▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Siya regrets it. She completely regrets letting Rudra eat the absurdly overpriced chocolate croissant.

She should've just stuck to her plan, gotten her coffee, handed him his hot chocolate, and then proceeded calmly to their gate, like two normal, functioning human beings—mother and son—on a mission to make their flight.

No, she had to give in to the cuteness. But the thing is, Rudra has this face.

This face that she cannot, for the life of her, say no to. His eyes, already big and round like two soft, innocent orbs, seem to grow even larger when he's trying to convince her of something.

And that's the thing—he doesn't even need to try hard. The moment he looks up at her, his gaze filled with all the vulnerability of a little puppy, Siya feels like she's about to melt into a puddle on the spot.

How did a kid who's barely five years old learn how to make her feel like this?

His nose, which currently has a Spiderman Band-Aid on it, twitches like a bunny, his messy hair flying in all directions like he's been through some kind of whirlwind.

And don't even get her started on his pout. The damn pout that could rival any professional actor's dramatic performance.

Every time Rudra pushes his lower lip out, she's sure that the whole world is going to stop and take notice. It's like he's discovered the secret to controlling people with just his lips.

But the dimples—oh, the dimples—are the real culprits here.

Out of all the features Rudra could've inherited from Shubman, why did it have to be the dimples? Seriously.

Shubman's dimples were already dangerous enough when Siya first met him—those little indentations that made everything he said seem ten times more charming, every smile of his a weapon of mass distraction.

But Rudra's? Those tiny, irresistible dimples on his little chubby face? They're like nuclear bombs of cuteness. Every time Rudra flashes them, Siya feels this strange, exasperating pull—half love, half frustration—that could probably power a small city for a few hours.

And it's not just any dimpled smile. It's like Rudra knows the exact moment to unleash them. When she's already in the middle of a conversation about the absurdity of an overpriced chocolate croissant or when she's just about to say "no" to something he desperately wants, that's when he does it.

And she melts. Every. Single. Time.

She sighs, mentally scolding herself for falling victim to such an innocent face.

But then she watches Rudra for a second too long—his little legs suddenly taking off like he's a race car, zooming around the airport like it's his personal playground.

He's now pretending to fly like Superman, his arms outstretched in front of him, spinning in circles and making whooshing sounds. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

The sound effects are intense, like he's battling some unseen villain in the skies. He's utterly unbothered by the crowd around them, his giggles echoing in the terminal as if he owns the entire space.

He's a one-man circus, and the rest of the world is just lucky to be in the audience.

"Rudra!" [Rudra!] Siya half-laughs, half-cries, reaching out with a hand to grab his sleeve, knowing full well she's going to have to work some serious magic to get him back to reality. "Thoda dhyan se!" [Be careful!]

But Rudra is way too far gone. His excitement is taking over every single cell in his little body. His tiny feet skid across the polished airport floor as he desperately tries to catch up to some imaginary enemy, all while grinning like he's just won the lottery.

The croissant? Long forgotten.

It's now just a prop in Rudra's one-man circus, a mere afterthought in the frenzy of his own imagination. And Siya? She's the long-suffering audience member, the parent who knows the show is far from over.

"Rudra!" She calls again, her voice a little louder this time, as if that will somehow stop his momentum.

She looks around, half-expecting some amused onlookers to join in on her struggle, but instead, she just gets the sounds of distant chatter and the occasional luggage wheel squeaking across the marble floor. It's just her and Rudra—and Rudra is firmly in his own little world.

He's spinning so fast now that he's dizzy, his legs wobbling like jelly, but instead of stopping, he keeps at it, giggling harder.

"Meri jaan, ruk jaiye, yeh kya kar rahe ho aap?" [Meri jaan, stop, what are you doing?] Siya calls out, trying a new angle—appealing to his more reasonable side. "Dekho, agar aap gir gaye toh kaun uthayega aapko?" [Look, if you fall, who's going to pick you up?]

The threat of potential harm—falling and crying, the entire scene of drama that would follow—should, in theory, work. But no. It has the opposite effect. Rudra's grin widens as he spins even faster, now making the sound of a jet engine—whoooosshhhh!

Siya pinches the bridge of her nose. She should've known better. When Rudra decides to let loose, he's basically an uncontrollable force of nature. And right now, nature is winning.

But then, just like Siya predicted—and, honestly, just like she knew was going to happen—Rudra, with his little band-aid on his nose, spins just a bit too fast.

The world around him blurs for a second, and then, in the most dramatic fashion possible, he loses his footing.

It happens so quickly that Siya doesn't even have time to react. One moment, he's zooming around like he's trying to take flight, and the next, his feet slide out from under him. It's almost like a slow-motion moment, one of those scenes where everything feels suspended in time.

