●Ayesha●

Knock knock.

Where are you looking at? Look here. Down.

Yeah, you're looking at the right place now.

This chubby little cute and cuddly baby you see, that's me.

Say hello to the next Miss Diva.

I'm sitting in a cradle, wrapped in a soft pink blanket with wide eyes blinking at the world for the first time.

Yes, I was just born. Tada!

Hello, I am Ayesha Trivedi. Naam yaad rakhna. Badne kaam aayega.
(Remember the name. It'll come in handy later.)

So yeah, this is me—dripping in cuteness and sass from birth.

But wait... don't look at my side. No, seriously. Don't.

Okay, you looked.

Sigh.

He is the reason my peace, my cradle-space, and my newly born patience has already started getting tested.

He is Neil Srivastav.
The one who's going to grow up to be the most annoying, most irritating person in this world.

And if you think I'm being dramatic, I wish I could roll my eyes—but my baby eyeballs are still developing.

Now you might be wondering why two babies are lying side by side in a cradle as if this is some kind of weird rom-com baby edition.

Why are they kept together?
What's the story behind them?

And why am I hating on this bundle of noise already?

Well, it all starts from the two ladies responsible for this situation: my mother, Nisha Trivedi, and her best friend, Avni Srivastav—a.k.a. Avni ma, the divine creator of that annoying Neil.

Their story is as filmy as it gets.

---

They met in school, when Avni ma was the loudmouth rebel and Matoshri was the quiet, bookworm type. Somehow, the chaos and calm collided, and the rest was history. From fighting over tiffins to standing up for each other in front of bullies, they were inseparable.

Their friendship grew through teenage heartbreaks, board exams, and saree-clad farewell parties. They promised each other—no matter what happens, they would stay together.

And guess what? They meant it.

They chose colleges close by just so they could hang out every weekend. Then, they fell in love with—wait for it—two best friends. I know, destiny was out here scripting a whole TV serial.
My mother fell for Kabir Trivedi, and Avni ma—yes, I call her ma, because she's no less than a second mother to me—she married Raj Srivastav.

It was like their dream came true. They moved into houses next to each other. Their morning tea was always together, their gossip sessions timeless, and their bond? Unshakable.

Then, the big twist came.

Pregnancy.

Yep. Both of them. At the same time.
Mana yeh dono dost hai, par pregnant ek saath kaun hota hai?
(I understand these two are best friends, but who gets pregnant at the same time?)

Like seriously, who plans this stuff?

But anyway, ek meri matoshri hai, aur ek meri ma. (One is my mother, and the other is my godmother)
They were over the moon, shopping together for baby clothes, arguing over who'd pop first, and planning our futures even before we took our first breaths.

And everything was going just fine. I was lounging in heaven, having sweet little chats with God, mentally preparing for my grand entry on Earth.

Launching in 3,2,1......

But then...

Avni ma suddenly went into labor.

And guess what?

This idiot—Neil—decided to crash into the world at the exact same time as me.
Not a second early. Not a second late. Same day. Same hour. Same minute.

Do you know how annoying it is when you plan your solo debut and someone else photobombs it?
Yeah. That was him.

Everyone was overjoyed. Family celebrations, tears, ladoos flying everywhere.
But me?

Nope. Not happy.
Because one, this idiot had arrived before me.
And two... hold your breath...

My matoshri and Avni ma decided in that very moment that they would make us get married someday.

Kyuuuun yaar? Ek baar pooch toh lete.
(Why, man? At least ask me once!)
Mere jaise cool baby ko ek second-born gadhe ke saath bandha diya rishton mein!
(They tied a cool baby like me to a donkey like him in a relationship!)

And I couldn't even protest.
I was like—literally—minutes old. I didn't even know what "marriage" meant!

But apparently, "We want our friendship to turn into family forever."

Yeah? Well, what about my say in this?
I was just lying there, swaddled and sleepy, and boom—destined forever with this tiny, snoring drama king.

I mean, I didn't even get to pick my own pacifier, and they'd already picked my future husband.

So yeah. This is me. Ayesha Trivedi.
Born into chaos, sass, and a weirdly decided future.
Tied by fate to the most annoying creature who ever existed—Neil Srivastav.
And from that day on, our story began.

A story of bickering, love, war, friendship, and... destiny.

