The countryside unfurled before them as the car rolled smoothly along the road. Tara gazed out of the window, her mind a swirl of thoughts and emotions.

Beside her, Manik leaned against her, his small immature arm rested around her waist, his eyes wide with curiosity as he took in the passing scenery. Manish, seated at the front, glanced back at his sister and nephew.

"How are you feeling, Tara?" he asked, his voice warm with concern.

Tara offered a small smile. "I'm okay, Bhaiya. Just... a lot on my mind."

Manish nodded, understanding the unspoken weight of her words.

"I know it's not easy, but I'm glad you're here. It will be good for you and Manik to have a change of scene, even if just for a day."

Manik perked up at the mention of his name.

"Where are we going, Maa?" he asked, his voice filled with innocent curiosity.

Tara brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, her smile widening.

"We're going to visit your Nani and spend some time at Mama's house. You'll get to see new places."

Manik's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Really, Maa?"

Tara nodded. "Yes, really."

As the car continued its journey, Tara's thoughts drifted back to Prithvi and the weight of the anniversary that loomed over them.

She hoped that this brief respite would bring some peace, if only for a moment.

After a couple of hours, the car finally pulled up in front of a charming house nestled in a quiet neighborhood.

The front yard was adorned with blooming flowers, and a sense of tranquility enveloped the place. Manish got out of the car and opened the door for Tara and Manik.

"Welcome home," he said with a smile, as he took little Manik in his arms and extended a hand to Tara to help her climb down.

Tara stepped out, her eyes taking in the serene surroundings. As they walked up the path to the front door, a sense of calm began to settle over her.

Anita, Manish's mother, stood waiting, her eyes brimming with tears as she watched Tara approach.

Slowly, they came nearer, and Anita's composure broke. Tears streamed down her face as she took in the sight of her niece.

Tara quickly reached out, holding her shoulders. "Masi," she called softly, her voice filled with concern and love.

Anita's voice trembled as she spoke,

"Kitni badi ho gayi hai... Srif 8 saal ki thi tab tujhe akhri baar dekha tha," she said, her emotions spilling over as she fully broke down.

(How much you have grown... You were only 8 years old when I last saw you.)

Tara's own eyes filled with tears as she held Anita close. "Masi, I'm here now," she whispered, her voice soothing. "I'm here."

Anita clung to her, her sobs quieting but her grip firm.

"I missed you so much, beta," she managed to say, her voice thick with emotion. "So many years... I thought I'd never see you again."

Manik watched the scene with wide eyes, his small immature hand tried to grip Manish's tightly. Manish knelt down beside him, whispering softly,

"That's your Nani, Chote Thakur. She loves you very much."

Manik nodded solemnly, sensing the depth of the moment even in his young age. He let go of Manish's hand and moved closer, looking up at Anita with curiosity and a shy smile.

Anita, noticing him, wiped her tears and knelt down to his level.

"And this must be Chote Thakur," she said, her voice still wavering but filled with affection.

Manik smiled, a bit more confidently now. "Namaste, Nani."

Anita pulled him into a gentle hug, her tears flowing again, but this time mingled with joy.

"Kitne pyaare hai Chote Thakur."

The three of them stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the weight of years apart and the pain of lost time slowly lifting.

Tara felt a sense of peace begin to settle in her heart, knowing that in this place, surrounded by family, they might find some solace.

As the evening deepened, the warmth of home enveloped them, promising a night of healing and love amidst the bittersweet memories.

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As evening deepened and night began to fall, Tara and Manik settled into their new surroundings.

After freshening up and changing into more comfortable clothes, Manik enjoyed the cool evening breeze in his Mama's arms outside.

The simple pleasures of the countryside seemed to fascinate him, his laughter echoing softly in the tranquil air.

Meanwhile, Tara walked into the small, humble kitchen. The house, though simple and made of mud, exuded a warm and welcoming charm.

It was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the haveli, but its simplicity felt like a gentle embrace.

Anita, busy with preparations, looked up as Tara entered. Her eyes reflected both pride and a hint of nervousness.

