne ‘Maa’ aur ‘Teacher’ ke liye plan kiya hai. Mujhe kuch aisa karna hai jo ‘Bela’ ke liye ho. Wo ladki jo zimmedariyon (responsibilities) ke bojh ke neeche kahin chup gayi hai.
He pulled out his phone, dimming the brightness to the lowest setting, and opened his notes app. He typed a new heading: “Project Eternity.”
He didn’t want a loud party. He wanted intimacy. He wanted to take her back to the moments where they were just Mahir and Bela.
The Plan:
The Timing: The kids would handle the birthday day. Mahir would claim the Midnight Hour (12:00 AM to 1:00 AM). The transition into her birthday.
The Venue: The small, glass-walled Gazebo in the backyard—their old spot which had been turned into a storeroom for kids’ bicycles. He would clear it out.
The Theme: ‘Saat Janam, Saat Vade’ (Seven Lives, Seven Promises).
He started typing rapidly.
Vow 1 (The Beginning): Recreate their first date setup. A simple table, two chairs, and cutting Chai and samosas in those specific glass tumblers and paper plates she loved. No fancy champagne. Just the tea she drank when she fell in love with him.
Vow 2 (The Partner): A framed photo of the day she became SHO. Not the official one, but the candid one he took where she was fixing her cap in the mirror. Gift: A platinum pendant shaped like a ‘Star’—to remind her she is the star of his life, not just the police force.
Vow 3 (The Struggle): A bowl of Imli and Pickles. A funny nod to the pregnancy cravings that drove him crazy, acknowledging the pain she bore to give him their family.
Vow 4 (The Wife): A mix-tape (or playlist) of the songs they danced to in their room when no one was watching. The slow, romantic numbers. He would ask her for a dance. Just them. No music system, just hummed melodies.
Vow 5 (The Future): This was the big one.
Mahir paused. What could he give her that symbolized the future?
He looked at her hand resting on the pillow. Her ring finger had a simple gold band and her engagement ring.
He smiled.
The Gift: An Eternity Ring. A band encrusted with diamonds all around. No beginning, no end.
Engraving: “My Love.”
Mahir paused, his thumb hovering over the screen. He had covered the past, the romance, and the family. But two vows remained. The most crucial ones. The ones that defined how they would survive the chaos of their lives.
He looked at Bela’s sleeping face again. There was a tiny frown line between her brows—a permanent mark of the stress she carried. Being an SHO dealing with criminals, and a Teacher dealing with teenagers… she was always in “Fight Mode.” She was always the protector.
But who protects the protector?
He began typing again, his eyes softening.
Vow 6 (The Sanctuary):
The Thought: She is the ‘General’ to the world. She has to be strong, stoic, and invincible. But everyone has a breaking point. Vow 6 is about Vulnerability. It’s a promise that she doesn’t have to be strong in front of him.
The Promise: “With me, you can just be Bela. You can cry, you can break down, you can be weak. I will be your shield when you are tired of holding yours.”
The Gift: A “No-Questions-Asked” Voucher & A Spa Weekend.
Concept: A literal physical card he would design. Whenever she hands it to him, he will ask no questions, take over all her duties (kids, school coordination, house), and she can disappear for 24 hours—to a spa, to a hotel, or just to sleep in a silent room. It’s the gift of Peace.
Mahir smiled. He knew she would probably never use it because she was a control freak, but knowing she could would mean the world to her.
Now, the final one. The Seventh Vow. The one that seals the marriage.
Vow 7 (The Humsafar – The Companion):
The Thought: In Indian weddings, the seventh step is for companionship and friendship. They had been through supernatural wars, family drama, it’s politics, and now the chaos of raising six girls. They were partners, yes. But he wanted to remind her that they were Soulmates.
The Promise: “To walk with you, not ahead of you to lead, not behind you to follow, but beside you, matching your step, till my last breath and beyond.”
The Gift: Silver Payal (Anklets).
The Significance: He remembered how much he loved the sound of her anklets when she walked around the house. It was the music of his home.
The Action: He wouldn’t just give them to her in a box. He planned to sit on his knees and put them on her ankles himself, symbolizing that his paradise lies at her feet and that he cherishes every step she takes towards him.
Mahir read through the list.
Chai and Samosas(The Beginning)
Star Pendant (The Career)
Imli & Pickles (The Motherhood)
The Dance (The Romance)
Eternity Ring (The Future)
The Sanctuary Voucher (The Vulnerability)
Silver Anklets (The Soulmate)
It was perfect. It was them.
He quickly sent a text to his Personal Assistant, instructing him to clear his schedule for tomorrow morning and to arrange a meeting with their family jeweler strictly confidential.
Mahir: (typing) And get the Gazebo cleaned. I need fairy lights—warm white, not colored. And find that specific tea vendor from Colaba who makes the ginger tea.
He put the phone away and slid under the duvet next to her. The warmth of her body radiated against his. She shifted in her sleep, her back pressing against his chest, fitting perfectly like a puzzle piece.
Mahir wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent—sandalwood and faint gun oil (a quirky mix only Bela had).
Mahir: (whispering into her hair) “Bachon ki party tumhe khush karegi, Bela. Par mera surprise tumhe yaad dilayega. Ki tum sirf ek Maa ya Teacher nahi ho… tum Mahir Sehgal ki dhadkan ho. I will make you fall in love with yourself again. Saat janam ka pata nahi Bela… par is janam ka har ek pal, main tumhare naam karta hoon.”
He kissed her shoulder softly.
Mahir: “Happy Birthday in advance, Mrs. Sehgal. Get ready for a walk down memory lane.”
With a satisfied smile, Mahir closed his eyes, dreaming of the moment he would see the blush return to the General’s cheeks. The plan was set. The “Team Sehgal” was attacking from all fronts—the kids with creativity, and the husband with romance. Bela didn’t stand a chance.
__________________________________________
To be continued..
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