Rudra's arms windmill madly, his tiny legs go flying in the air, and then—thud—he crashes onto the plush carpet of the VIP lounge with all the grace of a falling sack of potatoes.

"RUDRA!" Siya gasps, instantly standing up, her heart now lodged somewhere in her throat.

Panic surges through her, but she forces herself to stay calm, not wanting to add fuel to the fire of this already chaotic moment. "Rudra, baby!" she calls softly, hurrying to his side.

She crouches down, gently lifting him up, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "Pehle hi apko itni chot lagi thi, abhi abhi toh aap thoda recover hona shuru hoye hai." [You already got hurt earlier, and now you're starting to recover.]

Her tone is half-relieved, half-scolding, because, honestly, at this point, she's not sure whether she should be laughing or crying.

Rudra, bless his dramatic little heart, blinks up at her, his eyes as wide as saucers. His body's sprawled out on the carpet like he's auditioning for a role as a starfish in an underwater movie.

He stares at her in complete confusion, as though he has no clue how he ended up in this mess. It's like his brain is still processing the fact that the floor is suddenly a lot closer to him than it was a few seconds ago.

"Mama, I kya kiya?" [Mom, what did I do?] Rudra asks, his voice so sweet and innocent, it could melt even the hardest of hearts.

His little face, all wide-eyed and confused, makes it seem like he was just a helpless bystander in the middle of this tragic accident, as though he had no idea what had just happened. Siya, looking down at him, can't help but chuckle.

She's both relieved and amused. He's perfectly fine. Just a little winded, a few seconds of confusion, but it's a tiny hiccup in his otherwise grand plans for world domination—he'll recover quickly.

That's Rudra for you. Always bouncing back from whatever life throws at him, with his cute pout still firmly in place.

"Puttar ji, tusi theek ho?" [Son, are you alright?]

The voice that suddenly cuts through the air is calm, gentle. Siya's head jerks up in surprise. She hadn't noticed anyone approaching while she was busy tending to Rudra.

Her eyes land on a man  with a salt-and-pepper hair that gives him a dignified yet approachable air. His eyes—kind, observant—crinkle slightly at the corners as he takes a few steps closer, his gaze softening as he watches Rudra try to sit up.

The man radiates a quiet authority, the kind that makes Siya instinctively straighten up, but there's nothing intimidating about him. His concern feels genuine, almost fatherly, and Siya can't help but feel a little reassured.

Siya is about to thank the man when another voice joins the scene—a sharp, slightly exasperated, but affectionate tone.

"Kya Lakhi ji, aap bhi!" [Oh, Lakhi ji, you too!] The woman's words are quick, almost scolding, though the teasing lilt in her tone softens them. "Dhyan rakha karo na! Dekho, tuhade karke bacha gir gaya!" [Be careful! Look, because of you, the child fell!]

Siya's head swivels, and her eyes land on a petite, energetic woman approaching briskly, her bright pink dupatta fluttering behind her.

She's balancing a large purse in one hand and a rolled-up magazine in the other, her expression equal parts concern and amusement as she surveys the situation.

Lakhwinder uncle raises both hands in surrender, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused by the unfolding scene.

"Arre Keart ji, maine kya kiya? Main toh bas dekh raha tha. Yeh sher puttar ji yahan hero banke ghoom rahe the, uska kya?" [What was I doing, Keart ji? I was just watching. This lion cub here was roaming around like a hero, what could I do?]

Keart aunty, standing beside him with one hand firmly planted on her hip, gives him a look that can only be described as affectionate exasperation.

"Haan, haan, aap toh bas dekhte ho na, Lakhi ji." Bas dekhte raho, aur bache girte rahenge." [Yes, yes, all you ever do is watch, right, Lakhi ji? Just keep watching while kids fall over.]

Despite her scolding tone, there's a playful lilt to her voice, and the way she adjusts her bangles with a quick flick of her wrist suggests she's not actually upset.

She turns her attention to Rudra, her expression softening in an instant, transforming from a mildly annoyed wife to a doting grandmother in the blink of an eye.

"Oye, chhote kake, chot lagi hai kya?" [Oye, little one, did you get hurt?] she coos, crouching down slightly so she's at eye level with Rudra, her tone syrupy sweet and brimming with affection. "Dikha mujhe, kithe lagi hai?" [Show me, where does it hurt?]

The jingling of her gold bangles catches Rudra's attention, and his big green eyes dart to her wrists, momentarily distracted by the sound.

But then he remembers his "injury" and adopts a mournful pout that could put a professional actor to shame. He sticks out his elbow dramatically, thrusting it toward her as though presenting evidence in a courtroom.

"Yahan hurt gaya," [It hurt here.] he announces with the gravitas of someone delivering devastating news.

