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The morning of the first official "Pebble Check-up" began not with the chirping of birds, but with the sound of a very "Strict CEO" losing his battle with a duvet.

Shivank had been up since 6:00 AM, but Aanvi was currently a human burrito. She had rolled herself so tightly into the heavy silk covers that only a few strands of dark hair were visible.

"Aanvi, get up. The appointment is in ninety minutes," Shivank said, his voice already carrying that "hard" warning edge.

"No. The Pebble says the bed is a warm hug and the floor is lava," a muffled, cranky voice erupted from the burrito. "Go away, Mr. Grumpy-Pants."

Shivank’s patience, already thin from the previous night's tantrum, snapped. He reached down and firmly gripped the edge of the duvet, unrolling her with one swift, "strict" tug.

"Aanvi! Enough," he commanded, his voice dropping into that low, icy rumble that made his employees tremble. "I am not playing. Get in the shower, or I will carry you there and turn the cold water on myself. You have five minutes."

Aanvi sat up, her hair a wild mess, her "baby nature" flaring into a full-blown scowl. She looked at him with watery, "innocent" eyes, but seeing the "hard" set of his jaw, she realized the "Mountain" was not in a joking mood. She stomped her feet "clumsily" all the way to the bathroom, muttering about "dictators" and "mean mountains."

Downstairs, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The rest of the family watched in silence as the "Strict Husband" sat Aanvi down at the head of the table. A tall, cold glass of milk sat waiting for her.

Aanvi looked at the milk as if it were a glass of poison. "I'm not drinking it. It smells... white. I want mango juice. Or chocolate. Or a refund on this morning."

"You need the calcium, Aanvi. Drink it," Shivank said, not looking up from his black coffee.

"No!" She pushed the glass away, her "stubborn side" reaching a peak. "It’s icky! If I drink it, the Pebble will turn into a cow!"

Shivank set his coffee cup down with a sharp clack that made everyone jump. He turned to face her, his "hard" gaze pinning her to the chair. "Aanvi, I am going to count to three. You will pick up that glass, or I will hold it for you and you won't like the 'forceful' version of this breakfast."

"One."

Aanvi huffed, crossing her arms.

"Two."

She looked at Kavya for help, but Kavya just shook her head, whispering, "He’s serious, Aanvi. Just drink it."

"Thr—"

Before he could finish, Shivank stood up, looming over her. He picked up the glass and held it to her lips, his hand steady and "strict." "Open. Now."

Aanvi, seeing the "angry" glint in his eyes, finally whimpered and opened her mouth. Shivank tilted the glass slowly but firmly, making sure she swallowed every drop. She "clung" to his wrist, her eyes wide and teary, gulping down the milk under his unrelenting gaze.

When the glass was empty, Shivank wiped a small milk mustache off her lip with a napkin—his touch was surprisingly gentle despite his "hard" expression.

"Good. Now, get your bag," he ordered.

Aanvi stood up, her "cranky" mood replaced by a quiet, "shy" pouting. She followed him to the car, "clumsily" tripping over the doorframe as she went. Shivank caught her by the arm, sighing as he tucked her into the passenger seat of the Rolls-Royce.

"I hate you," she whispered as he buckled her seatbelt. "You're a mean, milk-forcing Mountain."

"And you're a stubborn, cranky Little Bird," he replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead with a lingering, protective "hard" love. "Now sit still. We have a baby to go see."

As the car pulled out of the driveway, Aanvi turned her head toward the window, hiding a small, "innocent" smile. She hated the milk, but she secretly loved it when the "Mountain" took charge..

The drive to the hospital was a silent battle of wills. Aanvi sat as far away from Shivank as the leather seat allowed, her "stubborn side" still fuming over the milk incident. Shivank, meanwhile, remained the "Strict CEO," his eyes fixed on the road, though he occasionally glanced at her reflection in the window to make sure she wasn't unbuckling her seatbelt in a fit of "baby-natured" protest.

The sterile smell of the clinic usually made Aanvi’s "clumsy" nerves act up, but today she was too busy being "cranky" to be scared. That changed the moment she was asked to lie down on the examination table.

Shivank stood beside her like a "hard" sentinel, his hand resting on her shoulder—not as a cuddle, but as a grounding weight to keep her from squirming.

"Mr. Rathore, Mrs. Rathore, let’s see how our little one is doing," the doctor said, applying the cool gel to Aanvi's stomach.

Aanvi flinched. "It’s cold! Shivank-ji, the doctor is using ice-gel! Tell him it’s mean!"

"Stay still, Aanvi," Shivank commanded, his voice "strict" but his grip on her hand tightening.

The doctor moved the transducer, and suddenly, the grainy black-and-white monitor flickered to life. A rhythmic, rapid sound filled the room—thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

"That’s the heartbeat," the doctor whispered.

Aanvi’s "stubbornness" vanished in a heartbeat. Her jaw dropped, and her "innocent" eyes grew wide as she stared at the tiny, flickering blur on the screen. It looked like nothing more than a small, glowing bean, but to her, it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Shivank-ji..." she breathed, her voice cracking. "That's... that's the Pebble? It sounds like a little drum."

Shivank didn't answer immediately. His "hard" mask didn't just crack; it shattered. He stared at the screen, his chest heaving as he realized that the "thump-thump" was the sound of his future. For the first time, the "Strict CEO" looked completely vulnerable.