"See, Tara," she said, pointing to the dishes laid out on the modest wooden table.

"I've made rice, roti, Panner curry, dal tadka, and masala dahi. Do you think Chote Thakur will like all this or should I cook something else?"

Tara's heart warmed at Anita's efforts. She knew how much her Masi wanted to make this visit special, despite the modest means at her disposal.

Tara smiled reassuringly.

"Masi, I'm sure he will love it. Manik is not too picky, and he will enjoy whatever you make with love."

Anita sighed with relief, her hands still busy as she arranged the food. "It's just that... I wanted to make sure he feels welcome and happy here."

"He already does," Tara replied softly. "Your love and care are what matter the most."

Just then, the door creaked open, and Manish stepped inside with Manik still in his arms. The little boy's face was flushed with excitement, his eyes sparkling as he looked around the cozy kitchen.

"What's cooking?" Manish asked, his tone light and teasing, as he set Manik down on the floor.

"Lots of yummy food, Mama!" Manik exclaimed.

Tara watched the scene, feeling a sense of contentment settle over her. The simple, loving environment reminded her of what truly mattered.

Once everything was ready, they all sat down to the meal. The small table was filled with laughter and conversation, the food bringing them together in a way that transcended the day's earlier worries.

Manik, seated on Manish's lap as Manish made him eat the meal.

"This is so good, Nani!" he declared, making Anita's eyes shine with happiness.

"I'm glad you like it, beta," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Tara reached out and squeezed Anita's hand. "Thank you, Masi. This means so much to us."

Anita nodded, blinking back tears. "Family is everything, Tara. And you're always welcome here."

As they ate, the bond between them strengthened, the simple meal becoming a symbol of the love and resilience that tied them together.

In that moment, under the modest roof of the mud house, they found a sense of peace and belonging that no grandeur could ever replicate.

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After cleaning everything, Kusum made her way towards her room in the silent haveli.

The grand corridors, usually bustling with activity, now stood still, echoing with the faint whispers of past celebrations.

Her footsteps were soft, almost reverent, as she moved through the quiet hallways, her heart heavy with the thoughts of the coming day.

As she turned a corner, something caught her eye-a door that had remained closed for years was now slightly ajar.

Her breath hitched as she recognized it. It was Jay's room, the room that had been a sanctuary of memories and grief, sealed off since that fateful day.

Drawn by a mix of curiosity and an old, familiar sorrow, Kusum walked towards the room.

The door creaked softly as she pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit interior.

The air was thick with the scent of nostalgia, mingling with the faint aroma of sandalwood that had long since permeated the room.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she saw a figure standing by the window, silhouetted against the pale glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

It was Prithvi. He stood motionless, his broad shoulders slightly slumped, lost in the shadows of his thoughts.

Kusum's heart ached at the sight of her son. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to intrude on his solitude, but the pull of a mother's love was too strong.

She stepped inside, her movements careful and deliberate, as if not to disturb the fragile silence.

"Prithvi," she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. They were filled with a deep, unspoken pain, a reflection of the memories that haunted this room.

For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily in the air.

"Are you okay, beta?" Kusum said gently, her eyes scanning the room that held so many memories of Jay.

Prithvi's gaze drifted back to the window. "I couldn't stay away," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "It's like... he's still here, somehow."

Kusum walked closer, her hand reaching out to rest on Prithvi's arm. "I know, beta. His presence is felt in every corner of this room."

They stood together in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the remnants of Jay's life-his desk, his clothes, the photographs that captured moments of their joy and laughter.

Each item was a silent testament to the vibrant life that had been cut tragically short.

Kusum's eyes welled up with tears as she looked at the photograph of Jay and Prithvi. "He loved you so much," she said gently.

Prithvi's shoulders trembled, and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

"I miss him every day, Ma. Sometimes, it feels like I can't breathe without him. And Manik... Manik gives me a constant reminder of him. When we both came into this world together, then why did he leave me behind, Ma? Why?"

His voice broke, the pain and confusion evident in every word.

Kusum pulled him into a tender embrace, her hand gently stroking his back.