There is nothing there. Absolutely nothing. Rudra's tiny, smooth elbow sits plainly in front of them, unmarked and pristine, as if it's mocking their concern. The three adults exchange brief glances, each one silently asking the same question: Are we seriously doing this?

Siya crouches slightly, leaning in just enough to get a better look, though it's clear from her skeptical expression that she already knows what she's going to find—or not find. Her lips twitch, caught between a sigh and a smile, as she studies the completely normal elbow of her dramatic little boy.

Lakhwinder shifts on his feet, his hands clasped behind his back, and peers over Siya's shoulder. He tilts his head a fraction, but his expression remains neutral, almost bemused, like he's quietly amused by the situation but doesn't want to say it out loud

Keart, crouched closest, purses her lips thoughtfully, as she gently turns Rudra's elbow this way and that, her fingers light and careful.

"Meri jaan," Siya says slowly, the faintest hint of exasperation creeping into her otherwise calm voice. "Yahan toh kuch bhi nahi hai. Aap pakka sure ho ki chot lagi hai?" [There's nothing here. Are you absolutely sure you got hurt?]

Rudra's reaction is immediate and theatrical. His small, round face scrunches up as if he's just heard the gravest insult.

His tiny eyebrows pull together into an adorably fierce pout, his cheeks puffing out just enough to make him look like a disgruntled chipmunk.

With a determined huff, he crosses his arms over his chest, though they're so short that they barely reach his opposite elbows, making the gesture less intimidating and far more endearing.

"It is yahi, Mama," [It's right here, Mama.] he declares with unshakeable certainty, jabbing a finger at his unblemished elbow once again. "Hurt yahan hua hai." [I got hurt here.]

For a moment, Siya simply stares at him, her head tilting slightly as a small, amused smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

She opens her mouth to respond—perhaps to gently remind him of the absence of any visible injury—but Rudra, ever the master of courtroom drama, decides it's time to change his approach.

Before Siya can get another word out, Rudra turns abruptly to Keart, his little arms reaching out to wrap around her as if she is his last hope for justice.

He leans into her side, resting his head against her arm with the kind of unfiltered trust only a child can muster, as though she is not a stranger but someone he has known his entire life.

"Aap understand," [You'll understand.] he says, his voice lowering conspiratorially, his eyes wide with a mix of sincerity and mischief. "Mama never listens to me." [Mama never listens to me.]

For a second, Keart blinks, visibly taken aback by the sudden shift in allegiance. But the surprise quickly melts into delight. Her lips curve into a wide, genuine smile, and she chuckles softly, the sound warm and unguarded.

She places a gentle hand on Rudra's back, patting him with an ease that feels natural, as if this small, dramatic boy has already charmed his way into her heart.

"Haye, mera kaka," [Oh, my little one] she coos, her voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy as she glances sideways at Siya, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Mujhe lagta hai tumhari mama toh bohot strict hai. Itne pyare bache ki baat bhi nahi maanti?" [I think your Mama is very strict. She doesn't even believe such a sweet boy?]

Siya's eyes narrow at Keart, though the mock-annoyance in her expression is betrayed by the twitch of her lips. "Aap uski team mein mat jaiye, please," [Please don't join his team.] she says, her voice dry but good-natured as she crosses her arms again. "Main already har fight isse hi haar jaati hoon." [I already lose every fight to him.]

But Rudra isn't done basking in his victory. With the kind of confidence that only a child who knows he's utterly adored can muster, he tilts his face up toward Keart again.

His green eyes sparkle with mischief, his lashes fluttering just slightly, adding an extra dose of charm. His tiny fingers, warm and soft, reach up to gently grasp her jaw, tugging her gaze back to him as if her answer is the single most important thing in the world at this moment.

His voice, though quiet, carries the weight of a serious question. "You're on my team, haina, dadi?" [You're on my team, right, Grandma?] he asks, the endearment slipping out so naturally, as if she's always held that title in his heart.

Keart's laughter comes softly, her shoulders shaking just a little as her face lights up with joy. Her brown eyes crinkle at the edges, her expression a mix of surprise and tenderness.

She shakes her head slightly, as though amazed at the tiny human clinging to her. "Haan, beta," [Yes, my dear,] she replies, her voice gentle, her hand instinctively reaching out to smooth down his unruly curls. "Main hamesha tumhari team mein hoon." [I'm always on your team.]

At her words, Rudra beams, his earlier pout vanishing in an instant. His lips curl into a smug little smile that could rival a cat that just snagged a bowl of cream.

He shifts closer into Keart's arms, pressing his cheek against her shoulder as though he's found his spot in the world. His small hands, with fingers still a bit sticky from a mid-morning snack, clutch the edge of her dupatta tightly, like he's claiming it—and her—as his own.

