Chapter 3: New Housemates, New Rules

Before I could react, both had already followed me inside.

Shoes off at the door, no fuss. Aarav—the gentle one—sat neatly on the sofa, as if waiting for me to say, 'Beta, chai loge?' The faint smell of agarbatti drifted in from a neighbour’s window, and a distant auto honked somewhere below, grounding the chaos in pure Mumbai.

The white-eared incubus sat obediently on the sofa, gazing at me with gentle, smiling eyes that always seemed to hold a secret amusement. Every time I glanced at him, his eyes sparkled with a knowing mischief, as though he was hiding a private joke.

The other... that was the black-eared incubus: wheat-coloured skin, unruly curly hair, sharp features, thick brows and big eyes, jet-black hawk-like eyes with a wild edge. His restless energy filled the flat—he stalked from the drawing room to the kitchen, sizing up everything from the worn doormat to the masala rack. If he could have, he’d probably have peed on the corners just to mark them. Luckily, he just sniffed and poked at things with that intense, slightly wild look.

I finally remembered to message the shop. My fingers flew across the screen, typing faster than my mind could keep up.

Me: "Are you there?"

Customer service: "Product shows as signed for. Any questions, dear?"

Their reply came with a little flower emoji—too cheerful for my current confusion.

I told them I’d received two incubi. My message probably sounded like: 'Help, extra delivery!'

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

The kind of reply that makes you want to smack your forehead. Only in India do you get a 'Congratulations' for a potential problem.

Me: ...

I could almost hear the customer care girl giggling in her cubicle.

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

So, apparently, it was my lucky day. Now if only they threw in a free month’s electricity bill payment, too.

Was it really possible to be this lucky?

My dadi would say, 'Aise mauke baar-baar nahi milte.' But I was still suspicious.

Two for the price of one, and at a huge discount? Not even Big Bazaar gives these kinds of offers anymore.

I pursed my lips, glanced at the white-eared incubus quietly playing with his phone, then at the dusky one still sniffing around. "Can I return one?" Honestly, I didn’t think I could handle the dark one.

I tried to sound polite, but even my phone auto-corrected 'return' to 'refund' out of habit.

"I can’t afford two."

Customer service: "Dear, incubi don’t need to be fed like dogs. Ours are specially trained and can live independently. As long as they’re fed, they’ll help solve your problems and share life’s burdens~"

"The system shows you’ve signed for two incubi, and the free gift has been delivered. Returns aren’t supported~"

They might as well have said, 'No exchange, no refund, final sale.' I sighed.

No matter what I said, they wouldn’t let me return one, so I gave up.

Like that time I ordered an XL kurta but got an XXL instead—sometimes you just adjust.

Fine, raising one is raising, raising two is just as well.

My mother always said, 'When guests come, God comes.' Looks like I’d be hosting a bit longer than I planned.

Besides, two for the price of one—no matter how I looked at it, I was winning.

I kept telling myself I’d scored a deal. Once I’d adjusted my mindset, I looked at them again. My father says, 'Beta, mindset is everything.' I squared my shoulders and took charge.

Not knowing how to address them, I called out, "Here, here, here."

It was like calling stray cats, but I didn’t know what else to say. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my dupatta, and I tucked a stray hair behind my ear, classic moves for nervousness.

The white-eared one put down his phone and immediately responded, "Madam, my name is Aarav."

He said it with a little bow, almost like introducing himself at a family function.

The dusky one swaggered over, looking annoyed. Instead of a bland "What?", he snapped, "Bol, kya chahiye?"

The gentle Aarav introduced him, "Madam, he’s Kabir."

'Kabir.' Even the name had bite. Together, 'Aarav' and 'Kabir' sounded like two opposite ends of the same song.

Aarav, Kabir—perfect names. One white, one dusky; their personalities and looks were polar opposites.

If only my friends could see this scene. I’d be the talk of our college reunion. I quickly set down two extra steel glasses on the dining table, because Indian hospitality means never letting anyone go thirsty, even in chaos.

I nodded and introduced myself: "I’m Priya. From now on, this is your home."

I almost added, 'Rules are: no shoes on the bed, and please don’t touch my makeup kit.'