Because no matter how much I roll my eyes at him, one thing's clear—

We were destined forever. But I will definitely change my destiny.

**************

If you think life calmed down after my arrival into this world, you clearly haven't met the Trivedis and the Srivastavs.

We weren't some big-fat Bollywood family living in fancy bungalows with swimming pools and marble floors. Nope. We were the most perfectly imperfect, middle-class Indians you could imagine. The kind of families where birthdays meant homemade cake, leftover balloons from last Diwali, and maa's special sev puri. Where the doorbell never worked, so you just yelled "Nishaaa!!" from downstairs. Where the pressure cooker whistle was background music and news debates on TV were more intense than real fights.

We had everything we needed.

And lots and lots of love.

Our houses were side by side. So close that maa didn't need to dial Avni ma's number. She'd just call out from the kitchen window while making chai, and in a second, a head would pop out from the other side.

Our living rooms smelled of agarbatti, had plastic-covered sofa sets, and calendars from LIC and Amul Dairy on the walls. We didn't have much, but we had enough.

And somewhere in the middle of all this—there was me, and unfortunately, him too.

Neil Srivastav.

Even as babies, we were stuck together. Why? Because maa and matoshri were obsessed with the idea of us "growing up together."
So we'd nap in the same crib, drink milk in the same living room, and be bathed in the same bucket (the horror still haunts me).

And I know I was just a baby, but let me tell you—I knew this guy was trouble.

There I was, crying softly for maa's attention, doing my best to look cute and helpless. My cheeks were puffed, my eyes watery, and just when maa came closer—bam!

That drama king would start crying louder than a firetruck.
And suddenly, all the attention would shift to him.

"Neilu beta, kya hua?" (Neilu baby, what happened?)

And I'd be lying there like, "Mujhe kya hua koi nahi poochta?"
(Why is no one asking what happened to me?)

I hated it.

And don't even get me started on his milk-stealing habits.

We turned one year old, and the day began with a mini celebration. Balloons, halwa, and guests who smelled of Pond's powder. But the moment I tried to drink from my bottle, this guy crawled over like a thief in the night, grabbed it, and started drinking my milk—with my name written on it!

And when I snatched it back and started crying, what did he do?

He cried louder.

Louder than me!

As if I was the villain of his story!

Such a drama kid. Acting mein le jao isse char paise kama dega ( Make him do acting he'll earn some money)

By the time we turned three, the real war began.

We were both admitted to the same play school. I had my Barbie lunchbox, two braids with pink ribbons, and dreams of being the star of my class.

But then...

HE happened.

From pushing me off the swing to stealing my favorite red crayon, Neil was a walking, talking nuisance.

One day, I built a tower with blocks, and everyone clapped. I turned around to take a bow—like the queen I am—and boom, he smashed it.

"Neil! Tum gadhe ho!" I screamed. (Neil! You're a donkey!)

And guess what he replied?
"Aur tum chipkali ho!" (And you're a lizard!) Hawww I hit him hard by my pouch

We were dragged apart by our poor teachers, but every day, it was the same.
He'd pull my ponytail, I'd throw chalk at him.
He'd call me "motu", I'd call him "bhondu".

By the time we turned five, our parents had aged twenty years trying to keep peace.

"Avni Maa! Neil ne mera drawing paper faad diya!"
(Avni Maa! Neel tore my drawing paper!)

"Butiful! Ayesha ne mujhe thappad maara!"
(Butiful! Ayesha slapped me!)

Yes this person calls my mother Beautiful telling she is the most gorgeous person. Bloody attention seeker. Bolna thik se nahi aata par phir bhi flirt karega.( He can't even speak properly but will flirt)

Our living rooms became mini courtrooms.
Our mothers took turns scolding and defending.
Our fathers tried to stay out of it—until we started dragging them into the drama too.

One day, during dinner at our place, Neil pushed me under the table for taking the last puri. I bit his hand. He cried. I cried. Papa scolded both of us.

"Tum dono ek doosre ke bina reh nahi sakte, aur ek saath rehna bhi mushkil hai!"
(The two of you can't live without each other, and living together is also impossible!)

But they still made us sit side by side, believing one day we'd become best friends.

Yeah, right.
I'd rather be best friends with a mosquito.

Neil would never fail to get on my nerve.

