The morning sun filtered softly into the dining room as you moved around the table, carefully serving breakfast for your husband’s family. The air was filled with gentle chatter and the aroma of fresh parathas and tea. You smiled quietly, focused on making sure everyone had what they needed.

Then, a familiar deep voice echoed through the hall from your shared bedroom.

“Jaan, where are you, baby?” It was Saksham Thakur—your husband —his tone laced with sleep, a hint of impatience, and longing.

You froze mid-step, cheeks instantly flushing pink. Every pair of eyes at the table turned toward you with amused smiles. His mother chuckled softly, placing a hand over her mouth.

“Go, beta,” your mother-in-law teased with a wink, “your husband is calling his Jaan.”

Embarrassed but flustered in the sweetest way, you quickly wiped your hands and dashed down the hallway, your peach saree's pallu trailing behind you as your heart fluttered.

You opened the bedroom door, and your breath caught.

There he was—Saksham—sitting up in bed, his dark hair tousled, chest bare ,just in grey sweatpants, and his intense eyes locked with your soft doe-like ones. He saw the baby pink color blouse, saree, minimal makeup nd jewellery. The small waist. he loves when you wear saree's, as he get more skin to view nd touch. his pretty little jaan.

“Jaan,” he murmured, voice low and serious, “how many times have I told you not to leave the bed without telling me?”

“I didn't wanted to wake u up ,” you said, walking in. Standing between his legs. He wrapped his arms around ur soft bare waist,nd buried his face in ur belly.