Love Me Tonight Chapter 39: Threads That Remain

The morning sun filtered through the trees of Ellisbridge bungalow, painting patches of gold across the lawn. Naina sat comfortably on a low woven stool beneath the shade of a neem tree, one hand resting absentmindedly on her growing belly while she watched Jaiprakash attack the garden with a small spade.

A freshly dug patch of earth lay before them. Or rather, half-dug.

“Nanu, aap pichle paanch minute se sirf mitti ko dekh rahe hai.”

“Jaanch kar raha hun.”

“Paudha lagana hai ya land survey karna hai?”

The old man ignored her. The hibiscus sapling waited patiently beside them. A bright red variety that Jaiprakash had insisted the garden desperately needed. Naina suspected the plant had been purchased simply because he enjoyed spending time outdoors. Not that she minded.

A few moments later he finally declared himself satisfied. “Ab.”

Together they lowered the sapling into the prepared spot. Naina held it upright while Jaiprakash adjusted its position from every conceivable angle.

“Seedha hai?”

“Nahi.”

“Ab?”

“Thoda left.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Nanu, yeh plant hai. Army inspection nahi.”

“Har cheez properly honi chahiye.”

Despite his words, a smile tugged at his lips. Carefully he began filling the soil around the roots while Naina patted down the loose earth wherever he pointed. A nearby watering can waited patiently for its turn.

For several minutes neither spoke. The morning was simply too pleasant. Birds chirped somewhere overhead. The scent of wet earth lingered in the air. And after the excitement of Mount Abu, the quiet felt strangely welcome.

 

The previous day already felt strangely distant. The morning had begun with an early breakfast at Aravalli Retreat. There had been sleepy goodbyes to Mount Abu, luggage loaded into the mini-coach and one final look at the mountains before they departed.

The drive back to Ahmedabad had been considerably quieter than the journey there. Partly because everyone was tired. Partly because nobody was quite ready to admit that the trip was over.

By the time they had reached Ellisbridge, even Deepika’s energy reserves had been depleted. Sarla Kaki had welcomed them home with steaming khichdi, kadhi and tuver-aloo-baingan sabji. Simple comfort food. Exactly what everyone needed after hours on the road.

The afternoon had disappeared in naps and lazy conversations. The evening had been spent together in the family room, watching an old film on the video player while various bowls of snacks circulated through the room. At some point Aman and Sameer had disappeared into the study. The family had initially assumed they were fetching something. Two hours later it became clear they had somehow managed to convert a holiday evening into a work discussion. Some habits were impossible to break.

Now, however, life had officially resumed. Sameer, Rohan, and Aman had already left for the office. Deepika had departed for college after loudly complaining about the cruelty of education. Only Jaiprakash had been granted an additional day of rest. Not that he had wanted one. His grandsons had collectively overruled him.

And so he had ended up in the garden. Planting hibiscus. With Naina.

She patted the soil around the sapling and sat back slightly, admiring their work.

Jaiprakash nodded approvingly. “Achcha lag raha hai.”

Naina smiled. The garden was peaceful. The house was quiet. For the first time in days there were no plans. Just a perfectly ordinary morning.

And suddenly she realized something. She had absolutely nothing to do. The thought was so unexpected that she blinked.  After months of chaos, drama, weddings, family gatherings, business crises, hospital visits, travel plans and unexpected adventures… she had somehow arrived at a completely empty day.

Yet despite the peaceful morning, Naina’s mind refused to remain equally calm. The quiet had given her something she hadn’t had in weeks.

Time to think.

And unfortunately, thinking led to worrying. As she absentmindedly crumbled a small clump of soil between her fingers, several unresolved questions drifted through her mind.

Vishakha and Vivek Somani.

The matter seemed quiet for now, but she doubted people like them would simply disappear from their lives. Would they attempt another move? Would they try to approach Rohan or Deepika? How long would they remain in Ahmedabad before returning to Mumbai?

The questions lingered without answers. Then there was the Agarwal family. Or rather… Preeti. The thought of her immediately softened something inside Naina.

Mount Abu had been wonderful. Everything she had dreamed of. Yet strangely, the trip had also made her miss her sister more than ever. Perhaps because Preeti should have been there. She would have loved the picnic. The lake. The cotton candy. The ridiculous love-fortune tree.

Naina smiled faintly at the thought. Then the smile faded. Because she still didn’t know what was happening on that front. What Sameer intended to do. What progress had been made. Or whether any progress had been made at all.

Her thoughts drifted back to Mumbai. To the day they had been packing for Ahmedabad. Suitcases lay open across their bedroom. Sameer had been trying to convince her that they absolutely needed a third bag. She had been firmly explaining why they did not. And then Nanu’s phone call had arrived. Unexpected. Urgent. And carrying news that nobody had anticipated. News about an accidental meeting.

A meeting with Preeti.

 

Taking a deep breath, Naina ventured, “Nanu…”

The older gentleman was busy patting the freshly turned soil around the hibiscus sapling. Without looking up, he hummed in acknowledgement. “Hmm?”

“Aap Preeti se mile the…”

The movement of his hands paused briefly. Naina traced a small line in the loose earth with her finger before continuing.

“Woh mujhe phirse bataiye na.”

This time Jaiprakash did look up. For a moment he simply studied her face. The request itself was innocent enough. Yet he knew it wasn’t curiosity that had prompted it. She missed her.

The realization softened his expression. “Mount Abu me bhi uske baare me soch rahi thi?”

Naina smiled faintly. “Thoda.”

The old man snorted. “Jhooth.”

Her smile widened. “Thoda zyada.”

He settled back on the small garden stool beside her and reached for the watering can. Together they poured water around the base of the newly planted sapling, watching the dark soil absorb it. For a few moments neither spoke. Jaiprakash adjusted the watering can beside him and looked thoughtfully at the newly planted hibiscus.

“Ittefaq ki baat thi,” he said. “Main uss din mandir gaya tha. Bilkul waise hi jaise roz jaata hun.”

Naina smiled.

“Haan, yeh part toh main sun chuki hun.”

The old man chuckled.

“Accha. Toh phir details suno.”

That immediately earned his granddaughter-in-law’s full attention. “Subah ka waqt tha. Main parking ki taraf jaa raha tha jab ek ladki pe nazar padi. Pehle toh pehchaan hi nahi paya.”

He paused.

“Phir achanak yaad aaya. Arre… yeh toh Preeti hai.”

A smile appeared on Naina’s face before she could stop it.

“Kaisi lag rahi thi?”

The question came so quickly that Jaiprakash laughed. “Bilkul waise hi jaise school me dikhti thi. Base thodi badi. Aur…” He thought for a moment. “Thodi dubli lag rahi thi.”

The smile on Naina’s face faded slightly.

“Lekin…” he continued, “jaise hi maine usse roka aur poocha ke kya woh Naina ki behen hai, uske chehre pe jo expression aaya…” He shook his head. “Relief.”

Naina lowered her gaze.

“Usne sabse pehle kya poocha tha pata hai?”

She already knew. Nanu had told her. Yet she found herself asking anyway.

“Kya?”

“‘Naina kaisi hai?'”

A warmth spread through her chest. The old man smiled softly.

“Tumhari bahut fikr karti hai.”

Naina blinked rapidly and looked away. “Hmm.”

Then Jaiprakash sighed. “Uske baad uski Taiji aa gayi. Mujhe jawab dene ka mauka tak nahi mila.”