"We miss him, beta. But remember, he lives on in our heart and memories. And as long as we remember him, he will never truly be gone."

They stood there for a long time, finding solace in each other's presence, drawing strength from the love that bound them together.

In the quietude of Jay's room, amidst the shadows and the moonlight, they allowed themselves to grieve, to remember, and to heal.

Kusum's mind wandered back to the days when Jay and Prithvi were inseparable, their laughter echoing through these very walls.

She remembered the mischief in their eyes, the way they completed each other's sentences, and the bond that was as natural as breathing.

Jay's absence had left a void that could never be filled, yet here she was, holding Prithvi, her surviving son, who bore the weight of that loss every single day.

Prithvi closed his eyes, leaning into his mother's comforting embrace. The scent of her saree, a mix of incense and the warmth of home, grounded him, reminding him that he wasn't alone in his grief.

"Sometimes, I feel like I'm failing him, Ma," he confessed. "Like I'm not living up to the promise we made to each other."

Kusum pulled back slightly, her hands framing Prithvi's face, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"You are doing your best, Prithvi. And that's all anyone can ask for. Jay wouldn't want you to carry this burden alone. He would want you to find happiness, to live fully, not just for him but for yourself and for Manik."

Prithvi nodded, though the weight on his heart didn't lift entirely. "I know, Ma. But it's hard. Every day without him is hard."

"I know, my son," Kusum whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "But we have to keep moving forward, for those we love and for those we lost."

In the embrace of the night, surrounded by the memories of a loved one gone too soon, mother and son found a fleeting moment of peace.

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A new day dawned over the peaceful countryside, the gentle glow of morning sunlight casting a serene spell over the landscape.

Inside Manish's modest home, Anita was busy brewing tea, the fragrant aroma wafting through the cozy kitchen.

Outside, Manik and Manish were making their way to the fields, where the newly sprouted crops stood as a testament to the season's bounty.

Manik's eyes sparkled with wonder as he took in the vibrant greenery, his small form a bundle of excitement as Manish explained the different plants.

Inside, Tara entered the kitchen, drawn by the inviting scent of tea. She moved slowly, still feeling the remnants of the night's fatigue. Anita turned, her face lighting up with a warm smile as she saw her niece.

"Good morning, Tara," Anita greeted warmly, her hands deftly moving as she poured milk into a glass. "I made some milk for you. It will do you good."

Tara smiled weakly, grateful for the care. She accepted the glass and was about to take a sip when a sudden wave of nausea washed over her.

Her stomach churned violently, and she felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. Without a word, she set the glass down hastily and rushed to the backyard of the kitchen, her hand clasped over her mouth.

Anita's eyes widened with concern, and she quickly followed Tara outside. She found her niece doubled over, retching and gasping for breath. Anita hurried to her side, her arms wrapping around Tara's shoulders to support her.

"Tara, are you alright?" Anita asked, her voice filled with worry as she gently held her niece.

Tara felt drained, her body trembling as the nausea slowly subsided. She leaned heavily on Anita, her strength almost spent. "I'm... I'm okay," she managed to say between shallow breaths. "Just... feeling sick."

Anita guided Tara to a nearby bench, easing her down gently. She fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and handed it to Tara, who accepted it with a grateful nod. As Tara sipped the cool water, she began to feel a bit more stable.

"I'm sorry, Masi," Tara said softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"Hush, child," Anita replied, brushing a strand of hair from Tara's face. "There's no need to apologize."

Tara nodded, leaning back against the bench as she closed her eyes. "It's been difficult... more so these past few weeks."

Anita's eyes softened with empathy. She sat beside Tara, her hand gently rubbing her back in soothing circles.

"I remember the days when Aruna Didi was pregnant with you in her womb," Anita said, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

"Even in the last months of her pregnancy, she used to have these kinds of problems."

Tara looked up at her aunt, her curiosity piqued. "Really, Masi? I didn't know that."

Anita nodded, her eyes distant as she recalled those times.

"Yes, it was a challenging period for her. But she was strong, just like you. She faced it all with such grace and determination."