Like the time I wore my favorite yellow frock with matching hairband and he spilled orange juice deliberately on it. I cried. He laughed.

Or the time he told the entire colony that I still slept with a teddy bear (which, by the way, is totally normal and not embarrassing).

And still, every evening, you'd find us in each other's houses. Playing, fighting, eating together, and somehow... growing up together.

The fights got louder.

The love stayed silent.

And maa and matoshri kept whispering,
"In dono ki shaadi mein toh full dhamaka hoga."
(Their wedding will be total fireworks.)

Wedding? I still couldn't believe they were serious about that ridiculous idea.

But one thing was clear.

Neil Srivastava may be the biggest pain in my life... but somehow, he was always there.

From diapers to toy wars to coloring book betrayals—we were stuck together.

Destined. Forever.

Or so they say.

But between you and me?

This war has just begun.

***********

I was five. Young. Wild. And slightly more dramatic than the average cartoon character.

It was a warm afternoon, the kind where the sun is too lazy to scorch and the wind flutters through the balcony like it's dancing to Lata Mangeshkar's voice playing in someone's kitchen radio. Avni Ma and Matoshri had parked me and that boy — Neil Srivastav — with mango slices and cold Rooh Afza, probably hoping we'd not burn the house down.

We were sitting cross-legged on the floor of his drawing room. Well, I was sitting like a decent human. Neil? He was sprawled like a squished caterpillar, trying to draw a rocket ship but somehow managing to make it look like a brinjal wearing a hat.

"Ye kya banaya hai?" I asked, raising my tiny eyebrow. (What have you made?)

"Rocket!" he replied proudly.

I snorted. Loudly. Rudely. Like a five-year-old with zero filters.
"Yeh rocket nahi, lockey hai. Shayad chappal bhi." (This is not a rocket. It's a bottle gourd. Maybe even a slipper.)

He gave me a full-blown glare. Like a tiny villain who had just been betrayed by his most trusted soldier. He stood up, all four feet of him, and said with the seriousness of a world leader, "Mujhse baat mat karo!" (Don't talk to me!)

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where his bad decision-making began.

Because the moment he said that, I knew he was taking himself too seriously. And I couldn't allow that. No, no. That would be criminal.

I stared at his scowling face, hands on his hips, and that ridiculously puffed chest like a balloon full of self-importance — and suddenly it hit me.

"Shriv."

He paused. "Kya?" (What?)

"Shriv," I repeated, standing up and brushing mango juice off my dress. "Tera naya naam. Shriv."
(A new name for you. Shriv.)

He blinked. "Kyoooon?" (Whyyyy?)

I grinned with the pride of an inventor unveiling her masterpiece. "Kyunki Neil Srivastav bolne mein time lagta hai, aur tu itna intelligent hai nahi."
(Because saying Neil Srivastava takes too much time, and you're not that intelligent anyway.)

He gasped. "Main intelligent hoon!" (I AM intelligent!)

I folded my arms. "Rocket ya baigan bana raha tha?" (Were you drawing a rocket or a brinjal?)

He opened his mouth... closed it... opened again... and then sat back down with a loud "Hmph!"

And just like that, Shriv was born. A nickname that stuck like Fevicol. I called him that every day after that.

"Shriv, tu gira diya mera crayon!"
(Shriv, you dropped my crayon!)

"Shriv, tu phir se cheating kar raha hai!"
(Shriv, you're cheating again!)

"Shriv, agar mujhe abhi chocolate nahi di, toh main Matoshri ko bol dungi ki tu bathroom mein ro raha tha!"
(Shriv, if you don't give me that chocolate right now, I'll tell Matoshri you were crying in the bathroom!)

He hated it. Which is why I loved it.

And the funniest part? One day, he actually responded to it without realising.

"Shriv, jaldi chal!"
(Shriv, hurry up!)

"Hmm?" he replied casually while tying his shoe.

I nearly fainted with joy. Victory had never tasted sweeter. Especially because it came with a mango slice in one hand and Shriv's full-on irritation in the other.

So yeah. You may know him as Neil Srivastava.

But to me?

He'll always be Shriv. The boy who drew brinjal-rockets and walked around like the President of the Drama Club.

And secretly? I think he loves that name now.

(He'll deny it, of course. But between you and me, he once signed a handmade birthday card as "From: Shriv." I've got receipts.)