“No. No. NO!”
Vaani stood in the kitchen, waving a spatula like it was a courtroom exhibit.
“Agasthya, are you even hearing yourself? You want to bring a DOG into this house?”
Agasthya leaned casually against the fridge, sipping his overpriced cold brew like this wasn’t a marital emergency in the newlywed land.
“Billi isn’t just a dog. He’s family.”
“You named your dog Billi?”
“It’s hilarious, right? Calling a dog ‘cat’? My boy doesn’t purr—he just loves.” Agasthya laughed at his own joke. “Admit it, that’s genius.”
“No. It’s dumb and identity crisis. You named a Labrador Billi. What next? A parrot named Meow?”
Agasthya grinned, unfazed. "Respect the vision and also he loves his name."
They had been married just under a year. A perfectly organized marriage: shared calendars, divided chores, date nights on Fridays, long drives on Sundays, and even a tiny plant named Gulabo that they hadn’t managed to kill yet. Life was smooth. Streamlined. Predictable.
Until now.
“Vaani,” he began, setting his coffee down, “my parents are moving to the UK to live with Akka. Appa’s knees aren’t holding up, Amma misses the cold, and… there’s no one else to take care of Billi.” He hesitated, then added more softly, “Billi’s family. And honestly, this might be the first real chance I get to spend time with him. I barely saw him after I left for college, then work, then marriage…”
“I love dogs. Lovvvvve them,” Vaani said, backing away dramatically, “But I’m allergic. Very, very allergic.”
“We had lunch at the Chadhas’ last weekend. They have a dog. You were fine.”
“He was in a cage.”
“It was a play pen, not Alcatraz.”
Agasthya crossed his arms. Vaani crossed hers harder.
“Look, we both work 10-hour days, we barely have time to keep up with laundry—”
“We have a washing machine.”
“—and emotional energy for a Labrador is not on my Trello board right now, okay?”
She was spiraling. He knew the signs: the rapid blinking, the sarcastic tone, the overuse of productivity metaphors.
“What’s the real reason?” he asked gently. “Because I don’t think it’s about the time. Or the play pen.”
Vaani paused. Her eyes flicked to the floor like they were rewinding memories.
“Fine. You want the truth? I’m scared of dogs.”
“What?”
“They’re unpredictable. Too jumpy. Too licky. When I was eight, I tried to pet a Pomeranian named Tuffy. I thought he’d break into song like in Hum Aapke Hain Koun—Bollywood magic, slow motion, wagging tail, cuteness overload. Instead, he growled like a demonic squirrel and chased me across the colony until I fell into a pit full of garbage and shame.
No one sat next to me in class for two days because I reeked. Of what? No one knows.”
She paused.
“That was the day my brain formed a core belief: Dogs = Danger. Especially the tiny ones. They’ve got nothing to prove. Which is exactly why they’ll kill.”
Agasthya burst out laughing.
“You got chased by Tuffy? A pomeranian, the fluffy white marshmallow?”
“I thought he was a cinematic icon. He turned out to be a furry rebel.”
Agasthya wiped a tear from his eye.
"Honestly, I was so relieved when I heard your dog wasn’t coming to the wedding because he’d caught some infection. I was like—thank you, universe, one less thing to panic about in a silk saree. And then during Diwali, when we went to your parents’ house, and he was conveniently ‘resting at the farmhouse’? Call it luck or divine intervention, but I narrowly escaped starring in a slapstick horror show called Vaani vs. Billi. You missed me nearly climbing a sofa—or a tree—sweating buckets, trying not to scream or sprint, because I didn’t want anyone to think I hated dogs."
She added with a sheepish grin,
"Because being scared is different. Hating animals? That’s disturbing on a human level, and I’m not that person."
Then, squinting at him,
"Also… tiny side note… I had no idea your dog was named Billi. Every time your mom popped up on video calls, she called him things like Babu, Ladoo, Brownie—basically dessert menu meets baby talk. I just thought you guys had an invisible toddler or a very healthy cousin."