The shop had mentioned a free gift. I asked, "What’s the gift? Do you know?"

Kabir just snorted and turned away, grumbling, "Haan, kya kaam hai?" Tch, what a temper.

He could give Salman Khan a run for his money in the brooding department.

I looked at Aarav. Good-tempered Aarav always obliged. He took the gift from his pocket—a leash and collar, just as I’d requested from the shop.

Trust Aarav to remember every little detail.

Under my gaze, Aarav neatly put the delicate white collar around his own neck. If my nani saw this, she’d send me straight to the temple for shuddhi.

I almost gasped—the sight was strangely... mesmerizing. The collar’s silver bell jingled softly, like a warning and an invitation at once.

He handed the other end of the leash to me. "Madam."

His white pointed ears trembled, and his heart-shaped tail swayed, extra alluring.

Even the light in my living room seemed to soften around him. A proper hero entry, I thought, grinning.

Incubus indeed—absolutely enchanting.

I swallowed unconsciously and gave the leash a gentle tug. "Want to go out and play?"

Aarav looked up with the pure delight of a child at a mela. The trust in his eyes almost made me blush.

"Whatever you want, I’ll do."

Kabir snorted, "Collars are for dogs, not—"

I raised an eyebrow at him, my 'don’t test me' look in full force. He glared back, then stormed off to fetch his own collar.

Five minutes later, I was holding a leash in each hand. The white one was clipped to Aarav, and Kabir was wearing a pink collar.

The pink against his wheat-coloured skin gave off a vibe I couldn’t describe. Was this what my mother meant by 'don’t pick up more than you can carry'? I nearly giggled.

Kabir looked humiliated and furious, gritting his teeth. He’d clearly put the collar on himself, but acted like he’d suffered some great injustice.

My mother would call it 'naatakbaazi.' I just rolled my eyes and made a mental note—Kabir needed special handling.

His temper really is bad. Looks like I’ll have to spend extra time taming Kabir.

Maybe some home-style parathas would soften him up.

Taking two six-foot-tall guys out on leashes would be way too conspicuous. "Let’s just play at home."

The last thing I needed was the society WhatsApp group blowing up with 'Shocking News: Flat 303’s new pets.' Maybe someone would make a WhatsApp meme out of it. I could already see the sticker packs.

I didn’t want to end up on the Mumbai gossip blogs tomorrow. Already my neighbour, Mrs. Fernandes, was probably peeking through her window, clutching her rosary.

After walking them around the flat for half an hour, I checked the time and took off the leashes. My wrist was tired, but their tails swished contentedly. Even Kabir looked a little less sulky.

Aarav looked at me, confused, his tail tip curling around my thigh. "Madam, is that all for today?"

Wow, such a strong need?

I grinned and patted his head, his ears twitching under my hand.

I patted his head. "We’ll play again tomorrow. Let’s eat first."

Even incubi needed to eat, I guessed—no magic could fill an empty stomach.

Eat well, then come warm my bed.

That was the real plan, but I didn’t say it aloud. Aarav’s eyes, though, sparkled as if he already knew.

Aarav’s tea-coloured eyes darkened slightly. I didn’t catch the meaning and ran to the kitchen to cook.

My kitchen was tiny, but I worked fast—South Indian speed, as my friends used to tease me. The sizzle of onions in the kadhai drowned out my worries for a minute, and the aroma of fresh coriander made the flat feel more like home.

I’d just pulled some onions and tomatoes from the fridge when I remembered I wasn’t alone anymore—there were two fresh incubi at home.

A wave of panic hit me—what if they were vegan? What if they only ate... I don’t know, moonlight?

I went out, about to ask if they had any food preferences, only to see Aarav had already taken off his shirt. Under that pale skin were sexy, lean muscles. I glanced away, cheeks burning, and pretended to check my phone like I’d just got a work WhatsApp message.

For a moment, I nearly dropped the tomatoes. Who needs gym subscriptions when you have company like this?

I’d thought Aarav looked gentle and frail, but he was surprisingly fit underneath. He was even trying to get Kabir to take his shirt off.

Kabir stiffened his neck, his curls bristling. "No way. I’m not serving anyone. Even dogs don’t have to strip."