The warmth vanished immediately. Naina frowned. He still seemed displeased remembering it.

“Preeti ko wahan se le gayi. Mujhe bhi clearly samjha diya ke unka tumse ya tumse jude hue kisi bhi insaan se koi sambandh nahi rakhna.”

Naina picked at a loose bit of soil beside her stool. The words hurt less than they once would have. But they still hurt.

“Aur Preeti?”

Jaiprakash was silent for a moment. “Usne jaane se pehle ek baar peeche mudkar dekha tha.”

The answer was simple. Yet it somehow made Naina’s chest tighten. As though she could picture the entire scene.

After a few moments, Jaiprakash continued. “Phir Paresh Patel mile.”

Naina nodded. “Haan. Nirmal Jyoti society me hi rehte hai. Jaanti hun unhe.”

This part she remembered from the original conversation. The concern in Nanu’s voice. The way Sameer had gone completely quiet afterwards.

“Unhone tumhare baare mein bahut achhi baatein kahi thi,” Jaiprakash said. “Aur Preeti ke baare mein bhi.”

A faint smile appeared.

“Bol rahe the ke society mein bahut logon ko kabhi yakeen hi nahi hua ke tumhari galti thi.”

Naina looked away. Compliments felt strangely uncomfortable after all these years.

“And then?” she prompted softly.

Jaiprakash’s expression grew serious. “And then baat Bajaj family tak pahunch gayi.”

The morning breeze rustled through the garden.

“Kushal Bajaj.”

The name hung unpleasantly in the air. Naina already knew it. Had known it for weeks. Yet hearing it again didn’t make it any easier.

“Usi waqt mujhe samajh aaya,” Jaiprakash said quietly, looking at the hibiscus plant, “ke baat sirf tumhari nahi rahi thi.”

His gaze lifted to hers. “Main tumhari chinta karta hun. Hamesha karunga.” A pause. “Lekin uss din pehli baar mujhe Preeti ki bhi chinta hui.”

The two of them sat quietly for a moment. The newly planted hibiscus swayed gently in the morning breeze. And somehow, despite the warmth of the sun and the peacefulness of the garden, Naina found herself missing her sister all over again.

 

After some time Sarla Kaki called them inside, firmly declaring that both of them had spent enough time in the sun. “Bas bas, ab andar aaiye dono. Thodi der mein dhoop aur badh jayegi. Phir doctor ko samjhana padega ke patient garden mein kya kar rahe the.”

Neither argued. Once inside, they washed up and were promptly handed tall glasses of chilled lemonade. The living room felt pleasantly cool after the warmth outside.

For a few minutes they sat quietly, sipping their drinks. Then Naina spoke.

“Nanu…”

“Hmm?”

“Aapko Sameer ne mere baare mein bataya hai?”

He looked up. “Kis baare mein?”

She hesitated briefly. “Jo kuch bhi hua tha…”

Jaiprakash understood immediately. His expression softened. “Nahi.” He shook his head. “Mujhe toh bas itna pata tha ke tumhari sagai hui thi aur phir toot gayi.” Naina listened quietly. “Sameer ne sirf itna bataya tha ke sagai tumne todi thi. Baad mein uss ladke ka naam bhi bataya.”

“Manav Bajaj.”

“Haan.” The old man nodded.  “Yeh bhi bataya tha ke uss poore waaqye ka tum par bahut gehra asar hua hai. Aur tum uske baare mein baat karna pasand nahi karti.”

Naina frowned slightly. “Lekin maine toh Kolkata mein hi Sameer ko sab kuch bata diya tha.” She looked genuinely puzzled. “Unhone aapse kabhi zikr nahi kiya?”

Jaiprakash smiled. “Tumhe lagta hai agar kiya hota toh tumhe pata nahi chalta?”

The answer made her pause. After a moment he continued. “Ek baar usne mujhse kaha tha ke woh tumse kabhi koi baat nahi chupayega.” A fond smile appeared on the old man’s face. “Bola tha ke agar kisi wajah se uss waqt kuch bata na sake, toh bhi pehle tumhe bata dega ke baad mein batayega.”

Naina’s lips curved into a small smile. “Haan.” She looked down at her lemonade. “Unki isi baat ne toh mera bharosa jeeta tha.”

“Toh phir,” Jaiprakash said gently, “tumse kahe bina woh mujhe kaise kuch batata?”

For a while she sat silently. The condensation on her glass slowly slid down her fingers. Then she took a deep breath. “Theek hai.” Her gaze drifted towards the garden outside. “Puri kahani ka saar yeh hai ke sagai ke baad Manav ko laga ke usko chhoot mil gayi hai.”

Her voice remained calm. Almost detached. As though she had told herself this story so many times that the sharpest edges had worn smooth.

“Jab maine usse roka, toh woh mujhe parivaar se milwane ke bahane apne ghar le gaya.” A pause. “Wahan usne mere saath zabardasti karne ki koshish ki.”

Jaiprakash’s hand tightened around his glass. Naina kept looking out the window. “Usne mujhe maara bhi.”

The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. Which somehow made them worse.

“Jab uske parivaar wale achanak wapas aa gaye, usne mujhe chhat par ek shed mein bandh kar diya.”

For the first time, genuine anger flickered across the old man’s face. “Hey Bhagwan…”

Naina continued. “Kisi tarah main wahan se nikli.” Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Subah hone wali thi. Main seedha police station gayi. Fir darz karwaya, phir ek mahila constable mujhe bathroom le gai.” The next smile that appeared on her face contained no amusement whatsoever. “Lekin jab main wapas aayi toh Manav aur Kushal Bajaj pehle se wahan maujood the.” She looked at him. “Mere saamne paise diye gaye.” Silence filled the room. “Aur mere saamne meri FIR ko faad ke phenk diya gaya.”

Her voice remained steady. “Mujhe lagta hai jaise hi maine complaint mein Manav ka naam likhvaya hoga, police ne usse phone kar diya hoga.”

The old man closed his eyes briefly. The pain in his expression was impossible to miss.

“Phir mere ghar walon ko yaqeen dila diya gaya ke mera koi aashiq hai. Main uske saath poori raat bahar thi.”

Naina’s voice softened. “Mere zakhm nahi dikhe unko.” A long pause followed. “Mera sach bhi nahi suna.” Another pause. “Unhone mujhe ghar se nikaal diya.” The words hung heavily between them. Neither spoke for several moments.

Finally she looked down at her lap. “Uske baad…” For the first time her voice wavered. “Phulla Bua-Dadi mujhe apne saath Mumbai le aayi.”

Silence settled over the room. The kind that followed painful truths. Across from her, Jaiprakash stared at the young woman who would soon become the mother of his great-grandchild. And for the first time, he truly understood why Sameer had been willing to go to war for her.

For a long time after Naina finished speaking, Jaiprakash said nothing. The lemonade sat forgotten in his hand. Outside, sunlight filtered through the garden trees. The newly planted hibiscus swayed gently in the breeze. Somewhere in the house Sarla Kaki was speaking to her husband, her voice drifting faintly through the corridor.

Ordinary sounds. An ordinary morning.

And yet Jaiprakash felt as though the world had shifted slightly beneath his feet. His gaze remained fixed on Naina. The young woman sitting across from him looked peaceful enough. Calm. Composed. But now he knew what it had cost her to arrive at this place.

Slowly, his thoughts drifted towards Sameer. The betrayal by his parents. The loneliness that had followed. The broken relationships. The way Sameer had slowly taught himself not to expect too much from people.