Tara felt a sense of connection to her mother's experiences, a thread of shared strength running through their stories.

"I wish I could remember her more," she said softly, a touch of sadness in her voice.

Anita's hand tightened reassuringly on Tara's shoulder. "Your mother was a wonderful woman, Tara. And she lives on in you. Every time I look at you, I see a piece of her spirit."

A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, bringing with it the sweet scent of blooming flowers. Tara took a deep breath, feeling a bit more at peace. "Thank you, Masi. It means a lot to hear that."

Anita smiled warmly. "You're welcome, dear. Now, why don't you rest for a while? I'll finish up in the kitchen and then we can sit and have some tea together."

Tara nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude for her aunt's kindness. "I'd like that, Masi."

As Anita returned to the kitchen, Tara leaned back against the bench, her eyes closing for a moment of respite.

The sounds of the countryside-birds chirping, leaves rustling, the distant murmur of Manish and Manik in the fields-created a soothing symphony. Despite the morning's rough start, Tara felt a sense of hope.

Her thoughts, however, began to drift back to Prithvi. The image of his eyes, filled with an unspoken pain, lingered in her mind.

He had always carried the burden of their shared loss so heavily, and she could feel the depth of his sorrow even from a distance.

His eyes had spoken volumes, expressing a need for her to understand the depth of his struggle. Despite his strong exterior, she knew how deeply he felt the anniversary of Jay's death, a wound that never fully healed.

Her heart ached with the realization that she couldn't be there with him, to offer comfort and support as he navigated the difficult emotions that this time of year inevitably brought.

She hoped that her presence here, taking care of Manik and herself, would at least bring him some peace of mind, knowing they were safe and away from the heavy atmosphere of the haveli.

She opened her eyes, the peaceful scene of the countryside coming back into focus. The distant laughter of Manik and Manish brought a soft smile to her lips.

Despite the challenges, there was still joy and hope in their lives. And that was what she needed to hold onto, for herself, for Manik, and for Prithvi.

With a deep breath, Tara rose from the bench, feeling a bit more grounded. She made her way back to the kitchen, ready to join Anita and share a quiet moment over tea. In her heart, she carried the resolve to be strong for her family, just as they were for her.

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"𝘑𝘢𝘺-𝘑𝘢𝘺, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦. 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦," 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴.

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦. 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥.

𝘑𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘴. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯.

"𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪...𝘐..." 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳.

"𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘑𝘢𝘺. 𝘚𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩. 𝘞𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦," 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵.

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵.

𝘉𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴. 𝘌𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱.

"𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯, 𝘑𝘢𝘺. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳," 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘢𝘺. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘑𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨. "𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪...𝘐'𝘮...𝘴𝘰...𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥," 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.

"𝘕𝘰, 𝘑𝘢𝘺! 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦!" 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. "𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦!"

𝘑𝘢𝘺, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘦𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

"𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪... 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦...𝘮𝘦..." 𝘑𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦.

"𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘑𝘢𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺," 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦.

𝘑𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘭𝘺.

"𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦... 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬... 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧... 𝘔𝘢𝘢... 𝘈𝘯𝘥... 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥... 𝘎𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦... 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯..."

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴.

"𝘑𝘢𝘺, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸. 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦."

"𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦... 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘦... 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦... 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦," 𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.

"𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘑𝘢𝘺. 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦," 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. "𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮."

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵.

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘵, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. "𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳... 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦... 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦..."

"𝘑𝘢𝘺! 𝘑𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦!" 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘑𝘢𝘺.

𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭.

"𝘑𝘢𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦," 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. "𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴."

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘑𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳. "𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳... 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴..."

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘑𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵.

𝘏𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

"𝘑𝘢𝘺... 𝘯𝘰... 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦..." 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥.

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘷𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘑𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.

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Prithvi shot awake, his heart pounding in his chest. The nightmare had returned, as vivid and painful as ever.

He could still feel the weight of Jay in his arms, the desperation of those final moments haunting him.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He sat up, running a trembling hand through his hair, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream.

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of dawn just beginning to filter through the curtains.