“Okay. I get it. But Vaani…” Agasthya leaned forward, voice softer now. “Billi is a Labrador. He’s basically a soft toy with digestion issues. He’ll wag at burglars and cry if you don’t say good morning. He’s not dangerous. He’s just dramatic.”
He paused. “I really miss him. It’ll break my heart to give him away to someone else. Just… trust me. You’ll love him. Think of it as the sequel to Hum Aapke Hain Koun—happy ending, different dog.”
Vaani narrowed her eyes, half-amused, half-cornered. She could see how much this meant to him. And truthfully, a few months into the marriage, she had already fallen—quietly, completely—for this man. This man who laughed too loud, remembered how she took her chai, and now stood in front of her pleading for a snoring, overgrown puppy with separation anxiety.
Saying no to him… to something that brought him this kind of joy… felt almost cruel.
It was a compromise.
But a small one.
Compared to his happiness.
“He stays off the bed. No sofa. No licking.”
“Done.”
“You clean him, feed him, walk him, talk to him. I don’t exist in his life unless it’s an emergency.”
“Deal.”
“He gets his own gated play area. He doesn’t enter the kitchen or the pooja room. No negotiations.”
“Agreed.”
“If he pees on my yoga mat, I will ship him to London in bubble wrap.”
“Okay… maybe not that last one. But yes to the rest.”
Vaani sighed like she was signing a contract with fate.
“Okay. Fine. Just until your parents come back. One mistake, and I’m out.”
Agasthya nodded with a grin that said he knew she’d change her mind eventually.
And Vaani, deep down, had a feeling he might be right.
She just didn’t know how right.
Billi entered their Bangalore apartment like he owned the lease.
Tail wagging, tongue out, eyes wide with labrador-level enthusiasm—he was basically a furry version of chaos with no sense of boundaries or social etiquette.
“Okay, Billi. New house. Be cool. Respect Vaani. No sudden moves,” Agasthya whispered, kneeling at the door like he was briefing a tiny soldier.
Vaani, standing ten feet away in full-length jeans (despite it being 32°C outside), clutched a wooden spatula like it was a medieval weapon.
“Don’t let him lick me.”
“He’s not even near you.”
“He’s thinking about it. I can see it in his eyes.”
Agasthya laughed and gestured Vaani closer.
“At least touch him once? Let him smell you?”
“Why would I want to be sniffed by something that can’t read social cues?”
Still, under significant pressure and intense side-eye from her husband, she walked two cautious steps forward.
“Hi Billi,” she said, in the tone one might use to greet a snake wearing a bowtie.
Billi barked joyfully, lunged toward her with the kind of labrador energy that says I will love you until your soul gives up.
Vaani shrieked, jumped onto the sofa in a single Olympic-worthy hop, and yelled:
“THIS is your idea of an introduction? This feels like a hostage situation!”
Agasthya laughed so hard he had to sit down.
“He’s just excited to see you!”
“He needs some discipline. And possibly a leash made of steel.
The next morning, Billi walked up to the fridge, stared directly at the laminated Rule Sheet, and, without breaking eye contact, ripped it clean off with his teeth. The only thing holding this family together.
Agasthya tried to stop him. Too late. Vaani walked into the kitchen just as Billi was chewing point number three:
“NO BED. EVER.”
She gasped.
“He’s EATING the law. The LAW, Agasthya!”
“He’s just… absorbing the rules. Through fiber.”
Then followed the Mini Disasters of Billi being Billi
He jumped on the couch. Twice.
He drooled on Vaani’s Kindle.
He licked her foot while she was in Warrior Pose during yoga, nearly giving her a heart attack and a hamstring cramp.
He peed suspiciously close to the pooja room. Vaani lit three extra agarbattis out of fear.
Despite all that, there were… moments.
Agasthya started picking up on small things.
Vaani, who once wore shorts at home like they were her birthright, had switched to full-length pants—every day. Even at night. Even with the fan at full speed.
“You do realise you look like a tax auditor at a beach resort, right?”
“Full coverage equals fewer scratch opportunities.”
Her pant pocket always had something—a spatula, a mini water spray, once even a rolled-up magazine.
“What is that for?”
“Mild intimidation. Don’t judge me.”