At the time, Jaiprakash had believed no one could truly understand what that kind of hurt felt like. Now he wasn’t so sure. The details were different. The circumstances were different. Yet the wounds carried a strange similarity.

Both had been betrayed by people they trusted.

Both had been abandoned by family when they needed support the most.

Both had watched people they once imagined spending their lives with become the source of their deepest pain.

Perhaps that was why they fit together so naturally. Not because their suffering was the same. But because they understood it. Because neither of them had ever needed the other to explain what betrayal felt like.

A deep sigh escaped him. “Naina.”

She looked up. “Hmm?”

For a moment he simply studied her face. Then quietly asked, “Main Sameer ko phone karun? Bol deta hun ghar aa jaaye.”

The concern in his voice was unmistakable. Naina blinked. “Kyun?”

“Tum theek nahi lag rahi.”

A smile immediately tugged at her lips. There was something oddly comforting about being fussed over by this family. First Sameer. Then Aman. Then Sarla Kaki. And now Nanu.

Reaching across, she placed her hand over his. “Nanu, main sach mein theek hun.”

He still looked unconvinced. “Pakki baat?”

“Haan.” Her gaze drifted towards the garden beyond the window. The hibiscus plant was barely visible from here. A small patch of red amidst the greenery. For a few moments she watched it silently before speaking again. “Sach kahun toh pehle se bahut zyada theek hun.”

The admission surprised him.

A faint smile appeared on her face. “Pehle jab bhi yeh sab yaad aata tha na… darr lagta tha.” She paused. “Jaise woh sab phir se ho jayega.” Her hand moved unconsciously to her stomach. “Phir maine Sameer ko sab bata diya.”

The change in her expression when she spoke his name did not escape Jaiprakash. The softness. The trust. The certainty.

“Dard khatam nahi hua,” she admitted quietly. “Shayad kabhi poori tarah hoga bhi nahi.” Then she smiled. “Lekin kam ho gaya.”

A simple statement. Yet Jaiprakash suspected it had taken tremendous courage to reach that point. The old man felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

For a while they sat in comfortable silence. Then Naina turned towards him again. “Main aaj yeh sab isliye bata rahi thi…” Her voice trailed away briefly. As though she was trying to arrange her thoughts. “…kyunki mujhe lagta hai ke jo bhi hum aage karne wale hain, jo bhi Preeti ke baare mein decide hoga…” She met his eyes. “…uss mein aapko poora sach pata hona chahiye.”

The words settled between them. Jaiprakash understood immediately. This conversation wasn’t about the past. Not really. It was about the future.

About Preeti. About Kushal Bajaj. About choices that still lay ahead.

Slowly he nodded. “Theek hai.” His voice was steady. Quiet. Resolute. “Ab hum sab milkar dekhenge aage kya karna hai.”

 

In the meantime, Maheshwari Industries had returned to its usual rhythm. The Mount Abu trip had offered everyone a brief respite, but the moment they stepped back into the office, reality reclaimed their attention.

Although most of the immediate clean-up had been completed before they left, Vivek Somani had left behind years of damage that refused to be untangled overnight. Every file they reviewed seemed to uncover two more problems buried beneath it.

For the first time in anyone’s memory, the Human Resources and Finance departments were working almost as a single team. Salary records spanning several years were being re-examined one employee at a time. Plans were being drawn up to reimburse bonuses that had been unfairly withheld, correct arbitrary salary reductions, review dismissals that had never been properly justified, and reopen staff complaints that had quietly gathered dust in forgotten filing cabinets.

It was painstaking work. Expensive work. Necessary work.

Just after lunch, there was a knock on Sameer’s cabin door before Aman walked in balancing two thick folders under one arm and a paper bag in the other. Without saying a word, he placed the folders on the table before reaching into the bag.

Two chilled plastic cups emerged. Watermelon juice.

Sameer looked up from his laptop, raising an eyebrow. Aman merely shrugged as he pulled a chair opposite him. “Bahar gaya tha. Socha sabke liye bhi le aata hun. Rohan ko bhi deke aaya hun.”

Sameer smiled faintly but said nothing. He pierced the sealed lid with the straw and took a long sip. Cold. Fresh. Perfectly sweet.

Exactly the sort of juice Aman would spend an extra ten minutes finding instead of buying the first one available. After another sip he looked up. “Kahan gaye the?”

Aman leaned back in his chair, taking his own drink before answering. “Ek contact se milne.”

There was something about his tone that immediately made Sameer attentive. “Kya hua?”

“Manav aur Kushal Bajaj parso Ahmedabad wapas aa rahe hain.”

Sameer stopped mid-sip. For a moment he simply stared at Aman. Then he slowly set the glass down.

“So…” He exhaled. “Finally.” A slow nod followed. “Humare paas do din hain.”

Aman slid the blue folder across the table. “Isme Bajaj family ki poori background report hai.”

Sameer opened it. The sheer thickness of the file made him whistle softly.

“Har illegal kaam.” Aman’s voice had become noticeably flatter. “Kaun involved tha… kisne cover-up kiya… kisne influence use kiya… kisne paise liye…” He paused. “It’s disturbing.”

Sameer didn’t immediately start reading. Instead, his eyes drifted to the second folder. “Aur yeh?”

“Agarwal family.”

That answer surprised him far more than the first.

He frowned. “Itni badi file?” A brief silence followed. “Kuch problem hai?”

Aman shook his head. “Nahi. At least abhi tak toh koi major issue nahi mila.” He tapped the brown folder. “Isme bahut saari routine surveillance reports bhi hain. Daily movements, financial records, relatives, business connections… sab kuch. Abhi tak properly filter karne ka time nahi mila.”

Only then did Sameer visibly relax. “Thank God.”

Aman looked at him questioningly. Sameer rested a hand on the brown folder before speaking.

“Ek pal ke liye laga… shayad iss family ke baare mein bhi kuch aisa hi niklega.” His gaze lingered on the file for another moment. “Agarwal parivaar ne jo kiya… usne Naina ko bahut dard diya.” He didn’t try to deny it. “Lekin woh Bajaj family jaise log nahi hain.”

His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact.

“Unhone jurm nahi kiye. Kisi ko barbaad karne ka dhanda nahi chalaya. Kisi system ko khareedkar logon ki zindagi nahi ujaadi.” He slowly closed the folder. “Isiliye unke saath waise bartav bhi nahi hoga.”

Aman remained silent, listening. After a brief pause, Sameer added quietly, “Lekin iska matlab yeh nahi ke unhe bina kisi hisaab ke chhod diya jayega.” His eyes hardened ever so slightly. “Naina ke saath jo hua… uske liye unhe bhi apni galti ka ehsaas karna hoga.” He looked at Aman. “Aur woh hisaab…” A faint, almost unreadable smile crossed his face. “Main khud lunga.”

 

The remainder of the afternoon disappeared beneath a mountain of work. Although the major restructuring had already begun before the Mount Abu trip, every file that landed on Sameer’s desk seemed to reveal another overlooked decision or another employee who had quietly suffered under Vivek Somani’s administration. Meetings flowed into discussions, discussions into approvals, and approvals into fresh instructions for the following day.

By the time the last department head stepped out of his cabin, the clock had just crossed five. Sameer closed the file before him with a quiet sigh and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the stiffness from the back of his neck. Beyond the glass walls of his cabin, employees were already packing their bags, exchanging goodbyes as another workday came to an end.