He could hear the distant sounds of the household stirring, but in the quiet of his room, the memories felt all too real.

Prithvi swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

The promise he made to Jay echoed in his mind, a solemn vow that had shaped every decision he had made since that tragic night.

"Promise me... even if I die... you will live... for me."

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. Today was the anniversary of Jay's death, and the weight of it pressed heavily on his heart.

He had tried to prepare himself, to be strong for Tara and Manik, but the grief was as fresh as it had been on that dark night in the forest.

After a few moments, Prithvi stood and walked to the window. He pushed the curtains aside and looked out at the sprawling grounds of the haveli, the first light of morning casting a soft glow over the landscape.

The memories of Jay seemed to linger in every corner, in every shadow.

Determined to honor his brother's memory, Prithvi squared his shoulders. He had a duty to fulfill, a promise to keep.

He knew he needed to be strong, not just for himself, but for his family. Tara and Manik needed him, and he would not let them down.

With renewed resolve, he made his way to the bathroom to wash his face, hoping the cold water would help clear his mind.

As he splashed his face, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, seeing the lines of worry and sorrow etched into his features. He was a man shaped by loss, but also by love and responsibility.

Prithvi took one last deep breath and straightened up. He had a long day ahead, and despite the pain, he would face it with the strength and determination that Jay had always admired in him.

He would honor his brother's memory by living the life Jay had wanted for him—full of love, hope, and resilience.

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The air was filled with the scent of marigolds and incense, mingling with the soft murmurs of prayers and the rustling of saris.

A large, framed photograph of Jay was placed at the heart of the shrine, surrounded by garlands of fresh flowers.

Below the photograph, a small platform held various offerings: bowls of fruits, sweets, and lit oil lamps, their flames flickering gently in the morning breeze.

The shrine exuded a sense of reverence and deep respect, a focal point for the family's collective grief and love.

Villagers began to arrive, their faces reflecting the somber mood of the day. They came bearing their own small offerings, adding to the growing collection at the shrine.

Each person took a moment to bow their heads, offering silent prayers before moving to the side to join the others.

In the courtyard, long mats had been spread out for the villagers to sit on. Large pots of food were being prepared over open fires, the aroma of spices and cooking rice wafting through the air.

The women of the haveli, along with some of the village women, moved with practiced efficiency, serving food to those who had come to pay their respects.

Prithvi, though his heart was heavy, took on the role of host with a quiet dignity.

He moved among the guests, ensuring everyone had enough to eat and drink, exchanging words of gratitude and comfort.

The villagers, in turn, expressed their condolences, their voices filled with empathy and support.

Kusum watched her son from a distance, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and sorrow.

She knew how difficult this day was for him, yet here he was, standing strong, honoring Jay's memory in the best way possible.

As the villagers ate, the atmosphere in the courtyard shifted from one of mourning to one of community and solidarity.

Conversations flowed, stories were shared, and the bonds between the haveli and the village were strengthened.

Through this act of collective remembrance and shared sustenance, the pain of loss was gently eased, replaced by a sense of togetherness and hope.

The shrine stood as a silent witness to it all, a testament to the enduring love and respect for Jay, and a reminder that even in the midst of sorrow, there is strength in unity and the simple act of breaking bread together.

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The sun had just begun to rise, casting a soft golden glow over the countryside as the household stirred to life.

The air was cool and filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil.

Inside the small house, a sense of quiet urgency filled the air as preparations were made for Tara and Manik’s departure.

In the kitchen, Anita moved with a blend of efficiency and melancholy. Her hands expertly packed various items while her heart felt a pang of sadness at the thought of Tara and Manik leaving.

Tara, her own emotions a mix of gratitude and reluctance, busied herself helping Anita, though her mind was already halfway back to Prithvi and the haveli.

“Tara, beta, make sure you take these,” Anita said, handing over a neatly packed jar of homemade pickle.

“I know how much you like it and share it with Thakur sahab too, although he is also our son-in-law.”

Tara accepted the jar with a warm smile. “I will Masi .”

Anita’s eyes softened as she continued. “And for Chote Thakur, I’ve made some besan ladoos and namkeen. He seemed to enjoy them a lot.”