Keart adjusts with ease, rising from her crouch and lifting Rudra along with her in one fluid motion. Despite his weight pressing against her hip, she doesn't falter.

She shifts him slightly to one side, supporting him with an arm that seems steady, as if holding children like Rudra is second nature. Her free hand stays on his back, patting him in that slow, instinctive rhythm that feels like home to any child.

Rudra, who usually squirms, whines, or outright wails when someone unfamiliar even tries to touch him, is now a completely different child.

He lets out a small, contented sigh, his tiny frame melting into her hold, his head tilting just enough to rest fully against her shoulder.

His fingers, previously clenched tightly into fists, relax by his sides. It's as if Keart's arms are some kind of magical barrier, and everything chaotic in the world outside no longer matters.

Siya, standing a little off to the side, watches the scene unfold with a look that's part disbelief, part amusement, and entirely resigned. She crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head slightly, studying them like they're the answer to a puzzle she's never been able to figure out.

Rudra, her Rudra, who once screamed bloody murder when her friend tried to pick him up, is now sitting calmly like he's been carried by Keart all his life. She frowns lightly, her lips twitching as if trying to suppress a smile that's equal parts impressed and annoyed.

The betrayal is almost visible—her own son, the one who clung to her like a baby koala and acted like the makhanchor at any given time, is now perfectly content in Keart's arms.

"Bohat shararat karne lage ho aap, Rudra," [You've become very naughty, Rudra,] Siya says, shaking her head in disapproval.

Her voice is deliberately exaggerated, the kind of tone mothers use when they're only pretending to scold their kids.

Rudra, however, seems completely unbothered by her words. If anything, he's entirely in his element. Swinging his tiny legs behind Keart's back, he wiggles slightly to get more comfortable in her hold, like this is exactly where he's meant to be.

He doesn't even spare Siya a glance, as if to say, You can complain all you want, Mamma—I'm not moving.

Keart adjusts Rudra slightly, making sure he's secure and comfortable before turning to Siya. The corner of her lips lifts in a small, amused smile as she watches Siya's frustration.

"Rudra?" [Rudra?] she asks, brushing the hair that are falling in Rudra's eyes. "Bada suna naam rakha hai tusi, beta. Waise beta, aapka naam kya hai?" [You've given him such a big name, huh? By the way, what's your name, beta?]

Siya's smile softens, and she adjusts her stance, looking Keart in the eye, the moment feeling oddly warm despite the lighthearted question. "Ji, mera naam Siya hai," [Yes, my name is Siya.] she says, her tone friendly but with that subtle reserve that one has when meeting someone new.

Keart nods, a thoughtful look crossing her face for a second as she considers the name. "Siya, hmm... bahut accha naam hai," [Siya, hmm... that's a nice name.] she comments, her voice smooth, like she's genuinely pleased.

Siya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, trying to suppress the small blush creeping up on her cheeks, but it's clear that she appreciates the kind words. "Shukriya," [Thank you.] she murmurs, her tone a little lighter now, the ice between them visibly melting.

Before she can say a word, Lakhwinder clears his throat softly, drawing her attention. He takes a step closer, his hands still clasped behind his back, his posture relaxed yet commanding in that fatherly way that makes people listen without realizing it. "Tusi theek toh ho, beta ji?" [Are you okay, beta ji?]

Siya looks up at Lakhwinder uncle, slightly taken aback by his gentle but steady gaze. His question is simple, yet somehow it cuts deeper than she expects. The way he asks, without rushing her to answer, makes it feel like he's really asking, like he's willing to listen.

Siya can feel her shoulders relax as she takes in his presence. She tries not to let it show, but there's something about him that reminds her of her own father, the kind of person who asks these questions not because they need an answer, but because they want to make sure you know you're not alone.

She hesitates for a moment before answering, her fingers fidgeting with the rings on her fingers. "Ji uncle," [Yes, uncle.] she finally says, her voice calm but with a hint of vulnerability that she's not used to showing.

She takes a small breath, gathering her thoughts, before continuing. "Hum pehli baar Rudra ko India leke jaa rahe hain... thoda nervous hai..." [This is the first time we're bringing Rudra to India... I'm a little nervous...]

Lakhwinder uncle listens carefully, his expression never changing, but his eyes soften as he takes in her words.

There's no rush in his demeanor, no expectation for her to say more than she's ready to. He knows how to leave space for someone to open up, but also how to respect their silence when needed.

Siya continues, feeling the weight of the moment slowly lift as she speaks. "Rudra ke liye yeh sab naye hain... aur hum chahte hai ki sab kuch theek ho jaaye." [This is all new for Rudra... and I just wish everything would go smoothly.]