But occasionally, Agasthya would catch her… watching.
Not obviously. But quietly. When Billi was eating or curled up in his playpen, snoring with his paw in his mouth like a baby. Her gaze would linger for a moment longer than necessary—never with a smile, but never with rage either.
One step at a time, he thought.
That Sunday evening, they went for a walk.
Agasthya held Billi’s leash; Vaani trailed a few feet behind them like a reluctant bodyguard who wasn’t even getting paid on time.
“Why are you walking like you’re in a different relationship?” Agasthya teased. “I know your husband’s too handsome, but stop with the stalker vibes.”
“Because I am. I didn’t sign up for this menage-a-dog.”
They passed the society playground. A group of kids spotted Billi and screamed like he was a visiting celebrity.
“DOGGIEEEEEE! He’s so cute!”
“UNCLE! What’s his name? Does he bite? Can we touch him?”
“UNCLE! CAN WE PLAY CHASING?”
Agasthya chuckled and introduced Billi to the mini humans. Billi, thrilled, let out an excited bark and joined the chaos of tag, tail-tug, and dog-chases-child-chases-dog mayhem.
Vaani stood off to the side. Watching. Arms crossed. But her eyes? Different.
There was a moment—just one—when Billi ran across the grass, ears flopping, kids giggling around him, tail wagging like a motor.
And Vaani smiled.
Not fully. Not enough for anyone to tease her about.
But just enough for Agasthya to notice and take a picture of it sneakily.
It was mid-week and Vaani came home earlier than usual that day.
There was no dramatic reason—no office meltdown, no power cuts, no resignation letters typed in a fit of rage (not today). Just an unusually efficient workday and an auto driver who believed in speed limits only as emotional suggestions.
As she entered the house, the silence hit her first.
No tail-thumping. No overenthusiastic barking. No galloping sounds of a four-legged beast hurtling toward her with unreciprocated love.
She found Billi lying in his playpen, his head resting on his paws, eyes staring blankly at the door.
He looked… sad.
Not “I-didn’t-get-chicken” sad. Existential sad. Like a small, brown philosopher wondering where his favourite human went and why this other one hated him.
“Hi,” she said cautiously, putting her bag down.
No tail wag. No look. Not even a sniff.
That hurt a little. Which was confusing.
She called Agasthya.
“He looks depressed.”
“Oh no, I’m so stuck in traffic! I had a late call—look, can you do me a huge favour?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear it.”
“Still no.”
“Just take him for a walk? Please? I’ll cook dinner. And I won’t make that healthy khichdi you hate—I’ll go full butter, two-chillies, heartburn-style.”
“I’m not emotionally prepared for this kind of pressure.”
But somehow, five minutes later, she was standing at the door in full-length pants, holding an oversized umbrella like a riot shield, leash in hand, mentally chanting mantras she was shocked to still remember.
On any other regular day, Billi’s walk was a carnival. Barking at pigeons, sniffing every visible corner, peeing like it was his job.
Today? Nothing.
He followed her quietly. Head low. Walked like an unpaid intern being forced to file GST.
Even the playground was empty.
“Of course,” Vaani muttered. “Exam season. How dare these kids prioritise academics over accidental dog therapy?”
Trying to salvage the walk, she turned onto a different lane—a quieter one with parrots, neem trees, and a little patch of grass that always smelled like rain.
She thought maybe he’d perk up.
Instead, she did.
Because that’s when she saw them.
Three street dogs. Large, seasoned, with the no-nonsense stare of canines who’d seen things. Vaani’s soul immediately evacuated her body.
She gripped the leash tighter, started walking faster.
And the dogs noticed.
They began to follow. Sniffing the air. Tails stiff. Paws light but deliberate.
Panic rose like bile.
Okay. Do I drop the leash and run? Will they chase me? Should I pretend to faint? Would they lose interest?
If they attack me, what happens to Billi? What will I tell Agasthya?
Wait, no. I’ll be dead. I won’t have to tell anyone.
Maybe we’ll be buried next to each other. Cute. Matching tombstones. "Here lies girl who i scared of dog and the said dog next to her."