Aman walked in a few moments later, carrying his laptop. “Chalein?”

Sameer nodded, shutting down his computer before both of them made their way towards the basement parking. The office was slowly emptying around them, familiar faces wishing them good evening as they passed. Normally, Sameer exchanged a few words with almost everyone who greeted him. Today, however, he seemed unusually distracted.

Aman noticed it almost immediately. He waited until they had settled inside the car and the driver had steered them out onto Ashram Road before finally speaking.

“Kya baat hai?”

Sameer looked out of the window, watching the afternoon traffic crawl alongside the Sabarmati River. For a few moments he didn’t answer. Then he smiled faintly. “Aaj shaam mere kuch dost ghar aa rahe hain.”

Aman turned towards him with mild surprise. “Dost?”

“Hmm.”

“Kaun?”

“Munna… aur Pandit.”

Recognition immediately dawned on Aman. “School wale?”

Sameer nodded, his gaze still fixed outside. “Haan.”

A thoughtful silence settled between them before he continued. “Kitne saal ho gaye… properly mile hue. Beech beech mein kabhi phone pe baat ho jaati thi… bas. Woh bhi bahut kam.”

Aman didn’t interrupt. He had known Sameer long enough to recognize when something weighed on his mind.

“Dono ki shaadi ho gayi. Bachche bhi hain ab.”

There was no envy in his voice.  Only distance.

“For a long time… mujhe lagta tha unhe disturb karna theek nahi hoga.”

Aman frowned slightly. “Kyun?”

Sameer rested an elbow against the window. “Meri zindagi uss waqt itni uljhi hui thi… har taraf problems hi problems thi. London se wapas aane ke baad ghar ka sab kuch… phir business… phir Sakshi…”

He let out a slow breath. “Unki apni families thi. Apni responsibilities. Mujhe laga… meri pareshaniyon ka bojh unpe daalne ka kya matlab.”

The honesty in his voice made Aman look at him for a moment. “Lekin aapne unhe decide karne ka mauka hi kab diya?”

Sameer finally turned towards him. “Kis baat ka?”

“Yahi… ke woh aapka bojh uthana chahte hain ya nahi.”

Sameer didn’t answer. Because the thought had never really occurred to him.

Aman smiled faintly. “Aapne kabhi notice kiya hai?”

Sameer glanced at him. “Kya?”

“Jis kisi ko bhi aap apna maante hain… usse protect karne ki bahut koshish karte hain.”

Sameer frowned slightly. Aman continued quietly,

“Kabhi company ko.”

“Kabhi Naina Bhabhi ko.”

“Rohan, Deepika, Nanaji… Aur kabhi apne doston ko.”

He smiled. “Bas ek problem hai. Aap kabhi kisi ko yeh decide hi nahi karne dete ke woh aapko protect karna chahte hain ya nahi.”

For the first time since leaving the office, Sameer laughed. A quiet, genuine laugh. “I know.”

He looked ahead again, a touch of nostalgia softening his expression. “Ek waqt tha… woh dono mere liye bhaiyon jaise the. School mein hum roz saath hote the. Class ke baad bhi. Cricket, canteen, tuition… pata hi nahi chala kab itne saal nikal gaye.”

The car turned into the familiar roads of Ellisbridge. Aman leaned back comfortably in his seat.

“Mujhe lagta hai na… agar woh itne saalon baad bhi aapse milne khud aa rahe hain…” He smiled. “…toh shayad dosti sirf aapke dimaag mein khatam hui thi.”

Sameer looked out of the window once more. This time, a genuine smile stayed on his face. Maybe Aman was right. Perhaps some friendships didn’t end at all. They simply waited quietly for life to make room for them again.

 

By the time Sameer and Aman reached Ellisbridge, the house had settled into its familiar evening rhythm. The front door stood open to welcome the pleasant March breeze that drifted through the verandah. From the kitchen came the comforting aroma of fresh snacks and simmering tea, punctuated every now and then by the clinking of utensils as Sarla Kaki supervised the final preparations.

After washing up and changing out of his office clothes, Sameer came out dressed in a sky-blue linen shirt with the sleeves folded neatly to his forearms and a pair of beige chinos. The formal businessman had quietly disappeared for the evening, replaced by the young man who was about to meet friends he hadn’t seen in years.

The drawing room had been subtly rearranged. Additional chairs had been brought in from the adjoining study, fresh flowers adorned the centre table, and the dining table had been laid with one of Sarla Kaki’s embroidered table runners reserved for special guests.

Naina was putting the final touches to the arrangements. Knowing visitors were coming, she had changed into a soft cotton saree instead of her usual maternity dresses. The cherry-red fabric fell gracefully around her, its broad white Warli-print border lending it a simple elegance that suited her perfectly. A matching blouse, small white stone earrings, a slender red bindi and a loose braid completed the look. Comfortable rather than elaborate.

Yet breathtaking nonetheless. Sameer paused for a brief moment at the foot of the staircase. That saree. It had quietly become his favourite. He had never quite figured out why. Perhaps it was because the deep red brought warmth to her complexion. Perhaps because the crisp white border reminded him of the simplicity she carried so effortlessly. Or perhaps because every time she wore it, she somehow looked even more like the woman he had imagined spending the rest of his life with.

She looked up just then and caught him watching her. A knowing smile curved her lips. “What?”

He smiled back, almost sheepishly. “Kuch nahi.”

She followed his gaze to her saree before looking back at him with an amused expression. “Yeh pasand hai?”

He gave a small nod. “Bahut achhi lag rahi ho.”

The compliment was so quiet that it almost disappeared into the room. But it brought a faint blush to her cheeks all the same. Before she could respond, the front door opened once again. Rohan stepped inside carrying several neatly packed boxes along with a large insulated bag. He had left the office a little earlier than the others, making a quick stop on the way home to pick up fresh sweets and family tubs of ice cream.

After all, it wasn’t every day that Sameer’s oldest school friends came home after years apart. The boxes disappeared into the kitchen under Sarla Kaki’s approving supervision, while the ice cream was promptly transferred to the freezer. By the time everything was in place, the house had fallen into that peculiar hush that always arrived a few minutes before guests were expected.

Even Sameer found himself glancing once towards the clock. Only once. Naina noticed anyway.

Barely a minute later, the doorbell echoed through the house. Sameer was already halfway to the entrance. As the heavy wooden door swung open, two familiar faces looked back at him.

For a brief moment, none of them moved. Time seemed to fold in on itself. The years had undoubtedly changed them. There were a few more lines around their eyes now, a little more maturity in their expressions, and the carefree boys who had once spent entire afternoons playing cricket and getting into mischief had long since become husbands and fathers.

Yet somehow… They still looked exactly the same.

A slow smile spread across Sameer’s face. “Munna… Pandit…”

The next instant all three men were laughing as they pulled one another into a tight embrace, years of distance melting away in a matter of seconds.

A step behind them stood their wives, Neha and Kavita, watching the reunion with warm smiles. Beside them waited two little boys. Four-year-old Parth Sharma stood slightly ahead of the others, trying his best to appear brave despite his obvious curiosity, while little Vinay Pandit, barely three, remained half-hidden behind his mother’s saree, peeking shyly into the sprawling Ellisbridge bungalow.

Stepping aside, Sameer welcomed them in. As they crossed the threshold, it struck him that perhaps time hadn’t weakened this friendship after all. It had merely been waiting… for all of them to find their way back to one another.