Lakhwinder uncle gives a small nod, his eyes thoughtful. "Beta, jab hum apne bachon ke liye kuch karte hain, toh aise lagta hai ki hum sab bigad na de," [When we do something for our children, then we wish we don't ruin things.] he says with a quiet conviction, like it's a lesson he's learned over the years, passed down through experience.

He pauses, looking over at Rudra, who is happily swaying on Keart's hip, oblivious to the conversation going on around him. "Per jab aap apne bache keliye dil se socte ho, toh sab kuch apne aap theek ho jaata hai." [And when you act from the heart, everything works out on its own.]

Siya feels a warm rush of gratitude at his words. They're simple, yet they strike a chord deep within her, something she didn't even realize she needed to hear. There's a wisdom in his voice, one that she's certain has come from years of navigating life's ups and downs, and it comforts her in a way that words from anyone else might not.

She smiles, a small, appreciative smile, and nods. "Thank you, uncle," [Thank you, uncle.] she says softly, feeling a little lighter.

Lakhwinder uncle gives her a reassuring smile, his eyes twinkling as if he's pleased with her response. "Koi na, beta. Zindagi thoda complex lagti hai, lekin hum apne aap ko samajh lete hai toh sab kuch simple hota hai," [It's alright, beta. Life seems complicated sometimes, but everything becomes simple when we understand our feelings.] he says, his tone almost playful now, as though he's sharing a secret with her.

Siya chuckles softly at his words, feeling an unexpected sense of ease wash over her. There's something in his voice that's calming, like he's the kind of person who could make even the most chaotic situation feel manageable.

"Main zaroor yaad rakhungi," [I'll definitely remember that.] Siya says with a smile, her voice now lighter, the tension she'd been carrying starting to melt away.

There's a sense of reassurance in her tone, something she hadn't expected to feel today, but now that she's heard his words, she feels a little more certain of herself. She's never been good at this whole "childcare" thing, but she's determined to try her best.

Lakhwinder uncle nods at her, his face still soft, but now there's a slight twinkle in his eyes, like he's proud of her. "Bas, yeh yaad rakho, beta," [Just remember this, beta.] he repeats, his voice steady.

The words settle in her heart, and she feels a little lighter. It's as though a weight she didn't even know was there has been lifted, just by talking to him.

Then, with an easy shift in his tone, he adds, "Aacha, ab yeh batao, seat number kounsa hai aap dono ka? Mujhe toh nahi lagta ki chota sher, Keart ji ko chode ga." [Alright, now tell me, what's your seat number? I don't think little Rudra will let Keart ji go anywhere.]

Siya's laughter spills out easily, a natural response to Lakhwinder uncle's words. She watches Rudra, completely absorbed in his new favorite person, Keart.

He's holding on to her like he's found his most trusted ally, swinging his legs with a contentment that can only come from a child who's finally found a reliable companion. The way he's clinging to her, you'd think Keart is some kind of royalty, and Rudra, well, he's the prince.

"Ji, First Class mein 2E aur 2F hai," [Yes, in First Class, it's 2E and 2F.] Siya replies, with a slight nod of her head.

Keart aunty's face lights up immediately, her eyes sparkling with excitement as if the good news was exactly what she needed to hear. "Arre wah, puttar ji, yeh toh bohat aachi baat hai!" [Oh wow, beta, this is great!] she exclaims with that infectious energy of hers.

She looks so pleased, as if she had just won a small personal victory. "Lakhi ji aur meri seat 3E aur 3F hai. Tum dono ke peeche hi hai," [Lakhi ji and I are in 3E and 3F. We're right behind you two.] she adds, her voice full of warmth and pride, the smile on her face wide and genuine.

Siya grins back at her, feeling a little less anxious now. There's something comforting about the way Keart aunty speaks—so open, so welcoming. She doesn't feel like she's intruding on anyone's space, yet it's clear that they'll be there for her and Rudra, quietly supporting them on this journey.

The couple looks at each other for a moment, both exchanging glances that speak volumes about how much they're enjoying the idea of being near the mother and son without actually crowding them.

They look happy—no, more than happy—they look excited, like this flight is something more than just a long trip. It's a chance to share space, to be close to a family without overstepping, a delicate balance that seems to come naturally to them.

Siya feels a sense of reassurance at the thought. It's like having family nearby without the pressure. She exhales, feeling the burden of worry lighten just a little.

"Attention please, Emirates flight EK501 to Mumbai, First Class boarding now," the voice announces, crisp and clear over the speakers, making the air around them seem a little more alive, a little more real.

Siya looks up, the announcement pulling her out of her reverie. It's time. The journey is finally starting, and she feels a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves.