Tara’s heart swelled with gratitude. “He did, Masi. Thank you for thinking of him.”

They moved around the kitchen, gathering the last few items. Anita placed two containers—one with besan ladoos and another with namkeen—into the bag.

Each item was packed with care, wrapped in cloth to keep them secure during the journey.

Just then, Manish entered the kitchen, his arms laden with ripe mangoes, fresh green coconuts, and bananas from their field.

He was dressed in a simple dhoti, a gancha tied around his forehead, and sweat glistened on his torso.

“These are for you and your in-laws,” he said, setting them down gently on the table. “Make sure you share them with everyone.”

Tara looked at the bounty with wide eyes. “Bhaiya, this is too much! But thank you. Everyone will love it.”

Manish smiled, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Nothing is too much for my little sister. You should have plenty to enjoy and share.”

Anita and Tara packed the fruits carefully, making sure everything was secured for the journey.

Then Anita brought another bag and said, “This bag contains dresses for Thakur sahab and Chote Thakur, and a saree for you. When you got married, we didn’t get to know about it, so it’s a small gift from our side.”

Tara's eyes widened in surprise and gratitude as she took the bag from Anita. “Masi, you didn’t have to do this. It’s too much.”

Anita shook her head, a gentle smile on her lips. “It’s the least we could do. We weren’t there at your wedding, but we want you to know we’re always thinking of you.”

Tara hugged her aunt tightly, her voice choked with emotion.

“Thank you, Masi. This means so much to me. I’ll treasure these gifts and make sure Thakur sahib and Chote Thakur know they’re from you.”

Anita patted her back reassuringly. “You’re family, Tara. That bond will always remain strong, no matter the distance. Now, take these with you and remember that our love goes with you wherever you go.”

Tara nodded, wiping away a tear. “I will, Masi. Thank you for everything.”

Tara embraced her aunt, feeling the tears well up in her own eyes. “We will, Masi. Thank you for everything. We’ll miss you.”

Anita held her tightly for a moment before stepping back. “And remember, you are always welcome here. This is your home too.”

Tara nodded, her throat tight with emotion.

Manish appeared with Manik, who was chattering excitedly about the fields. “Ready to go, Maa?” he asked, looking up at Tara with bright eyes.

“Yes, my love, we’re ready,” Tara said, ruffling his hair affectionately.

Manish, helped Tara and Manik get settled in the car, placing the packed items carefully in the back.

He then climbed into the seat beside the driver, ready to accompany them on their journey back home.

As they pulled away, Anita stood by the gate, waving until the car was out of sight.

Her heart was heavy with the farewell but also light with the knowledge of the love and support that would always be there for them.

The journey back home began, the car filled with the scent of ripe mangoes and the promise of reunion.

Tara held Manik close, her thoughts drifting back to Prithvi and the haveli, where new challenges awaited them.

Manish glanced back at his sister and nephew, a sense of peace settling over him. Today was a day of new beginnings, filled with the love and memories of family.

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The night enveloped the haveli in a serene embrace, casting long shadows that danced across the walls as Tara and Kusum sat together in the comforting glow of mashal.

Tara carefully unfolded the dresses Anita had given her, each one a testament to Anita's thoughtful affection.

Kusum watched with a warm smile as Tara examined the dresses, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns with admiration.

The room was filled with the soft rustle of fabric as they talked, reminiscing about the day's events and sharing anecdotes of Manik's adventures.

As they chatted, time seemed to slip away unnoticed, until Kusum glanced at the clock and realized how late it had become. She gently touched Tara's arm, drawing her attention.

With a soft sigh, she reached out to touch Tara's arm, drawing her attention to the lateness of the hour.

“Tara, beta, it’s getting quite late,” Kusum said softly, her voice tinged with a hint of concern.

“Manik has already fallen fast asleep. Let’s take him to room and retire for the night ourselves.”

Tara nodded, a small yawn escaping her lips as weariness crept over her. “Yes, Maaji, you’re right.”