She stopped walking. Turned. Tried to shoo them off with the umbrella like some tragic Mary Poppins.
The dogs inched closer.
Her throat tightened. Her vision blurred. And before she knew it, she had tripped—now on her knees, like someone begging for grace.
And then—
Billi moved.
He stepped forward.
Ears up. Tail straight. Eyes laser-focused.
And then, he barked.
Not the usual cute yelp. Not the “feed me” noise.
This was deep, loud, from-the-chest kind of bark.
Vaani jumped.
The street dogs froze.
And then—miracle of miracles—they turned and fled.
She blinked. Mouth open. Knees trembling.
Billi turned to her, face softer now. He walked up and gently rested a paw against her leg.
No jumping. No licking. Just presence.
Just, I’ve got you.
And for the first time in her life, a dog made her cry… not from fear, but from whatever the opposite of fear is.
Back home, Vaani walked in silently.
She drank an entire bottle of cold water in one breath, then collapsed onto the sofa like she’d just returned from a war.
Billi followed.
But quietly.
He curled up beside her feet and, without asking for permission, wrapped one paw around her ankle like a sleepy toddler with separation anxiety.
She didn’t notice.
Until Agasthya came in.
“WHAT is happening here?” he asked, stunned.
Vaani blinked. Looked down.
And saw Billi—half-asleep, one paw still hugging her, breathing softly.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “We’re… touching.”
Agasthya ran to the sofa like he’d just won an emotional lottery.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“Why are your clothes all muddied? Are you hurt?”
She nodded, still breathless. “Your Billi saved my life… from the kuttas.”
“Wait—what?”
“He barked. Like a real bark. There were dogs. I was about to die. It’s a whole movie.”
Agasthya hugged her. She cried a little more. Then they both looked at Billi.
Still sleeping. Still holding her ankle like a medal he won.
Agasthya leaned in, kissed Billi on the head.
“See, I told you… Mera Billi kisi kutte se kam nahi hai.”
It was Friday morning, but in Vaani’s head — it was Judgement Day.
Her company had announced “Bring Your Pet to Work Day,” a painfully adorable HR initiative designed to reduce stress and increase fur on office carpets. And while most employees were giddy, Vaani had a more… strategic angle.
Her boss, Mr. Nanda, was a certified dog lover. The man had two golden retrievers, a WhatsApp DP with his pug, and once—rumor had it—cried when someone’s dog in the office PowerPoint meme died.
Vaani, during an overly enthusiastic coffee machine chat six months ago, had casually said:
“Oh yes, I’m a total dog person. In fact, I’ve got a little furball myself. A cute Labrador. Named Billi.”
She thought the lie would never come back.
But now it was back. With a full tail and an office invitation.
The only problem was… how to convince Agasthya without losing her dignity and getting teased for etrenity?
So naturally, she cooked him butter chicken, garlic naan, rasmalai, and a side of suspicion.
Agasthya walked in from work, sniffed the air suspiciously.
“Wait. Why does this house smell like my birthday?”
“I just… wanted to do something nice for you?”
“Okay. What did you break?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you lose?”
“Nothing!”
“What do you want?”
Pause.
“Okay, fine. I want to borrow Billi tomorrow.”
Agasthya choked on water.
“You what?”
“It’s Bring Your Pet to Work Day. Mr. Nanda loves dogs. Promotion is at stake. I panicked.”
“Wait wait wait… you want to take my dog—Billi—to your office?”
“OUR dog. And yes.”
“The same dog you once called ‘a four-legged emotional terrorist’?”
“He’s changed.”
“He barked at your hairdryer yesterday.”
“It was attacking him with hot wind. Very rude.”
“And now you want to pretend like you’re this loving, dog-mom-in-summer-dress?”
“YES. Exactly that.”
They stared at each other.
Then Agasthya started laughing like someone who’d just won a lifetime supply of popcorn to watch karma in real time.
“Please. Take him. Just for my entertainment value alone.” he said. “Royalty fee accepted in cash or GPay.”
The next morning, Agasthya entered the living room still yawning, only to find Billi sitting like a gentleman… wearing a black velvet bow tie.