Aanvi looked up at him, and seeing a single, silent tear roll down her husband’s "hard" cheek, she burst into a full "baby-natured" sob.

"It's so tiny! And it has a heart! Shivank-ji, I'm sorry I was mean about the milk! I'll drink a whole cow for the Pebble!"

Shivank leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she lay on the table, his arms wrapping around her in a "clinging" embrace that ignored the doctor’s presence entirely.

"It’s okay, little bird," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "You can have all the mango juice you want... as long as the Pebble gets its milk."

"I love the Pebble so much," she wailed, her fingers knotting into his hair. "And I love the mean Mountain too!"

Once they were cleared to leave, Aanvi’s emotional "melting" turned into a mission. As they passed the hospital gift shop, she "clumsily" skidded to a halt, nearly taking Shivank down with her.

"Wait! The Pebble needs a lucky charm! It told me!"

Before Shivank could stop her, she darted into the shop. He followed, watching as she navigated the aisles with her typical "clumsy" grace, knocking over a display of "Get Well" cards before diving into a bin of stuffed animals.

"Aanvi, we have fifty teddy bears at home," Shivank remarked, his "strict" voice returning as he checked his watch. "We have a meeting with the architects in an hour."

"But this one is special!" she cried, emerging from the bin holding a tiny, lopsided bear with a blue ribbon. "It looks like you, Shivank-ji! It has a very serious face but it’s very soft if you squeeze it!"

She squeezed the bear, and it let out a high-pitched squeak.

Aanvi beamed at him, her "innocent" face glowing with happiness. "See? It’s a 'Strict CEO' bear! We have to buy it!"

Shivank looked at the lopsided, squeaky bear, then at his glowing wife. He pulled out his black credit card with a resigned sigh. "Fine. But the bear stays in the car during the meeting. I will not have a squeaky toy at a multi-million dollar construction briefing."

"The Pebble says you're a big softy," Aanvi giggled, "clinging" to his arm and the bear as they walked out. .While Shivank was locked in the study with the architects—his "Strict CEO" voice occasionally echoing through the heavy oak doors—the rest of the Rathore mansion turned into a high-security entertainment zone for the "Little Bird."

The family knew the drill: a bored Aanvi was a "clumsy" Aanvi, and a "clumsy" Aanvi in her first trimester was a recipe for a heart attack.

Mrs. Rathore had set up a "Nesting Station" in the sun-drenched morning room. "Now, Aanvi, beta, you must not strain yourself. We are going to look at these hand-woven silk swatches for the baby’s blankets," she said, guiding Aanvi to a mountain of soft cushions.

"But Maa, I want to help Shivank-ji build the nursery! I can hold the hammer!" Aanvi protested, her "baby nature" craving some action.

"Absolutely not," Mr. Rathore chimed in, not looking up from his newspaper but sliding a bowl of peeled almonds toward her. "The last time you held a hammer, we had to replace a mirror and the cat didn't come out from under the sofa for three days. Eat your nuts."

Kavya arrived with a stack of high-end fashion magazines and her iPad. "Forget hammers, Aanvi. We have a much bigger mission. We need to find you the perfect 'CEO’s Wife' maternity wardrobe. Something that says 'I’m powerful, but I might nap at any moment.'"

For the next two hours, the women kept Aanvi busy.

They had her "clumsily" marking pages with neon stickers.

They let her "supervise" the gardener from the balcony (provided she sat in the armchair).

Kavya even let her "assist" with some digital sketches, though Aanvi kept accidentally adding "sparkles" and "tiny penguins" to the elegant designs.

"Look, Kavya! This evening gown has a secret pocket for snacks!" Aanvi chirped, her "innocent" excitement finally replacing her morning crankiness.

Every forty-five minutes, the study door would open. Shivank would walk out, his tie slightly loosened but his "hard" expression still intact. He wouldn't say much to the architects; he would just walk to the morning room, scan the area to ensure Aanvi hadn't tripped over a rug, and press a firm, possessive hand to her head.

"Is she behaving?" he’d ask his mother.

"She’s being a perfect angel," Mrs. Rathore would reply, hiding the fact that Aanvi had just tried to see if she could balance an almond on her nose.

Shivank would look at Aanvi, his "strict" gaze lingering until she gave him a "shy" little wave with a silk swatch. Satisfied that his "Pebble" and its "Bird" were safe, he’d retreat back into his lair of blueprints and budgets.

By the time the architects finally left, the sun was low in the sky. Shivank walked into the morning room to find a peaceful scene. Aanvi had finally fallen asleep amidst a sea of silk samples and fashion magazines, the "Strict CEO" teddy bear tucked under her chin.

His father was quietly reading, and the women were whispering about wallpaper.

"She didn't get bored?" Shivank whispered, leaning over the back of the sofa to watch her breathe.

"She asked to go 'cloud-watching' from the roof twice, and she tried to reorganize the spice cabinet," Kavya whispered back, "but we managed to keep the 'Mountain's' wife on the ground."

Shivank felt a surge of gratitude for his family. He sat on the edge of the sofa, gently moving a stray magazine so it wouldn't poke her. As if sensing his presence, Aanvi’s "clinging" hand reached out in her sleep, finding his thumb and holding it tight.

"The meeting is over, little bird," he murmured, his "hard" heart melting into a puddle of "marshmallow" devotion. "You can stop being 'busy' now.".

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