The thought of the long flight ahead, with Rudra's endless energy and now this friendly warm couple, feels oddly comforting. She's ready, or at least, she thinks she is.

"Chalo, time to board!" [Let's go, time to board!] Keart aunty says, her tone excited as she starts to gather her things, the joy practically radiating off her. She's already moving toward the gate, her steps light and eager.

"Lakhwinder ji, dekhna yeh passport sambhalke rakhna, pichhli baar jaise nahi karna!" [Lakhwinder ji, make sure you keep the passport safe—don't mess up like last time!] she calls out, wagging a finger in mock warning at her husband, who is calmly adjusting the handle of his carry-on.

Lakhwinder uncle raises his eyebrows at her, his face a perfect picture of mock innocence. "Tusi bhi na, Keart ji," [Keart ji!] he says, shaking his head in playful resignation. "Ek baar kya ho gaya, uski yaad har trip pe dilate ho! Bas ek passport hi toh galat rakha tha." [You bring that up every time! It happened just once!]

His voice rises slightly as if he's presenting his case in a courtroom, turning to Rudra as if for backup. "Oye chote sher, dadu ke paas aaja." [Oye, little lion, come to Grandpa.]

There's something so natural, so unfiltered about the way they talk, like they've been having this same playful argument for years and still haven't gotten tired of it.

It reminds her of her own parents and how they used to bicker about who forgot what on family vacations.

Siya laughs lightly, the tension easing from her face as they make their way to the gate. She feels a strange sense of calm, surrounded by these two warm, funny strangers and her endlessly curious little boy.

As the boarding queue begins to form and the airline staff start scanning tickets, Siya adjusts her bag again, ready to step into whatever comes next.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The soft hum of the airplane fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the dimmed lights and the gentle rustling of passengers settling in for the long flight.

The world outside is a vast expanse of darkness, punctuated only by the occasional twinkle of distant stars. Inside, the atmosphere is calm, almost serene, as most travelers are either dozing or engrossed in their own quiet routines.

In the cozy bubble of Row 3, Lakhwinder and Keart sit side by side, their voices low as they talk, careful not to disturb the sleeping passengers around them.

Rudra is curled up in Keart's arms, his small body snug against her chest, his face relaxed in deep, untroubled sleep. His head rests perfectly on the soft folds of her dupatta, and every so often, his tiny hand twitches as though chasing a dream.

Keart adjusts her arm carefully, making sure Rudra's head stays nestled comfortably against her chest. The faint hum of the plane seems to lull him further into his dreams, his little fingers clutching the edge of her dupatta with a kind of instinctive trust.

She strokes his hair slowly, her touch tender and rhythmic, as if this small gesture is as soothing for her as it is for the child in her arms. Her gaze lingers on his face, studying every soft curve and delicate feature.

A wistful smile tugs at her lips as she tilts her head slightly, whispering softly, "Bilkul apne kake jaisa lagta hai. Dekho na ji, same to same gallan, same to same naak, dimple, bilkul apne Shub ke smile ki tarah." [He looks exactly like our son. Look, the same cheeks, the same nose, the dimples—just like Shub's smile.]

Her words hang in the air for a moment, carrying with them a warmth laced with a tinge of nostalgia. She continues, her voice dropping even lower, almost as if afraid to disturb Rudra's peaceful sleep.

"Agar mujhe pata na hota na, toh mujhe lagta ki yeh Shub ka hi beta hai. Bilkul ekdum photocopy lagta hai." [If I didn't already know, I would have thought this was Shub's son. He looks like an exact copy.]

Lakhwinder, sitting beside her, glances sideways at his wife, his brows lifting slightly in surprise at her words. He shifts in his seat, leaning his forearm on the armrest as he peers over at Rudra's sleeping face.

His expression softens as he looks, his usual humor giving way to something quieter, more contemplative. "Haan, baat toh sahi hai," [Yes, you're right.] he murmurs after a long pause, nodding slowly as he takes in the little boy's features.

"Woh hi gol-gol chehra, woh hi dimple, aur woh shaitani jo aankhon se chhup hi nahi sakti." [The same round face, the same dimples, and that mischief that can't be hidden from the eyes.]

He chuckles softly, the sound barely audible. "Pata nahi, Keart ji, par jab yeh hans raha tha na, toh mujhe laga ki ek pal ke liye Shubman hi samne khada hai." [I don't know, Keart ji, but when he was smiling earlier, I felt like, for a moment, Shubman himself was standing in front of me.]

Keart's hand pauses for a moment in Rudra's hair as she processes his words, her gaze still fixed on the child. She lets out a soft sigh, her smile deepening, though her eyes grow a little distant.

"Mujhe bhi aisa hi laga," [Even I felt the same,] she admits quietly, her tone softer now, tinged with a wistfulness she rarely allows herself to express.

