Chapter 3 : Husband Handle This

The morning after their “legendary” accidental marriage was anything but ordinary at St. Xavier’s High School.

From the moment Aarav Malhotra stepped through the school gate, calm as ever with his laptop bag slung over one shoulder, whispers trailed after him. Students grinned, phones out, hashtags flying across school social media.

“Arre, dulha ji aa gaye!” someone shouted from the basketball court. (Look, the groom has arrived!)

Aarav didn’t flinch. His calm brown eyes scanned the path ahead like he was immune to the chaos. He adjusted his glasses and kept walking.

But the moment Rhea Sharma made her entrance, the school practically exploded.

She wasn’t going to take the humiliation lying down. Her bright modern kurti, paired with ripped jeans, screamed rebellion. Her chin was high, lips curved in that infamous “don’t-mess-with-me” smirk.

“Arre, dulhan ji bhi aa gayi!” another voice called. (Here comes the bride!)

Rhea froze mid-step, then dramatically tossed her hair. “Excuse me? I am never anyone’s dulhan.”

But before she could escape, Zoya, their mischievous best friend and chaos magnet, appeared, linking both their arms.

“Bas bas, ab dono saath chalenge. Couple entry, no excuses!” (Enough now, you two will walk together. Couple entry, no excuses!)

The corridor erupted in claps and cheers. Aarav, utterly unfazed, let Zoya drag him closer to Rhea.

Rhea hissed, “Why are you not reacting?”

Aarav, deadpan: “Because I don’t waste my CPU on background noise.”

The crowd lost it. Memes were already flooding the school app with captions like #PresidentVicePresidentShaadi, #PatiPatniAurLaptop.

Rhea swore under her breath, “I will kill you, Aarav Malhotra.”

“Technically,” Aarav replied, “you’ll become a widow. Bad PR for you.”

Even Rhea had to fight back a reluctant laugh.

Just when things couldn’t get more embarrassing, the principal announced an emergency PTA meeting. Parents had caught wind of the “marriage booth scandal,” and the school had to “restore dignity.”

The auditorium was packed. Teachers sat nervously. Students leaned on the balcony rails to enjoy the drama.

On stage, Aarav and Rhea sat side by side, the spotlight burning down.

Rhea’s mother waved a handkerchief dramatically. “Yeh kya ho raha hai, principal ji? Shaadi booth ke chakkar mein meri beti ki izzat ka tamasha ban gaya hai!” (What is happening, Principal sir? Because of this marriage booth, my daughter’s honor has become a joke!)

Meanwhile, Aarav’s uncle Kunal sat quietly in the corner. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp presence, he looked like someone who could silence a crowd with one glare. But he said nothing, only watching Aarav closely, his hands folded, jaw tight. Protective, but hidden.

The principal stammered, “Madam, it was all a prank gone wrong. No legal marriage has taken place—”

A teacher cut in nervously, “But social media believes otherwise, sir. We are trending.”

From the back row, a boy yelled: “#HusbandWifeGoals!”

Rhea buried her face in her hands. Aarav leaned closer and murmured, “Smile, Mrs. Malhotra. PR damage control.”

She elbowed him so hard he nearly toppled from the chair. The students roared.

Rhea’s mom pointed at Aarav. “This boy—he looks calm, but he’s dangerous. See, he is corrupting my daughter!”

Zoya whispered loudly, “Dangerous? Aarav? The guy who codes AI instead of attending PE class?”

Kunal finally spoke, voice deep but measured: “Enough. Aarav is not at fault here. If anything, he’s the victim of this foolish prank.”

For a moment, silence. Even Aarav looked sideways at his uncle, faint surprise flickering in his eyes. Kunal rarely interfered publicly.

But in that small moment, Aarav felt something he hadn’t in years—someone standing by his side.

Of course, Zoya wasn’t going to let things cool down. By lunchtime, she had crafted an entire “Couple Challenge List,” secretly circulated in the student council WhatsApp group.

1. Cook together in Home Science.

2. Perform a duet dance.

3. Post a couple selfie on school app.

The next three days were pure chaos.

Cooking Challenge:

Rhea tried frying pakoras, Aarav calmly read the recipe off his laptop like a robot. Oil splattered, Rhea screamed, flour exploded all over her kurti, and somehow the smoke alarm went off. Aarav, covered in flour like a snowman, deadpanned: “Congratulations, you invented Pakora 2.0.”

Dance Challenge:

On stage, Rhea insisted on Bollywood thumkas, Aarav tried to count beats like a mathematician. She tripped, he caught her, their faces inches apart. For the first time, the audience went quiet. Just two pounding hearts, locked eyes.

Then Zoya screamed from the crowd: “Kiss! Kiss!”

Rhea shoved Aarav so hard he stumbled. “Not in this janam!” (Not in this lifetime!)

Selfie Challenge:

Forced to click one together, Rhea posed with an overdone pout. Aarav clicked, edited it instantly, and posted a meme version with the caption: “AI detected: One clown, one human.”

The post went viral. Even teachers laughed.

By the end, Rhea had declared open war.

Late that night, while the whole school buzzed about their “fake couple challenges,” Aarav sat alone in his room. His laptop glowed with the incomplete AI project—SIA.

Lines of code scrolled. But then—something odd. A new fragment had appeared in the logs, one Aarav hadn’t written. Almost like someone had accessed SIA remotely.

His chest tightened. “Who’s tampering with you, Sia?” he whispered.

For the first time, suspicion stirred. The booth prank, the chaos, and now this… none of it felt random.

Meanwhile, across town, Rhea tossed in bed, fuming. “Tomorrow, Aarav Malhotra. I’ll ruin your calm face.” But her hand lingered unconsciously near her heart, where the memory of his steady catch during the dance still lingered.