He stopped mid-sip of his coffee.
“What… is this?”
Vaani, pretending to be busy packing Billi’s snack box, chirped, “His office look.”
“Since when does he have an office look?”
“I got it a few days back. Online.”
“So… not the packet I found on the kitchen counter yesterday?”
Pause. Caught
“So what? Can we move on? I’m late.”
Agasthya bent down to fix the bow tie and muttered, “Black? Why black?”
“It matches his eyes.”
“Liar.”
“Shut up and fix it straight.”
He looked at her for a moment—hair curled, eyeliner on point, outfit dog-fur-resistant—and shook his head in disbelief. She was in black too, perfectly matching Billi’s bow tie.
“You know… a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t walk within ten feet of him. And now you're putting him in formalwear.”
“It's career strategy. Not affection.”
“Sure. And I eat kale because I like the taste.”
Meanwhile, Billi sat between them, eyes darting from one to the other like he was watching a tennis match in a language he didn’t understand.
Are they fighting? Are they flirting? Is breakfast happening or not?
Vaani entered the office like a celebrity assistant—dog by her side, hair blowing in non-existent wind.
By 10:03 AM, Billi had:
Peed in the server room (minor accident).
Gotten three interns to abandon work and rub his ears.
Received five compliments on his bow tie.
Been featured on the company’s Instagram story with the caption: “Billi: the Cat-named Dog Who Stole Our Hearts.”
But the real moment of glory came when Mr. Nanda saw him.
“Oh my God! What a beauty! Is this the Billi?”
“The one and only.”“He’s so calm!”
“He does yoga with me.” (Lies. But who’s counting.)
By lunchtime, Vaani was invited for a double date dog day at Mr. Nanda’s house.
“Bring your partner and Billi. My retrievers would love to meet him!”
Vaani smiled like her life wasn’t crumbling under lies.
“We’d love to. He loves company.”
(Especially human food. And sleeping on clean laundry.)
She came home glowing, tired, but proud.
Agasthya looked up from the couch and raised an eyebrow.
“How’d Sir Billi do in the corporate world?”
“He’s a star. Your son got us a dinner invite and maybe my promotion.”
“Should I be worried he’ll start paying rent now?”
“Only if he starts paying taxes.”
They both turned to look at Billi—who was currently chewing on one of Agasthya’s socks with zero guilt.
Agasthya laughed. Vaani sighed.
“Next time, I’m bringing him in a tuxedo.”
“Next time?”
“Shut up.”
Agasthya noticed the changes.
He always did.
If Vaani was happy, and Billi was too, he had nothing to complain about. Watching them slowly find their rhythm brought him a quiet kind of joy. Sure, he got a little jealous when Billi chose her attention over his—but he shrugged it off. Men will be men, after all. Human or otherwise.
Vaani, on her part, had stopped flinching at every bark.
She now tossed Billi’s towels into the machine on Sundays, left an extra treat by his bowl, ruffled his head when she got home.
She even vacuumed the dog hair without dramatic sighs.
But Agasthya didn’t say a word.
Because watching her soften was his new favorite thing.
This wasn’t surrender—Vaani would never admit defeat.
Still, he’d caught her reading “Games dogs love” and laughing a little too hard at dog reels.
She wanted to do those things with Billi.
She just didn’t want him to know it.
So he let her have that illusion.
Quietly.
Until one evening, everything changed.
Vaani had come home early.
She kicked off her heels and entered the living room, already mentally planning dinner when—she froze.
A trail of bloody pawprints.
Tiny, red, heart-stopping stains leading from the balcony to the sofa.
Panic gripped her chest as she looked around.
“BILLI?!”
And then she saw him.
Curled near the table, eyes open, breathing fast.
Her heart dropped.
“Oh god…” she whispered, running to him.
For a moment, she just hovered—terrified to touch him.
But then instinct took over. She dropped to her knees, called his name, cupped his face.
“Billi? Are you okay? What happened?”
He looked up. His tail didn’t wag. But he licked her trembling hand.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
She fumbled for her phone, called Agasthya. No answer.
She checked his paws—gasped.