For a moment, there's silence between them, just the soft hum of the plane and the rhythmic rise and fall of Rudra's small chest as he sleeps soundly.

Then Lakhwinder breaks the quiet, his voice low and thoughtful, though there's a subtle edge of concern beneath it. "Baat hui Ishan se?" [Did you talk to Ishan?] he asks, leaning back in his seat slightly.

His words are casual, but the weight they carry is unmistakable. "Woh bol raha tha Shub ko bukhar aa gaya tha. Mujhe toh laga ki bas thakaan hogi, par sunne mein aaya hai ki din-raat practice kar raha hai, bina rest liye." [He was saying Shub got a fever. I thought it might just be exhaustion, but I heard he's been practicing day and night without taking any rest.]

Keart's brows knit tighter, her worry deepening as she tightens her hold on Rudra without even realizing it. The soft weight of the child in her arms brings a strange comfort, but the thought of Shubman—her son, her Shub—being so far away and struggling silently eats away at her.

"Haan, Ishan se baat hui thi," [Yes, I spoke to Ishan.] she repeats softly, her voice slower and heavier, as though the words are fragile and require careful handling.

Her gaze doesn't leave Rudra's face, as if looking at his innocence might shield her from the weight of what she's about to say. "Woh keh raha tha ki Shubman ne apne upar itna pressure daal liya hai ki uska immune system weak ho gaya. Aur woh sirf physical stress ki baat nahi kar raha tha, Lakhi ji." [He said Shubman has put so much pressure on himself that his immune system has weakened. And he was not talking about physical stress, Lakhi ji.]

She pauses, exhaling deeply as she collects her thoughts. "Bukhar ka reason sirf practice nahi hai, Lakhi ji. Woh sota hi nahi hai." [The fever isn't just because of practice, Lakhi ji. He doesn't sleep.]

Lakhwinder shifts in his seat, his hands clasped tightly together as his elbows rest on his knees. His fingers tap against each other absently, a habit he's always had when something weighs heavily on his mind.

"Machine jaisa ban gaya hai Shubman," [Shubman has become like a machine.] he mutters, his voice low and filled with frustration that's not directed at anyone in particular.

"Kaam, practice, matches—jaise zindagi mein aur kuch hai hi nahi. Kitni baar kaha maine, beta, thoda apne doston ke saath time bita, thoda relax kar. Par woh... woh toh bas ek smile deta hai aur 'Ji, Papa,' bol ke baat khatam kar deta hai." [Work, practice, matches—as if there's nothing else in his life. How many times have I told him, son, spend some time with your friends, relax a little? But he... he just smiles and says, 'Yes, Papa,' and ends the conversation.]

He shakes his head, his voice growing softer. "Uske baad, wahi din aur raat ki routine shuru. Jaise kisi cycle mein phas gaya ho." [After that, the same daily routine starts, like he's stuck in a cycle.]

Keart nods, her fingers continuing their gentle motion through Rudra's hair, her eyes flickering with sadness. "Yaad hai, Lakhi ji? Woh aloo ke paranthe aur butter chicken kitna pasand karta tha? Mere haath ke bane paranthe, bina makhan ke toh khata hi nahi tha. Ab agar main woh bana doon, toh dekhta bhi nahi hai unki taraf. Aisa lagta hai ki khush rehne ka tareeka usse bhool gaya hai." [Do you remember, Lakhi ji, how much he used to love aloo parathas and butter chicken? He wouldn't eat my parathas without butter. Now, even if I make it, he doesn't even look at them. It feels like he's forgotten how to be happy.]

"Pehle toh aisa nahi tha," [It wasn't like this before.] he says, his eyes distant, as though searching his memories for a different version of his son. "Pata nahi, jabse IPL mein KKR ne khareeda, woh badal hi gaya. Aur ab toh lagta hai ki woh apne aap se hi lad raha hai." [I don't know, ever since KKR picked him in the IPL, he's changed. And now it feels like he's fighting with himself.]

"Mujhe lagta hai, Lakhi ji, uska mann kahi aur hai," [I feel like, Lakhi ji, his heart is somewhere else.] Keart says after a long pause, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

"Jaise woh kisi cheez ko yaad karta hai, kisi baat ka bojh lekar chal raha hai. Woh Shubman jo hum jaante the, woh andar kahi chhupa baitha hai, bas dikh nahi raha." [Like he's remembering something or carrying the weight of something. The Shubman we knew is still there inside him, but we just can't see him.]

Lakhwinder frowns deeply, his hand clenching into a loose fist on his knee. "Ishan se bola ki woh usse baat karne ki koshish kare?" [Did you ask Ishan to try talking to him?] he asks, his tone firmer now, though there's still a thread of helplessness running through it. "Uska dost hai, shayad woh zyada samjha sake." [He's his friend; maybe he can get through to him better.]