As soon as they stepped inside, Munna and Pandit instinctively turned towards the elderly gentleman seated in the living room. “Nanaji!”

Jaiprakash’s face broke into a broad smile. “Arre… aao, aao.”

The two men bent immediately to touch his feet, followed closely by their wives. Little Parth and Vinay, after a gentle nudge from their mothers, copied the gesture as best as they could, earning an affectionate laugh from everyone present.

“Khush raho,” Jaiprakash blessed them warmly. “Kitne saalon baad ghar yaad aaya tum dono ko.”

Munna scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Galti ho gayi, Nanaji.”

“Bahut badi,” the old man replied, though his smiling eyes robbed the words of any reprimand.

By then Sameer had quietly crossed the room. Naina had remained standing a little behind, allowing the reunion to unfold uninterrupted. He stopped beside her and, without a second thought, slipped an arm comfortably around her shoulders.

He smiled. “Pehchaana?”

Only then did Munna and Pandit properly turn towards her. For a brief moment, neither spoke. They had known, of course. The newspapers had carried enough photographs after the wedding. Television channels had discussed it for days. They knew that Sameer Maheshwari had married Naina Agarwal.

Even then… Seeing her standing before them after so many years felt strangely unreal. In an instant, memories from school came rushing back. The quiet girl who almost always occupied the first bench. Two neatly oiled braids. Thick textbooks hugged protectively against her chest. The class topper who answered every question before the teachers had even finished asking it. Their favourite victim whenever the class grew too quiet.

Maniben. Teacher ki chamchi. Padhaku. Roti hui Meena Kumari.

The names seemed childish now. Almost embarrassing. Standing before them was the same Naina… Yet not the same at all.

The cherry-red cotton saree with its broad white Warli-print border draped gracefully around her. A loose braid rested over one shoulder, a tiny red bindi adorned her forehead, and the gentle curve of motherhood softened her features in a way that seemed to illuminate her from within.

There was nothing extravagant about her appearance. No heavy jewellery. No elaborate make-up. Just an effortless grace that made it impossible to look away.

Munna glanced sideways at Pandit. Neither needed to say much. One look was enough.

School mein hum kitne bewakoof the.

A faint smile spread across Munna’s face as he stepped forward. “Naina…” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Itne saalon baad mil rahe hain.”

Pandit nodded in agreement. “Kaisi ho?”

“I’m good,” she replied warmly. “Tum dono kaise ho?”

There wasn’t the slightest trace of hesitation in her voice. Nor any hint that she remembered the countless nicknames or the relentless teasing from school. Time had quietly washed those memories away. Seeing that easy smile, both men felt their lingering awkwardness dissolve.

Munna gestured towards the woman beside him. “Yeh meri wife, Neha.”

“And yeh Kavita,” Pandit added with a smile, placing a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Naina folded her hands politely. “Namaste.”

Both women returned the greeting just as warmly, and within moments the conversation flowed as though they had all known one another for years. The introductions soon extended to the youngest members of the gathering.

Four-year-old Parth proudly announced that he could already write his own name, while little Vinay preferred hiding behind his mother’s saree, peeking curiously at everyone around him. Neha laughed before producing two colouring books and a box of crayons from her handbag.

“Bachche saath ho toh taiyaari karke chalna padta hai.”

Within minutes the boys had settled themselves comfortably on the carpet, completely absorbed in deciding whether elephants could be coloured green and giraffes blue. Their occupation couldn’t have been better timed.

Sarla Kaki arrived carrying a large tray, followed by one of the house staff. Soon steaming cups of masala tea, chilled milk for the children and plates of fresh dhokla, khandvi and miniature samosas covered the centre table.

Conversation flowed effortlessly. Munna’s gaze wandered towards Rohan and Deepika. “Sach kahun, tum dono ko yahan dekhkar bada surprise hua.”

Pandit nodded. “Humein toh school mein hamesha lagta tha ke…” He glanced apologetically towards Sameer. “…ghar mein sab theek nahi hai.”

The explanation that followed surprised both friends. How misunderstandings had slowly dissolved. How years of resentment had finally given way to forgiveness. How the family had found its way back to one another.

Their attention then shifted towards Aman. “Arre, aur yeh kaun hai?”

Before Sameer could answer, Aman introduced himself with complete seriousness. “Main Aman.” He shook hands with both of them. “Dost bhi… bhai bhi… aur duniya ka sabse efficient assistant bhi.”

The room erupted in laughter. Sameer merely shook his head. “Iski aadhi baatein seriously mat lena.”

Aman protested with mock indignation. Even Sarla Kaki chuckled as she disappeared back towards the kitchen. The conversation gradually drifted towards Maheshwari Industries.

Munna had followed the newspaper reports after Vivek Somani’s dismissal but knew very little beyond the headlines. Listening to Sameer briefly explain everything that had happened over the past few years, both friends found themselves stunned into silence.

It wasn’t just the business. It was everything surrounding it. His mother. Vivek Somani. London.

The broken relationships. The betrayals. The loneliness.

Munna stared at him for several moments before finally shaking his head. “Yeh sab akela jhel liya tune…”

Pandit looked no less upset. “Ek phone toh kar sakta tha.”

Sameer smiled faintly. “Kya bolta?”

“Sach bolta.” Munna answered without missing a beat. “Dosti aise waqt ke liye hi hoti hai.”

Pandit nodded. “Haan yaar. Humse kya sharmana. Ek phone karta toh hum dono haazir ho jaate.”

Sameer didn’t reply. He simply lowered his eyes for a brief moment. The conversation lightened again when Neha asked about the wedding. This time it was Naina who answered. She briefly recounted how life had unexpectedly brought her and Sameer back together after years apart and how friendship had slowly transformed into trust, companionship and finally marriage.

“Achha…” Munna frowned dramatically. “Aur humein shaadi mein bulana zaroori nahi samjha?”

Pandit immediately joined in. “Haan! Naa hamari shaadi me aaya aur naa hi apni shaadi me hunein bulaya. Itna paraya bana diya humko.”

Sameer exchanged an almost imperceptible glance with Naina before smiling. “Woh… kahani phir kabhi.”

Something in both their expressions made Munna and Pandit realize there was much more to the story than they were being told. Without another question, Munna leaned back comfortably. “Chhodo.” He grinned. “School yaad hai?”

That was all it took. The room echoed with laughter as one memory after another came tumbling out. The cricket ball that had shattered the Principal’s office window. Pandit’s yearly resolution to become a serious student that never survived beyond the first week. Munna convincing Sameer to bunk the library period, only for the class monitor to catch all three of them within ten minutes.

“Arre monitor nahi…” Munna laughed. “Poora CID thi yeh.”

Deepika burst into laughter. “Naina Bhabhi?”

“Bilkul.” Pandit pointed accusingly at her. “Teacher ko report karne se pehle paanch minute ka bhi time nahi deti thi.”

Naina couldn’t help laughing herself. “Kyunki tum teeno paanch minute mein doosri shararat shuru kar dete the.”

“Aur Sameer bhaiya?” Deepika asked eagerly.

“Yeh?” Munna snorted. “Sabse shareef dikhne wala aur andar se sabse bada shaitaan.”

“Galat ilzaam hai,” Sameer replied, smiling into his teacup. “I was merely guilty by association.”

“Association?” Munna exclaimed. “Saari planning toh tu karta tha!”

Everyone laughed again. Naina found herself smiling more than she had expected. None of these stories were new. She had witnessed almost every one of them during those two years at Pragati Vidya Ka Mandir. As class monitor, she had spent an unreasonable amount of time chasing after this troublesome trio, confiscating cricket balls, complaining to teachers, and trying – usually unsuccessfully – to maintain some semblance of discipline.

And yet… Hearing those same incidents today felt entirely different. The mischievous seventeen-year-old sitting amidst his closest friends seemed worlds apart from the composed, burdened man life had shaped him into. It felt as though, for the first time, she was getting to meet that carefree version of Sameer again.

She found herself quietly hoping that perhaps… he wasn’t completely lost after all.

The laughter had only just begun to settle when Pandit suddenly looked towards Sameer. “Waise…” A mischievous smile spread across his face. “‘Safari Suit’ ke thappad yaad hain?”

The room fell silent. Almost instantly. Because every one of them except Rohan, Deepika and Aman knew exactly who “Safari Suit” had been. Rakesh Agarwal. Naina’s father. And just like that, the past walked quietly into the room once again.

 

The words had barely left Pandit’s mouth before the atmosphere in the room shifted. The smile on Naina’s face faded almost imperceptibly. It lasted only a moment. Yet it was long enough. Munna noticed it. So did Pandit.

Both men exchanged a quick glance, instantly realizing that they had stumbled upon a part of Sameer and Naina’s story that neither of them was ready to share. Without a word, the subject changed as naturally as if it had never been spoken.

“Arre chhodo…” Munna waved his hand dismissively before looking towards Pandit with a mischievous grin. “Principal Pandey yaad hain?”

Pandit’s face lit up immediately. “Arre!” he laughed. “Subah ki prayer ke baad shayari sunaye bina unka din hi shuru nahi hota tha.”

Within seconds he was on his feet, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing the drawing room exactly the way the elderly principal used to during morning assembly.

“‘Bachcho…'” he declared in a booming voice. “‘Jeevan mein safalta paani hai toh…'” He paused dramatically, raising one finger towards the ceiling. “‘…mehnat karo!'”

The imitation was so uncannily accurate that laughter rippled across the room. Not to be outdone, Munna immediately joined in, now pacing beside him.

“‘Phoolon ki khushboo hawaon mein hai…'” he recited with exaggerated emotion before suddenly pointing towards Sameer. “‘…aur jo homework nahi karega, woh mere daftar mein hai!'”

Even Jaiprakash threw his head back and laughed. Deepika had tears in her eyes. “Sach mein aise bolte the?”

“Bilkul,” Munna nodded. “Roz nayi shayari hoti thi. Bas ant mein dhamki wahi purani.”

The room dissolved into another round of laughter before Pandit shook his head dramatically. “Aur Shanti Madam…” He sighed theatrically. “Bas naam mat lo.”

“Kyun?” Aman asked, immediately intrigued.

Munna answered before anyone else could. “Puri school ke ladkon ka pehla crush thi.”

Deepika’s eyes widened. “Sach?”

“Sau pratishat sach.” Pandit nodded solemnly. “Jis din class hoti thi uss din attendance sabse zyada hoti thi.”

“Haan…” Munna laughed. “Padhne ke liye koi nahi aata tha… Sab Madam ko dekhne ke liye aate the.”

Everyone burst into laughter once again. Almost instinctively, Sameer lifted both his hands in surrender. “Meri nahi thi.” The room quietened for a second. He looked directly at Naina. “I am serious.” He added with complete sincerity, “Maine kabhi uss nazariye se socha hi nahi.”

Something in his expression made Naina smile despite herself. Munna immediately seized the opportunity. “Ab asia bol raha hai… Tab ki kahani toh kuch aur hi hogi.”

Pandit nodded with exaggerated agreement. “Shaadi ke baad sab aise hi bolte hain.”

Even Naina laughed. The warmth returned to the room as though it had never left.

Watching the exchange from the other end of the sofa, Rohan found himself smiling quietly. The stories themselves weren’t extraordinary. They were the sort of incidents almost every school produced – broken windowpanes during cricket, forgotten homework, failed attempts at bunking classes, teachers with unforgettable habits and classmates who refused to grow up.

Yet listening to Munna and Pandit narrate them, he realised something that had never occurred to him before. Sameer had a childhood. Not merely a past. A real childhood filled with friends, harmless mischief, shared punishments and memories that could still make people laugh years later.

Rohan had none of that. The constant expectations placed upon him had left little room for friendships beyond the classroom, even less for mischief, and almost no stories that could now be retold over cups of tea. For the first time, he understood that while life had later taken much away from Sameer, it had first given him something precious.

And watching his elder brother laugh so freely after years, Rohan found himself quietly grateful that perhaps, just for this evening… he had found that carefree seventeen-year-old once again.

 

Dinner was served soon afterwards. The long dining table looked particularly inviting that evening. Fresh rotis arrived one after another from the kitchen, accompanied by fragrant matar-paneer, dal fry tempered with cumin and garlic, steaming jeera rice, and a generous bowl of dry bhindi masala that Sarla Kaki had specially prepared after Sameer had casually mentioned it was Munna and Pandit’s favourite since their school days. Beside it sat a separate serving dish of lightly seasoned aloo-gobhi, cooked without chillies especially for little Parth and Vinay.

Munna’s eyes immediately found the bhindi. “Arre… yeh toh hamari favourite thi.”

Sameer smiled as he passed the bowl towards him. “Yaad tha.”

Munna looked at him for a moment before shaking his head with an affectionate smile. “Kuch cheezein tu kabhi bhoolta hi nahi.”

The meal settled into the easy rhythm that only old friends and family could create. Plates were passed around, rotis exchanged from one end of the table to the other, while conversations branched naturally into smaller groups.

The men spoke of Ahmedabad, of how rapidly the city had changed over the past decade, eventually drifting back to Maheshwari Industries. Aman and Rohan occasionally joined in, filling Munna and Pandit in on some of the more amusing incidents from the office, while Jaiprakash listened contentedly, adding the occasional observation that only decades of experience could offer.

At the other end of the table, Neha and Kavita found themselves drawn towards Naina. “So…” Neha asked with a warm smile, “kitna mahina chal raha hai?”

Naina smiled shyly. “Abhi paanchva chal raha hai… solah tareekh se chhatha shuru hoga.”

Both women nodded knowingly. “Abhi se dhyaan aur zayda rakhna hoga,” Kavita said. “Iss time bahut si cheezein badalti hain.”

Conversation flowed effortlessly from there. Morning sickness. Sudden cravings. Sleepless nights. The endless stream of advice every expectant mother seemed to receive from relatives, neighbours and complete strangers alike.

Neha laughed as she recalled her pregnancy. “Parth hone wala tha tab Manoj ko lagta tha har paanch minute mein poochhna zaroori hai – ‘theek ho?'”

Kavita joined in immediately. “Mere wale toh doctor se bhi bade doctor ban gaye the.”

Across the table, both husbands protested at once, insisting they had merely been responsible. Their wives ignored them completely.

Naina laughed so hard that she had to put her glass down before answering. “Mere saath bhi kuch aisa hi hai.”

Three curious faces immediately turned towards her. She lowered her eyes with a faint blush. “Sach kahun toh… mujhse zyada careful toh yeh rehte hain.” Her gaze shifted almost unconsciously towards Sameer. “Meri medicines, walks, doodh… sab inhe yaad rehta hai. Kabhi kabhi toh mujhe lagta hai doctor se bhi zyada pregnancy ki books inhone padhi hain.”

Sameer looked entirely unapologetic. “Koi toh responsible hona chahiye.”

That single sentence was all Aman needed. He placed his spoon down dramatically. “Responsible toh theek hai, SJM…” Everyone looked towards him. “…lekin pregnancy ke baad se aap hygiene inspector ban gaye hain.” Laughter rippled across the table. Aman continued with complete seriousness. “Kahin bhi jaana ho toh pehle inspection hota hai. Roadside stall saaf hai ya nahi. Juice machine dhuli hui hai ya nahi. Restaurant ka kitchen kitna clean hoga uska andaaza. Mount Abu mein toh teen dukaan reject kar di thi aapne.”

“Chaar,” Sameer corrected calmly.

“Teesri ke baad hi samajh gaya tha,” Aman replied with a sigh. “Chauthi wali ko toh maine hi fail kar diya gaya.”

Even Munna and Pandit began laughing. “Yaar, tu pehle aisa nahi tha.”

Sameer simply shrugged. “Ab zarurat hai.”

There was no embarrassment in his voice. Only quiet conviction.

Naina smiled to herself. “Achha hi hai,” she admitted softly. “Mujhe toh kuch sochna hi nahi padta.” For a brief moment, everyone’s expressions softened. It wasn’t merely the words. It was the trust with which she had spoken them. 

The conversation soon drifted elsewhere once again. The children had long finished eating and returned to the drawing room, where their colouring books lay spread across the carpet. Every few minutes either Parth or little Vinay came running back to proudly display another completed page – a green elephant, a purple tree or a bright orange lion – before hurrying away to finish the next one.

Deepika, meanwhile, was fighting an entirely different battle. The long day at college, followed by the excitement of meeting Sameer’s friends, had clearly exhausted her. She suppressed one yawn after another, stubbornly refusing to admit defeat.

Rohan watched her with barely concealed amusement. “Jaake so ja.”

She shook her head immediately. “Nahi.”

Naina looked at her for a moment before smiling knowingly. “Ice cream ke liye jag rahi ho?”

Caught instantly, Deepika grinned sheepishly before nodding. “Bilkul.”

The entire table burst into laughter. Even Jaiprakash chuckled. “Bachpana gaya hi nahi.”

“Jaane bhi nahi dungi,” Deepika declared proudly, earning another round of laughter.

By the time Sarla Kaki returned carrying a dish with kaju katli, motichoor laddoos and dry-fruit barfi that Rohan had brought home, followed shortly afterwards by bowls of vanilla, chocolate and butterscotch ice cream, everyone had settled into that rare, comfortable contentment that only good food, familiar company and an unhurried evening could create.

It was at that very moment that Sameer’s mobile phone, resting beside his plate, began to ring. Almost absent-mindedly, he glanced at the screen. The smile on his face faded. His eyes instinctively sought Naina’s for the briefest of moments before he quietly excused himself from the table and stepped out onto the verandah.

The evening had settled gently over Ellisbridge. The garden below lay bathed in soft yellow pools of light from the pathway lamps. A cool breeze rustled through the neem and gulmohar trees, setting the leaves whispering softly amongst themselves. Somewhere beyond the compound wall, crickets had begun their nightly chorus, the familiar sound blending with the faint laughter that drifted from the dining room behind him.

“Bua-Dadi,” he greeted warmly, resting one hand against the wooden railing. “Kaise hain aap?”

On the other end, Phulla Bua-Dadi’s voice carried an unusual seriousness. “Main theek hoon beta… lekin aaj daak se ek chitthi aayi hai. Mujhe laga tumhe turant batana chahiye.”

Sameer unconsciously straightened. “Kaisi chitthi?”

“Preeti ki sagai ka nimantran.”

For a moment he said nothing. The laughter from inside suddenly felt strangely distant.

“…Kab hai?”

“Pachchees March.”

A brief pause followed before she added quietly,

“Ladka… Kushal Bajaj.”

Sameer closed his eyes for a fleeting moment. Only now did the deadline have a date.

“Tumhe pehle se pata tha?” she asked gently, sensing his silence.

“Date nahi pata thi,” he admitted. “Lekin yeh pata chal gaya tha ke roka Kushal Bajaj ke saath hua hai.”

A worried sigh escaped from the other end. “Beta… kya karein ab? Meri toh samajh hi nahi aata. Itna sab hone ke baad bhi woh log apni doosri beti ka rishta ussi parivaar mein kaise kar sakte hain?”

Sameer’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Compensation,” he replied quietly. “Unhe lagta hai Naina ki wajah se itne bade gharane se rishta toot gaya… toh Preeti ki shaadi ussi ghar mein ho jayegi toh sab theek ho jayega.”

The breeze picked up slightly, carrying with it the faint fragrance of night-blooming jasmine from somewhere in the garden. “Lekin…” he continued, his voice calm despite the anger beneath it, “…woh log yeh nahi jaante ke apni beti ko kis khaai mein dhakel rahe hain.”

Silence stretched between them. Then, very softly, Phulla Bua-Dadi asked, “Tumhe… pata chal gaya beta? Naina ke saath asal mein hua kya tha?”

Sameer’s gaze drifted towards the darkness beyond the garden. “Haan…”

His answer was barely above a whisper. “Sab pata chal gaya.” A long pause followed. “Kya hua tha?” she asked hesitantly. “Kisne bataya tumhe?”

“Naina ne.” His expression softened immediately. “Bahut himmat karke… usne khud mujhe sab bataya.”

Phulla Bua-Dadi waited. She knew there was more. When Sameer didn’t continue, she quietly asked, “Mujhe bataoge?”

He took a slow breath. “Bua-Dadi…” His voice was gentle. “Ek din zaroor bataunga. Par aaj nahi.” He looked back through the open doors towards the dining room. Naina was laughing at something Deepika had said, her smile finally free of the hesitation that had shadowed it for so many months.

“Woh uski kahani hai.” He smiled faintly. “Jab tak woh khud na chahe… main kisi aur ko nahi bata sakta.”

For a few seconds, only the sound of the wind moving through the trees filled the silence between them. Then Phulla Bua-Dadi spoke again. “Theek hai beta.”

There wasn’t disappointment in her voice. Only understanding. “Bas itna jaan kar hi tasalli hai ke meri bachchi ne kisi par itna bharosa toh kiya.”

“Haan.” Sameer’s smile deepened ever so slightly. “Aur Ahmedabad aane se pehle…” he continued, “…mujhe ijazat bhi de di ke Bajaj parivaar ke saath main jaise theek samjhun waise deal kar sakta hoon.”

His voice grew firmer. “Preeti ke rishte ke baare mein pata chalne ke baad se hum sab isi baat par kaam kar rahe hain.”

“Bas…” He looked once more into the darkness beyond the garden. “…ab waqt bahut kam reh gaya hai.”

The older woman remained quiet for a long while. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its urgency. Only a grandmother’s concern remained.

“Meri bachchi kaisi hai ab?”

Sameer’s eyes instinctively found Naina once more. She was smiling at little Parth, who had proudly run over to show everyone his brightly coloured giraffe.

“Bahut behtar.” His reply came without hesitation. “Dheere dheere theek ho rahi hai. Ab woh apne ateet se bhaagti nahi. Uska saamna kar rahi hai.”

