6 years Later

The morning in Hyderabad was still and peaceful, the sun creeping in through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Priya woke with the quiet rhythm of a life she had come to embrace—steady, purposeful, and full of the small moments that anchored her to the present. She stretched, feeling the warmth of the bed fade away, and then, with careful, almost hesitant steps, she made her way across the room.

Her feet padded softly on the floor as she reached Peehu's door. She paused before opening it, taking a breath, as if savoring the stillness of this precious moment. The air was cool, a hint of winter's breath beginning to linger. With a gentle hand, Priya pushed the door open just a crack, peering in at her daughter, who lay cocooned in blankets, her little puppy nestled beside her. Peehu was a picture of peace—soft breaths rising and falling, the curve of her tiny face relaxed in sleep. Priya smiled tenderly, her heart swelling with an affection she could never quite put into words.

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the top of Peehu's head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gentle touch felt like a promise—a promise of care, of love, and of the quiet bond they shared. Priya didn't need to say a word; her heart spoke volumes in that soft caress.

Reluctantly, she turned away and made her way to the bathroom to freshen up, her mind already moving toward the tasks of the day. But the thought of Peehu, peaceful and untouched by the world outside, stayed with her like a quiet song in her heart.

Back in the kitchen, the scent of brewing coffee filled the air, a small comfort in the early hours. Priya moved through the motions, setting out the coffee beans, the mug, and the sugar with practiced hands. She had mastered the art of small routines, the kind that made each day feel like its own gentle rhythm.

And then, just as she poured the hot water into the coffee press, she heard the soft patter of footsteps behind her. She turned to find Peehu, rubbing her eyes with one hand and holding her little puppy with the other. The sight made Priya's heart flutter—how sweetly her daughter had grown, yet how small she still seemed in her sleepy daze.

Peehu's eyes, still half-closed, met her mother's, and without a word, Priya reached down and lifted her in her arms. She was so light, so warm, and in that moment, it felt as though time itself had slowed to a hush. Priya held her close, her heart full as Peehu rested her head against her mother's neck.

"Good morning, my little princess," Priya whispered, her voice thick with affection.

Peehu's tiny arms wrapped around Priya's neck, and in the softest voice, she replied, "Good morning."

To Priya, it was like the sound of a bird chirping softly in her ear—a simple, pure sound that echoed with warmth and love. There was no other greeting that could fill her heart the way Peehu's did. It was a sound that reminded her of the quiet beauty of motherhood, of the way a child could bring meaning to even the smallest moments.

As Priya held her daughter close, she knew—this was the life she had built, the one she fought for. And in that soft, sleepy morning light, it felt like everything she had once lost had come full circle, right into her arms.

The day unfolded like any other, a blend of routine and quiet moments that marked the rhythm of Priya's life. As the sun stretched its golden fingers across the Hyderabad skyline, Priya sat at the wheel of her car, her heart anchored in the warmth of the morning. In the passenger seat, Peehu sat with her little backpack, her legs dangling, her eyes still heavy with the remnants of sleep. The world outside the car seemed to blur as Priya drove, lost in the hum of the engine and the comfort of having her daughter by her side.

As they drove through the bustling streets, Priya broke the silence with a soft, inquisitive tone. "How many friends do you have at school, Peehu?" she asked, her eyes glancing over with a gentle smile.

Peehu blinked, her fingers tracing the outline of the seat as she thought. "Only two, Mama," she replied in her sweet, soft voice.

Priya raised an eyebrow, half surprised. "two? Already?"

Peehu nodded, a tiny frown on her face. "Yes, Mama."

A quiet pause settled between them before Priya's voice broke the stillness again, filled with the familiar concern of a mother. "And how are the teachers, Peehu? Are they good to you? And you're good to them, right?"

Peehu looked at her mother with a mixture of innocence and assurance. She gave a small nod, her eyes sparkling just a bit as she answered, "Yes, Mama. They're nice. And I'm good."

Priya smiled, the weight of her concern lightened by her daughter's gentle confidence. She reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair from Peehu's face as they approached the school gates.

The car slowed to a stop, and Priya parked by the curb. The familiar sight of the school brought a tug at her heartstrings. It was a moment she had come to know well—each morning a little bittersweet.

Priya got out of the car and opened the door for Peehu. "Okay, baby, time to go," she said softly.

Peehu grabbed her bag, stepping out and looking up at her mother. The uncertainty of a child leaving her mother's embrace for the day flickered in her wide eyes. "Mumma, we're going to the park on Sunday, right?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

Priya's heart softened. She crouched down, meeting Peehu at eye level. "Of course, darling," she reassured her, "but remember to be nice to Isha Aunty. She'll pick you up from here. And don't be stubborn about eating well, okay?"

Peehu's lips curled into a small, obedient smile as she nodded. "I won't be stubborn, Mama."

With a deep breath, Priya leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Peehu's soft cheek. The warmth of that moment, that simple gesture, filled Priya's heart with a mixture of love and sadness. Every day, every time she had to let her daughter go, it felt like a little piece of her was being left behind.

But this was the life she had built—a life of quiet strength, of love that moved through the spaces between goodbyes and hellos. It was a life that required letting go, even when it hurt more than words could say.

As Peehu walked toward the school entrance, Priya stood there, watching her daughter's small figure blend with the crowd of children. She watched until the last glimpse of Peehu disappeared behind the gates, and only then did she turn away, her heart heavy but resolute.

Leaving Peehu every day like this broke her heart, but it was the only way she knew how to survive this life. It was the quiet sacrifice of motherhood—the letting go, the trusting, the loving from afar.

The olrex buldings's glass facade shimmered in the morning light as Priya stepped out of her car, the warmth of the sun brushing against her face. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and glanced toward the entrance, where a familiar figure was just crossing the threshold.

Aryan.

He paused mid-step, catching sight of her. His lips curved into a playful smile as Priya walked toward him, her own smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Well, look at that," Priya teased lightly. "Our timing matched again."

Aryan tilted his head with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. "I wish it could be like this every day."

Priya raised an eyebrow, her smile deepening. "Are you flirting with me again, Aryan?" she asked, her tone half-amused, half-mocking.

"You already know everything about me," Aryan replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Priya laughed softly, shaking her head as she reached out to hold his hand, a natural gesture between friends—or perhaps something more. Together, they walked into the hospital, the world around them a blur of bustling staff and hurried patients.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside, standing side by side as the floor numbers ticked upward. The space was filled with the quiet hum of the elevator, a silence that felt oddly comfortable. Neither spoke, but the presence of the other seemed to fill the air with an unspoken ease.

When the elevator reached the fourth floor, it came to a gentle stop, and Priya stepped out, heading toward her clinic. She had just reached the door when Aryan's voice called out, stopping her in her tracks.

"Let's have lunch together," he said, his tone casual but warm.

Priya turned her head, her expression softening. Without saying a word, she nodded—a simple gesture that carried a thousand unspoken promises.

The elevator doors closed with a quiet hiss, and Aryan disappeared from view. Priya stood there for a moment longer, her hand resting lightly on the handle of her clinic door, a small smile playing on her lips. Then, with a quiet exhale, she stepped inside, ready to begin her day.

It was a small moment, fleeting and ordinary to anyone else. But to Priya, these moments with Aryan had become threads in the tapestry of her life—subtle, warm, and quietly meaningful.