Shivaay Singh Oberoi was losing his mind. Stuck at Copenhagen Airport for over 24 hours thanks to a snowstorm, his usually immaculate patience was wearing thin. He had tried everything—reading, pacing, meditating (which lasted all of two minutes)—and now he was ready to give up. But what he hadn't anticipated was his family back in Mumbai treating this like a soap opera, complete with hourly video calls to "check" him.
Shivaay's phone buzzed, and he sighed, already bracing himself. The screen flashed: Anika calling. He clicked Accept, and immediately, the chaos began.
"Shivaay!" Gauri's wide-eyed face filled the screen. She'd clearly muscled her way into the call first. "Are you okay, bhaiya? Aap toh wahan bilkul akela hai! Kya khana mila? Denmark mein toh bas roti ke saath... kya bolte hain, voh... butter hai na?"
"Gauri," Shivaay groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's bread and butter, not roti. And no, I haven't eaten that. I had a soggy sandwich that could qualify as a weapon if thrown hard enough."
Before Gauri could respond, Anika's voice piped up from the background. "Oh, come on, Mr. Oberoi, you're stuck in a snowstorm, not a war zone. How bad can it be? You're in Denmark! Go make a snowman or something."
Shivaay glared at the screen. "Anika, I'm at an airport! Not some scenic winter wonderland. It's cold, I'm tired, and the only thing people here care about is hygge! Do you know what hygge is?"
"It sounds like a sneeze," Anika quipped, laughing. "Bless you, Shivaay!"
"Ha ha," Shivaay deadpanned. "It means cozy. Which is exactly what I'm not feeling on this hard chair."
"Bhaiya," Gauri chimed in with her trademark concern, "aapka Bihari accent toh phir se nahi nikal raha na? Please don't say Arre bakchonhar in front of the Danish people."
Anika burst out laughing. "Oh, I dare you to yell that in the airport, Shivaay. Imagine their faces!"
"Main tum dono se baat hi kyun kar raha hoon?" Shivaay muttered under his breath, and hung up.
The next call came from Pinky, who was already in full drama mode. The second Shivaay answered, her face filled the screen, framed by an aggressively floral dupatta.
"Shivaay! My heera beta! What is this tragedy happening? Tum snow ke beech main stucks ho?!"
"Mom, I'm fine," Shivaay said, already exhausted. "It's just snow. I'm at the airport, not stranded on a glacier."
"Arrey, but what if your toes freezes?!" Pinky wailed. "Logon ne suna hai ki snowstorm mein insaan ekdum ice cube ban jata hai! Tumhare jam gaye toh Oberoi business ka kya hoga?!"
"Mom, toes don't freeze in airports. They have heaters!"
But Pinky wasn't done. "Aur voh Danish log! Tumhe toh pata hai na, they eats all kind of ajeeb-o-garib cheezen! Tum Danish kuch mat khana! Tumhare stomach ko harms ho jayega!"
"Mom," Shivaay said, trying not to lose his cool, "I already ate a sandwich."
Pinky gasped like he'd announced his engagement to a Danish pastry. "Hai Bhagwan! Ye toh akhir shuruat hai tabahi ki! Shivaay, tum apni mummy ki baat kabhi nahi sunte ho!"
Shivaay groaned and hit the End Call button, muttering, "It's gonna be a long day."
Barely ten minutes later, the phone buzzed again. This time, it was Shakti. Shivaay sighed, preparing himself for round two.
"Shivaay beta," Shakti began in his usual calm but overly earnest tone, "maine suna hai tum snowstorm mein ho."
"Yes, Dad, you're correct," Shivaay replied. "I am, indeed, stuck in a snowstorm."