With careful hands, Kusum lifted Manik from his slumber, his innocent form cradled gently against her chest.

Tara followed close behind, her heart swelling with love as she watched the peaceful expression on her son's face.

As they reached the threshold of the room, Kusum's demeanor shifted, the weight of sorrow evident in her voice as she turned to Tara.

“Tara, there’s something I need to share with you,” she began, her words heavy with emotion.

Tara's brows furrowed with concern, her gaze locking with Kusum's in search of answers. “What is it, Maa? Is everything alright?”

A heavy sigh escaped Kusum's lips, her eyes momentarily falling before meeting Tara's once more.

“Prithvi... he’s... he’s going back to America,” she whispered, the words hanging in the air like a weight upon her heart.

Tara's heart sank at the news, a wave of sadness washing over her. She had hoped that Prithvi would stay, at least for a little longer.

But now, faced with the reality of his departure, she felt a pang of loneliness that pierced her heart.

“Oh,” was all Tara could manage, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggled to come to terms with the news.

In that moment, as the weight of Prithvi's absence settled upon her, she couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness that pierced her heart like a dagger in the night.

With a heavy heart, Tara stepped into the room, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains casting a gentle light upon Manik's sleeping form.

Carefully, she laid him down on the bed, tucking the blankets around him with a tenderness born of maternal love.

As she watched him sleep, a sense of sadness washed over her, the weight of Kusum's words lingering in her mind like a haunting melody.

Anger simmered within her, fueled by the frustration of circumstances beyond her control.

Yet, amidst the turmoil, a sobering truth emerged—she bore the weight of responsibility for the current situation.

It was her mistake, that had led to this moment, where Prithvi, compelled by duty, was now set to depart.

With this realization came a sense of resignation, a recognition that she had no rightful claim to detain him, no matter how desperately she wished otherwise.

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Peeking into the dimly lit room, Tara watched as Prithvi meticulously folded his clothes, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the lamp.

Quietly, she knocked on the door, and Prithvi turned to her, a somber expression on his face.

"Come in," he said, his voice gentle yet tinged with sadness.

Tara stepped inside, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions.

She cleared her throat, her nerves betraying her.

"I, um, you are going ...?" she started, her voice trailing off uncertainly.

Prithvi nodded, his gaze meeting hers. "Yes," he replied simply.

"Oh," Tara's response was soft, tinged with a hint of disappointment. She shifted awkwardly on her feet, unsure of what to say next.

"I, um, I heard it gets cold in America," she stammered, her voice faltering slightly. "So, uh, I ... I thought ... I mean, Maaji taught me knitting, so ... I made these sweaters for you."

She held out the bundle of hand-knitted sweaters.

Prithvi's eyes softened as he looked at the sweaters, a flicker of warmth crossing his features.

He reached out and took them from her, his touch gentle and grateful.

"Thank you, Tara," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Tara nodded, her throat tight with unshed tears as she turned to leave. In that moment, as she walked away from him, she couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of loss that settled in her heart—the knowledge that soon, he would be gone, and she would be left behind, with nothing but memories of what could have been.

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Prithvi sat alone on the balcony of his friend's apartment in America, his gaze fixed on the snow-covered houses below.

The winter air was crisp and cold, seeping through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. Despite the beauty of the snow-laden landscape, his heart felt heavy with a sense of longing and melancholy.

As he watched the flurry of activity in the street below, his attention was drawn to a family—a mother, father, and their child—walking hand in hand, their laughter echoing through the frosty air.

A pang of emotion stirred within him as he observed their simple joy, a stark contrast to the solitude that enveloped him.

With a heavy sigh, Prithvi reached into his bag and pulled out one of the sweaters Tara had made for him.

Holding it in his hands, he felt a rush of warmth flood his senses—a lingering reminder of her presence, her scent woven into the fabric.

Closing his eyes, he pressed the sweater to his face, inhaling deeply, savoring the familiar scent of Tara that lingered there.

In that moment, amidst the snow and solitude, he found solace in the memory of her, a glimmer of hope to carry him through the loneliness of the days ahead.

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𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿...