There are questions a man can prepare for.
Career plans.
Marriage.
Future goals.
Even "When are you settling down?"
But there is one question—
one terrible, unstoppable, generational weapon—
that no man survives.
And that question is:
"So… when are you giving me great-grandchildren?"
It happened during lunch.
Of course, it happened during lunch.
Because Indian families believed emotional destruction paired best with food.
The dining table was full.
His mother is serving enough food for a small nation.
His father said rice required deep concentration.
His sister is smiling like a journalist waiting for a scandal.
Rohan was somehow invited, somehow eating like he paid rent.
The girls are seated around the table.
Aelina is graceful.
Mira is suspicious.
Selene prepared for war.
Nysera looked like she had already predicted disaster.
And Orion—
former Null Sovereign, destroyer of timelines—
quietly learning that surviving family lunch was harder than ending reality.
Fair.
Deeply fair.
Grandmother sat at the centre like the Supreme Court of ancestry.
Everyone respected the chair.
Even destiny.
Lunch had been going too peacefully.
Which should have been the warning.
Because peace in this family was always suspicious.
She ate one bite.
Looked at Mira.
Then at Aarav.
Then delivered nuclear warfare.
"So."
Silence.
"When am I getting great-grandchildren?"
Death.
Immediate.
Absolute.
Universal.
Aarav inhaled water.
Rohan entered another dimension laughing.
His father stared at the wall like he had seen this war before.
His mother calmly continued serving dal.
Traitor.
Ancient traitor.
His sister physically slid under the table, laughing.
Even Selene blinked.
A historic event.
Mira froze.
Fork in mid-air.
System crash.
Complete.
His younger cousin screamed,
"BABY ARC!"
Denied.
Immediately denied.
Aarav coughed like a dying protagonist.
"Dadi—"
Too weak.
Not enough force.
She ignored him.
Because elders were immune to panic.
She folded her hands.
Calm.
Terrifying.
"I am old."
A dramatic pause.
"I deserve grandchildren before I become a ghost and haunt all of you professionally."
Reasonable.
Emotionally manipulative.
Powerful.
Rohan wiped tears.
"She weaponised mortality."
Yes.
Beautifully.
His mother nodded.
"Fair point."
BETRAYAL.
OPEN BETRAYAL.
Aarav looked around for allies.
None.
Absolutely none.
Even Aelina was hiding a smile behind her glass of water.
Selene looked like she was trying to calculate whether grandchildren required a battle strategy.
Nysera, divine traitor, quietly whispered—
"In several timelines, this conversation happens sooner."
No one asked.
No one wanted that information.
Mira finally recovered.
Barely.
She placed her fork down with the dignity of someone refusing emotional collapse.
"…Respectfully…"
A pause.
"…this feels premature."
Grandmother nodded.
"Good."
Mira blinked.
"What?"
She pointed at Aarav.
"If you were comfortable answering, I would worry."
Fair.
Terrifying.
Fair.
Then she leaned forward like a general planning a campaign.
"I am not asking for tomorrow."
A pause.
"I am asking if the boy plans to stop being confused before I am ninety."
Aarav whispered,
"I am under attack."
His father, from the edge of the battlefield, muttered—
"Son, there is no defence. Only acceptance."
Wisdom.
Ancient masculine wisdom.
Rohan stood and saluted.
"Respect."
Then—
because the universe hated mercy—
His sister joined.
"Actually, biologically speaking—"
Everyone shouted—
"NO."
Peace restored.
Temporary.
Very temporary.
Grandmother turned to Mira again.
Softly this time.
And somehow that was worse.
"You like him?"
Silence.
No jokes now.
No chaos.
Just truth.
Mira looked at the table.
At the family.
At Aarav.
And then answered honestly.
"Yes."
Simple.
Quiet.
Devastating.
The room changed.
Because jokes were easy.
Truth was heavier.
Grandmother nodded.
Satisfied.
Then—
"And you?"
She looked at Aarav.
No escape.
Only honesty.
Again.
Always be honest.
He met Mira's eyes.
Then answered.
"Yes."
A beat.
"I do."
No dramatic speech.
No performance.
Just truth.
And somehow—
That was bigger than every battle before.
His mother smiled softly.
His father lowered the newspaper entirely.
Rare.
Historic.
Aelina looked peaceful.
Selene nodded once.
Nysera looked like fate itself had checked a box.
Even Orion smiled faintly.
Because maybe healing recognised healing.
Grandmother leaned back.
Satisfied.
Like a queen whose kingdom remained secure.
"Good."
A pause.
"Then I can wait."
And just like that—
The pressure vanished.
Not because she stopped caring.
Because she had what she wanted.
Not grandchildren.
Certainty.
That love was real.
That no one was pretending.
That the future had roots.
And for someone who had spent a lifetime building family—
that mattered more.
The room softened.
Laughter returned.
Food resumed.
Life continued.
Messy.
Warm.
Human.
Later that evening, Aarav stood on the terrace again.
Apparently, all emotional honesty in his life now required an open sky.
Mira joined him.
Of course.
For a while—
Nothing.
Just city lights and quiet.
Then she said—
"Your grandmother is terrifying."
He smiled.
"Yes."
A pause.
Then—
"She asked about children before we had even survived your family group chats."
Fair.
Very fair.
He laughed.
"She believes in long-term planning."
Mira looked at the city.
Then said, softer—
"In my world… people stopped planning families."
That hurt.
Because futures didn't always collapse loudly.
Sometimes they just forgot how to hope.
She folded her arms.
"No one believed enough in tomorrow."
Silence.
Aarav stood beside her.
And quietly said—
"I do."
She looked at him.
He continued.
"I don't know what comes next."
A breath.
"But if I imagine a future…"
He smiled faintly.
"…I don't hate the idea of you being in all of it."
Dangerous silence.
The good kind.
Mira looked away first.
Again.
Victory.
Small.
Beautiful.
Then she said—
"Careful."
He blinked.
"With what?"
She met his eyes.
"With saying things like that."
A pause.
"…I might start believing you."
Too late.
Far too late.
Because she already did.
And so did he.
And somewhere downstairs—
His grandmother was probably already naming hypothetical children.
Which was horrifying.
But somehow it's not impossible anymore.