I was stunned. "What are you two doing?"

Was this a tradition in their world? I really hoped I didn’t have to join them. Was this what my nani meant by 'keep your head down and do your work'?

At the sound of my voice, the previously arrogant Kabir immediately quietened, but his tail shot straight up behind him.

He yanked his shirt off with a dramatic rip, grumbling, "Let’s get this over with."

For someone so tough, he was surprisingly obedient when called out. That was a new one.

Kabir was different from Aarav. Even clothed, his muscles were obvious; shirtless, his solid, powerful build and strong masculine energy were impossible to ignore. He looked like he could lift the whole gas cylinder without breaking a sweat. I gulped.

Get what over with?

I stared at them, tomatoes in hand, waiting for an explanation. I was completely lost.

Aarav asked gently, "Madam, aren’t you going to eat?"

He pointed at the eggs and tomatoes, making it clear—this was about dinner, not some secret incubus ritual.

Me: "Yeah... Do you want paneer bhurji or anda bhurji?"

I decided to play it cool. Nothing wrong with a little protein debate.

Kabir froze, looking both embarrassed and annoyed. "I took my shirt off and you’re asking me that?"

His cheeks turned a little pink, but he crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.

Aarav saw the tomatoes and eggs in my hands and understood.

He smiled gently. "Almost forgot—humans eat like this."

At least someone understood my confusion. I shrugged, feeling a little less awkward.

Otherwise, what? If you’re hungry and don’t eat, do you just breathe air?

The thought made me laugh inside. Maybe in their world, dinner was a different affair.

Aarav was thoughtful. He came over and took the tomatoes from me, saying softly, "Madam, just wait outside. Leave the cooking to me. Kabir and I aren’t picky."

He said it so smoothly, I didn’t even think to argue. I just handed over the tomatoes, feeling oddly pampered.

In this autumn weather, he was only wearing an apron.

I tried not to stare. But honestly, who wouldn’t?

I asked, "Aren’t you cold?"

Aarav’s hands were slender and clean—even watching him wash vegetables was a treat.

He said, "As long as Madam likes to watch, I’m fine."

His reply made me blush. Was he flirting? Even my cheeks warmed up a little.

What nonsense. I couldn’t help but touch his swaying tail.

It flicked around my wrist—silky, warm, full of life. I grinned and let it slide through my fingers.

Heh, I don’t just like to watch—I like to touch, too.

This was better than Netflix on a Sunday evening.

No wonder I picked this incubus. He’s exactly my type.

If only my old school friends could see me now—they’d never believe it.

Aarav was really capable. In less than half an hour, he’d made three dishes and a dal, all delicious and fragrant.

The smell of garlic tadka filled the flat, chasing away the last bit of cold from my bones. I nearly teared up—nothing says 'home' like fresh dal.

"Madam, please eat."

He said it with a small bow, as if presenting a royal feast.

I called them to eat too.

No point eating alone. I patted the table, and both sat—Kabir reluctantly, Aarav with a soft smile.

Ever since I started living alone for work, I’d rarely had a proper meal.

Eating alone is its own kind of loneliness. Today, it felt different—full of warmth, laughter, and the clink of steel plates.

Every day was either Swiggy or Maggi; the veggies in my fridge usually ended up in the dustbin.

My tiffin box hadn’t seen real sabzi in months. Now, the table was full—almost like my mother’s kitchen back in Chennai.

Looks like buying this incubus was the right call.

I smiled to myself, already imagining tomorrow’s menu.

I’d thought they could only warm the bed, but they could cook, too.

Turns out, some online reviews actually tell the truth.

I remembered the ShareChat user who said, "As long as you feed your incubus well, he’ll do anything."

That line echoed in my head as I piled an extra roti onto Aarav’s plate.

I kept putting food in Aarav’s bowl. "Eat more. Eat well, then warm my bed later."

He smiled shyly, but his eyes flashed with mischief.

Aarav smiled. "Okay, Madam."

His voice was soft as velvet. I felt a shiver—of excitement, not cold.

Kabir watched me and Aarav getting along so well and snorted from the side.

He muttered under his breath, but kept stealing glances at the food. I slid him a bowl of dal, and he accepted with only a little eye-rolling.