A quiet sniffle came through the receiver. “Pata nahi kab mil paungi usse… Aur ab Preeti bhi…”

Sameer spoke before her thoughts could spiral further. “Aap chinta mat kijiye.” His voice carried a quiet certainty. “Naina bilkul theek ho jayegi. Aur Preeti…” He paused deliberately. “…usse hum kuch nahi hone denge.”

He smiled to himself. “Aaj hi Naina mere school ke doston se mili hai. Dheere dheere woh phir se logon se jud rahi hai. Preeti se milne ke liye bhi taiyar hai. Bas sahi mauke ka intezaar hai.”

The breeze stirred again, gently swaying the branches overhead. “Mujhe poora yakeen hai… woh din bhi door nahi jab woh khud aapse milne ki baat karegi.”

For several moments, Phulla Bua-Dadi said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled with emotion. “Thank you, beta. Sach kahun… yeh sab tumhari wajah se mumkin ho raha hai.”

Sameer smiled quietly. “Nahi, Bua-Dadi. Yeh sab Naina ki himmat ki wajah se ho raha hai. Main toh bas uske saath khada hoon.”

The call ended a few moments later. Sameer lowered the phone slowly, remaining where he was. The wind continued to rustle through the trees, the crickets sang uninterrupted, and from inside the house came another burst of laughter – warm, carefree, untouched by the storm that was slowly gathering.

He looked once towards the dining room. Then down at the dark garden below. Twenty-fifth March. Fifteen days. That was all the time they had. Whatever had to be done would have to begin now.

 

Across another part of Ahmedabad, the atmosphere inside the Agarwal house couldn’t have been more different. The house bustled with preparations. Lengths of silk sarees lay draped over the sofa. Jewellery catalogues remained scattered across the centre table. Two elderly relatives debated invitation lists while someone in the kitchen discussed sweet orders with a caterer over the telephone. Every now and then a burst of laughter floated down the corridor as another wedding-related suggestion was offered.

To anyone looking in from outside, it was the picture of a family celebrating.Only one person in the house knew otherwise.

Preeti sat quietly on the edge of her bed, the engagement invitation resting open in her lap.

 She hadn’t even changed after returning home. The sunflower-yellow cotton salwar-kameez she wore should have made her look bright and cheerful. Instead, against her pale face and swollen eyes, it only seemed painfully out of place.

Her fingers drifted absent-mindedly over the embossed golden lettering.

Preeti Agarwal

with

Kushal Bajaj

The names blurred before her eyes. She blinked away the moisture gathering there. She still didn’t know what had truly happened between Naina and Manav Bajaj. No one did. Or perhaps… No one cared enough to know.For everyone else in the family, the matter had been settled long ago. 

Naina had betrayed her fiancé. Naina had dishonoured the family. Naina had committed a crime.

That was the truth they had all chosen to believe. Only Preeti had never been able to accept it. She still remembered the morning Naina had stumbled home.

The torn clothes. The bruises. The cuts. The swollen face.

How could someone returning from an affair look like that?

Twice she had gathered enough courage to ask the questions that refused to leave her mind.

If Naina had truly run away with someone else, then why had she been covered in injuries?

If Manav Bajaj had already known about the affair, then why had he come to the house only the next morning? Why not immediately? Why wait?

Both times, her questions had been answered the same way. Not with explanations. But with a sharp slap from Taiji across her face.

The first for defending Naina. The second for daring to question her elders.

After that… She had stopped asking aloud. Not because the questions had disappeared. But because she had realised nobody wanted the real answers.

Her own parents still softened whenever Naina’s name surfaced unexpectedly. Every now and then she caught her mother quietly wiping away a tear or her father falling silent during family conversations.

There was affection. There was regret. Perhaps even guilt.

But none of it had been enough. Not enough to stand beside the girl they had once loved as their own daughter. Not enough to search for the truth. Not enough to bring her home.

The invitation trembled slightly in Preeti’s hands. Whatever had happened… She trusted Naina. Completely. Her sister would never have deliberately broken an engagement unless something unimaginably terrible had happened. That certainty had never left her. And perhaps that was why the invitation lying before her no longer looked like an invitation at all.

It looked like a beautifully decorated death sentence.

She closed her eyes. Almost a year had passed since the roka. For most of that time, Kushal Bajaj had remained in Dubai, working alongside his cousin, Manav. Those months had been her only respite. The engagement had existed merely on paper. No visits. No shopping together. No endless conversations. Only the occasional phone call that she somehow managed to keep painfully short. But now they were back. Every passing day seemed to tighten the invisible noose around her future.

Gold jewellery had begun arriving for selection. Relatives discussed sarees and guest lists with infectious excitement. Tailors came and went. Someone was always talking about wedding dates. Nobody seemed to notice that the bride herself was quietly disappearing.

She didn’t want the heavy gold necklaces. She didn’t want the expensive sarees. She didn’t want a grand wedding.

She wanted only one thing. Naina.

Her thoughts drifted helplessly through every failed attempt she had made over the past several months.

She had even gathered enough courage to telephone SJM Enterprises, foolishly believing that if she explained everything, someone might somehow connect her to Sameer Maheshwari. The receptionist had remained polite. Professional. Unyielding. Appointments had procedures. Calls had protocols. Nobody could simply ask to speak with the Chairman. The line had disconnected long before she had found the courage to explain why she was calling.

She had searched through old Yellow Pages directories for Manoj Sharma and Purushottam Pandit, hoping against hope that one of them might still live in Ahmedabad. Only later had it occurred to her that the telephone connections were probably registered under their fathers’ names. Names she had never known.

She had persuaded her father to take her to Pragati Vidya Ka Mandir under the pretext of wanting to revisit her old school. She had wandered through the familiar corridors, looked towards the playground where they had once played kho-kho, smiled faintly at the assembly ground… But Jaiprakash Maheshwari hadn’t come that day.

Then, almost as though destiny had finally taken pity on her, she had met him unexpectedly at the temple. For one glorious moment she had believed everything would finally be all right. Only for Taiji to appear almost instantly, gripping her wrist and pulling her away before she had managed to speak more than a few hurried words. Even that tiny ray of hope had slipped through her fingers.

A tear rolled silently down her cheek. She bent slowly and opened the bottom drawer of her bedside table. Hidden beneath neatly folded hand towels lay an old teddy bear. Its once-brown fur had faded with age. One button eye sat slightly crooked. The ribbon around its neck had disappeared years ago.

She gathered it carefully into her arms. It had never belonged to just one of them. Whenever one sister cried, the teddy automatically became hers until she smiled again. Back then, they had believed sadness could be shared. That holding the same teddy somehow made everything hurt a little less.

Preeti buried her face into its worn fur. “Naina…” The name escaped as little more than a broken whisper. Fresh tears soaked into the old fabric.

Was this truly what daughters were raised for? To grow up. To obey. And then quietly accept whatever future someone else had chosen for them.

Outside her room, another burst of laughter echoed through the house as relatives continued discussing engagement preparations. Inside, the silence felt suffocating. She didn’t know how to reach the one person she needed most. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep pretending.

What she didn’t know… was that she was no longer fighting alone. Elsewhere in the city, beneath another roof, plans had already begun to take shape. People who loved her were quietly moving pieces she could not yet see. All she had to do was hold on for a little while longer.

At that very moment, in Ellisbridge, Naina rested quietly beside her husband, her thoughts drifting – once again – to the sister she missed with every passing day. Neither of them knew it. But perhaps hearts that had grown together since childhood never truly lost their way to one another. Even across the same city, separated by walls, silence and circumstance, they still found each other in thought.