Tiny shards of glass embedded in the soft pads.
A broken vase lay near the window. The wind must’ve knocked it off.
“You stepped on this?” she whispered, horrified.
“God, I’m so sorry, Billi.”
She started pulling the shards out, sobbing now.
“I don’t even know how to help you. I’m so freaking dumb. I’m so sorry…”
And then, as she cried—she noticed something else.
Billi’s eyes had welled up, too.
He placed his uninjured paw gently on her wrist. Again. And again.
She stared at him, overwhelmed.
“Are you… in pain?”
“Are you trying to tell me something? Are you hurt anywhere else?”
She called Agasthya again. No reply.
Panic rising, she kissed Billi’s forehead and hugged him close.
“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry… I don’t know what you’re trying to say, and that’s killing me.”
“I don’t know what to do…” she whispered, her voice trembling as she dialed the nearby vet clinic.
It was way too early—no response.
And somehow, the silence on the other end made her cry even harder.
When Agasthya finally walked in, she jumped up, eyes wild.
“WHERE WERE YOU?! I CALLED—”
“I know! I was stuck in the basement, no signal. What happened?!”
He dropped his bag, ran to the scene.
“He’s bleeding! And crying! And I… I don’t know what to do! He was trying to tell me something and I couldn’t understand it…and i called the clinic, they arent responding”
“Okay, okay, let’s go. The other vet clinic near the highway open early.”
They rushed to the car.
Vaani insisted on sitting in the back with Billi, stroking his head all through the ride.
“Drive faster, Agasthya!”
“I am! This is Delhi, not an F1 track!”
At the clinic, the vet examined Billi gently, cleaned the wounds, and smiled.
“You’re lucky. It’s minor. Dogs heal faster than humans. He’ll be fine in a couple of days.”
Vaani, unconvinced, leaned forward.
“Are you sure? Can you check again? He was crying. Actual tears.”
The vet chuckled.
“Dogs don’t usually cry from physical pain. They’re tougher than that.”
“Then… why?” she whispered.
The vet smiled, wiping Billi’s paw gently.
“Probably because you were crying.”
“What?”
“When a dog sees someone they love in distress, they feel helpless. If he couldn’t comfort you—licking, nudging, pawing—and you didn’t respond, he probably got overwhelmed. Dogs are deeply emotional. They cry… when you do.”
Vaani stared.
Tears prickled again—but this time from something else.
She looked at Billi, whose head now rested peacefully on Agasthya’s lap. His breathing steady.
This wasn’t meant to happen—but it had.
And now, all she could do was hold on tight and hope it wasn’t too late.
Back home, they changed into pyjamas, made some popcorn, grabbed a tub of dog ice cream for Billi, and put on Hachiko—because clearly, the emotional damage wasn’t over yet.
Vaani curled into the recliner.
Billi, still bandaged, clambered up beside her, placing his chin on her thigh.
She didn’t flinch.
Instead, she handed him a popcorn kernel.
Agasthya plopped on the floor near their feet.
“So this is it, huh? Demoted from husband to floor-sitter?”
“Promotion,” she said, munching.
“How?”
“Now you get front-row seats to the Billi show.”
“He’s in my spot.”
“He’s earned it.”
“I loved you before he even existed in your life.”
“He didn’t make me cry on my own birthday, unlike someone.”
“That was ONE year I forgot!”
Vaani leaned down, kissed Billi’s forehead.
“Don’t listen to him, my boy. You’re perfect.”
Billi snuggled into her shoulder and let out a tiny sneeze that tickled her neck.
“So... you still regret saying yes to him?”
“To him, definitely no. But to your proposal?” She smirked. “A hundred percent yes.”
“That’s unfair. I want to be your first love.”
“Take it up in the court of dogs,” she said, flicking popcorn at him. “Because the session here is dismissed.”
She giggled—really giggled—laughing freely now, as Billi gave her a proud little woof, like he’d just won something.
Agasthya looked up at the two of them, then smiled.
And in that moment—watching his dog and the woman he loved finally find their way to each other—he knew:
This was the family he never knew he needed.
And maybe, just maybe…
They’d all be okay.
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