Keart nods slightly, though her expression remains uncertain. "Haan, Ishan bol raha tha ki woh samjhane ki koshish kar raha hai," [Yes, Ishan said he's trying to make him understand.] she says softly, her fingers gently brushing a stray curl from Rudra's forehead. "Par Shubman ka ek hi jawaab hota hai—'Main theek hoon.'" [But Shubman always has the same answer—'I'm fine.']

She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Lakhi ji, jab insaan sabse zyada toot raha hota hai na, tabhi woh sabko bolta hai ki woh theek hai." [Lakhi ji, when a person is breaking the most, that's when they tell everyone they're fine.]

Lakhwinder lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Aur woh 'theek hoon' sunke hum sab maan bhi jaate hain," [And we all believe that 'I'm fine.'] he says, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Kya karein, jab woh humein kuch batata hi nahi?" [What can we do when he doesn't tell us anything?]

The cabin is quiet around them, the faint hum of the plane filling the space as they both lapse into silence. Rudra stirs slightly in his sleep, his small hand reaching up to clutch at the fabric of Keart's dupatta.

She looks down at him, her expression softening as she presses a light kiss to his forehead, her worry momentarily easing in the presence of the child's innocence.

Keart lets out a slow sigh, a faint frown tugging at her lips. "Itni badi duniya mein rehta hai, par lagta hai jaise akela hai." [He lives in such a big world, yet it feels like he's alone.]

Lakhwinder's tone is now firmer. "Akela toh lagta hai, par woh akele rehna khud choose kar raha hai, Keart ji. Jitna uske paas doston ka circle hai, Ishan jaisa best friend hai, par woh phir bhi sab kuch khud sambhalne ki koshish karta hai." [He seems alone, but he's choosing to stay alone, Keart ji. With the kind of circle of friends he has, with someone like Ishan as his best friend, he still tries to handle everything himself.]

Keart's voice is soft but heavy with concern, carrying a kind of tired resignation. "Ishan bichara bhi kya kare. Kitni bhi try karle, Kaka bata hi nahi kuch. Woh keh raha tha ki jab Shubman khud se hi baat karne se darta hai, toh dusron ke saamne kya bolega?" [What can poor Ishan do? No matter how much he tries, Kaka doesn't tell him anything. Ishan said when Shubman is scared of even talking to himself, what will he say to others?]

"Haan, sahi toh keh raha hai Ishan," [Yes, Ishan is right.] he says, his voice thoughtful. "Par problem yeh hai ki Shubman toh apne emotions ko problem hi nahi maanta. Uske liye woh bas ek distraction hai. Jo cheez uske dil ko thoda halka kar sakti hai, wohi cheez se woh bhaag raha hai." [But the problem is, Shubman doesn't even see his emotions as a problem. For him, they're just a distraction. The very thing that could lighten his heart is the thing he's running away from.]

"Rab kare, mere Shub ki zindagi mein wapas se kuch roshni aaye. Woh phir se wohi ladka ban sake jo chhoti-chhoti baaton mein khushi dhoond leta tha." [May God bring some light back into my Shub's life. I just want him to be the boy who used to find happiness in the smallest things.]

Her gaze is distant, her lips pressing into a faint smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Mujhe bas ek baar uski aankhon mein woh purana roshni dekhna hai." [I just want to see that same light in his eyes again.]

Lakhwinder doesn't respond immediately. He leans back in his seat, letting his eyes close for a brief moment, as though searching for a memory of that spark, one that feels further and further away.

"Keart ji," [Keart ji] he says finally, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Waqt toh lagta hai, par zindagi kabhi ek hi jagah atki nahi rehti. Shayad kisi na kisi din, woh apne aap ko phir se pa lega. Bas hum yeh ardaas karte hain ki tab tak der na ho." [It takes time, but life never stays stuck in one place. Maybe, one day, he'll find himself again. Let's just pray it's not too late by then.]

For a while, neither of them says anything more, their thoughts lingering on their son, their Shubman, and the pieces of him they hope he'll find again.

In the dim light, Rudra's peaceful face is a reminder of something simpler, something purer. And as the night stretches on, Keart and Lakhwinder sit together, the weight of their worries softened, just slightly, by the presence of the little boy in their arms.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

I hope you guys enjoyed it. Tell me how is it? Did you like the meet up between the grandparents and the grandson?

bowledover18, Esma_Hiranur_Sultan, ogcuphid, dagabaazreee

Pasand aaya, toh vote and comment kar dena. Story mein kuch chahiye, toh bata dena.

Aur prem so bolo,

Radhe..Radhe 🙏🏻