Chapter 1: The Double Delivery

I bought an incubus online, but when the delivery arrived, there were two.

That first moment, even before the courier’s van rattled away down the lane, my eyebrows shot up so high I thought they’d get stuck there. On one side stood a fellow who looked like he could melt Amul butter with just a glance—gentle, posture as straight as a schoolboy at morning assembly, ready to say 'Yes, Madam' for anything. Next to him lounged a chap with the swagger of a Bandra street cat—sharp jaw, stubborn eyes, the kind who’d argue over the price of onions just to win.

One was gentle and obedient, while the other looked like he could pick a fight with a pressure cooker.

It was like getting both Rajesh Khanna and Amitabh Bachchan in the same movie, except nobody had warned me there’d be a double role.

I immediately went to ask customer service if they’d sent the wrong one; after all, I’d specifically ordered the gentle, obedient type.

Honestly, I expected the usual run-around: 'Ma’am, please hold while we check your order.' But these online shops are faster than a Mumbai local at peak hour.

Customer service replied: "Congratulations, dear, you got the hidden edition~"

"Sweetie, this model is special—buy one, get one free~"

For a minute, I wondered if it was some April Fool’s prank—but it was November. Only in India do online shops turn everything into a dhamaka offer.

Is there really such a thing as a free lunch?

Even my mother used to say, 'Beta, if it sounds too good to be true, check again.' But here I was, staring at two full-sized incubi in my living room, wondering if I needed to do a drishti-removal with some red chillies.

I’d heard from others that raising an incubus is like raising a puppy, only better—incubi are even more skilled than dogs at keeping your bed warm, and as a bonus, they don’t shed. So, if I was going to raise one, what difference did it make to raise two? Was this what my mother meant when she said, “Beta, don’t pick up more than you can carry”?

My cousin once brought home a stray pup and told my aunt, 'It’s only one more bowl of milk, Ma.' Today, I finally understood her logic. Two incubi—what’s one more chai cup on the rack?

Two for the price of one—what a steal!

Arrey, who wouldn’t feel a little smug? I was this close to forwarding the offer to my entire WhatsApp group: 'Sisters, don’t miss out!'

That is, until I fed both incubi and ended up sandwiched between them like cream in a Parle-G biscuit. Only then did I realise that "warming the bed" was very much an action verb.

Suddenly, all those ShareChat reviews made sense. Turns out, 'bed-warming' is not a passive activity—especially with two. Let’s just say, that night, sleep was the last thing on my mind. But as dawn crept in, I knew—life would never be the same.