𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂 - 𝙈𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏.

The sun had barely risen, casting a soft light through the hospital windows when Manik's eyes slowly fluttered open.

His small body felt heavy, his throat dry, and the faint beeping of the machines around him only added to the confusion.

"Maa...?" His voice was weak, but the sound of it immediately caught Tara's attention. She had been sitting by his side all night, her hand gently resting on his as if afraid to let go.

"Manik!" she gasped, her heart leaping with relief. She leaned closer, stroking his hair with trembling fingers. "You're awake, my love."

Prithvi, who had been pacing by the window, turned quickly at the sound of his son's voice.

His eyes were red from lack of sleep, and his face showed the weight of everything they'd been through. He rushed to Manik's side, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Beta..." Prithvi whispered, kneeling by the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Before Manik could respond, the door opened, and the doctor entered, a reassuring smile on his face.

"Good morning, everyone. Let's see how our brave boy is doing."

Tara and Prithvi stepped aside as the doctor checked Manik's vitals.

He took his time, carefully monitoring the him, gently asking Manik how he felt. After a thorough check-up, the doctor turned to the anxious parents.

"He's stable," the doctor said with a nod.

"The transfusion worked well, and his body is recovering. But he needs rest. Keep him comfortable, and he should be able to go home soon."

Both Tara and Prithvi exhaled in relief. For the first time in days, it felt like the heavy cloud over them was lifting.

As the doctor left, Kusum quietly entered the room. Her face was filled with concern, but also relief upon seeing Manik's open eyes. She approached slowly, placing a gentle hand on his forehead.

"Thank God you're alright, my baccha," Kusum whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

"You've been so strong."

Manik blinked up at her, giving a faint smile before his eyes began to droop again from the medication and exhaustion.

Kusum turned to Prithvi and Tara, her expression softening. She could see the exhaustion etched into their faces, the sleepless nights, and the stress weighing heavily on both of them.

"You two need to rest," she said firmly, though her tone was gentle.

"You've been here all night and the night before that. Go home, take a bath, eat something, and sleep. Manik is stable now."

Tara shook her head, still holding Manik's hand tightly.

"I can't leave him, Maaji. What if something happens while we're gone?"

Prithvi echoed her reluctance, his face grim.

"I can't go either. I'll stay."

Kusum frowned, but her voice remained calm and understanding.

"Prithvi, Tara, you both need to take care of yourselves, too. Manik needs you to be strong, and you can't do that if you're worn out."

Tara's eyes were clouded with worry, but she knew Kusum was right. Prithvi, too, was torn. He didn't want to leave his son, but he could feel the exhaustion pulling at his every move.

Seeing their hesitation, Kusum softened her approach.

"I will stay with him. I promise nothing will happen while you're gone. The doctors are here, and I'll keep watch."

Still, neither Prithvi nor Tara moved. The thought of leaving their son's side seemed unbearable, even if just for a short while.

Kusum's tone grew more insistent.

"You're not abandoning him. You're preparing yourselves for what's ahead. Go. Freshen up. Eat. Sleep. And then you can come back stronger."

Tara bit her lip, glancing down at Manik's sleeping face. The exhaustion was catching up to her, and she knew deep down that they couldn't continue like this. She looked at Prithvi, seeking his decision.

Prithvi finally let out a deep breath and nodded, though the weight of the decision felt heavy on his heart.

"Alright," he said quietly. "But we won't be gone long."

Kusum smiled softly, relieved they were listening.

"Take your time. I'll be here. Manik needs his parents healthy and strong."

Tara leaned down, kissing Manik's forehead gently before reluctantly rising from her seat. Prithvi squeezed his son's hand, his heart heavy, but he knew Kusum was right.

As they quietly left the room, Prithvi glanced back one more time at their sleeping boy, a silent prayer in his heart.

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Prithvi and Tara sat in silence as the jeep rumbled down the dusty road back toward their home.

The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the landscape, but neither of them could find the beauty in it.

The weight of the past few days sat heavily between them, unspoken yet undeniable.

Prithvi gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he focused on the road ahead.

The engine hummed, and the tires kicked up clouds of dust, but inside the jeep, it was eerily quiet.

He could feel Tara's presence beside him, her gaze turned out the window, watching the scenery pass by, yet they both seemed miles apart.

The silence wasn't just the absence of words-it was filled with all the things they weren't saying.

Tara's pain, her anger, her disappointment at being kept in the dark about Manik's condition, lingered in the air.

And Prithvi, weighed down by guilt and regret, didn't know how to bridge the gap between them.

Tara leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes for a moment.

The cool glass soothed her tired mind, but it didn't stop the questions from swirling inside her.

She had spent the last 2 days in a state of constant worry, her emotions torn between fear for Manik and the betrayal she felt toward Prithvi and Kusum.

Her heart ached, not just from the physical exhaustion of the transfusion but from the emotional toll this secret had taken.

How could Prithvi keep something so important from her? How could he expect her to continue as if nothing had changed?

The jeep hit a small bump in the road, jostling her slightly. Prithvi stole a quick glance at her, his eyes flickering with concern, but he said nothing.

The weight of his own failure sat heavy on his chest, choking him with every breath. He wanted to say something-anything-to ease the tension, to apologize, to explain. But the words wouldn't come.

As the road stretched on, Tara's mind drifted back to the hospital, to the sight of Manik lying there, so small and fragile.

The moment she had feared most-the possibility of losing him-had come too close. And now, even though he was stable, she couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Prithvi spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Tara... I..."

But the words trailed off. He didn't know where to begin, how to express the storm of emotions raging inside him. He glanced at her, hoping she would look back, but her eyes remained fixed on the passing landscape.

Tara's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't want to hear empty words or half-hearted apologies. Not now. Not when everything felt so raw.

Instead, she swallowed her emotions, pushing them down, burying them deep. She had to be strong, for Manik, for herself.

The time for questions and accusations would come later-now, all that mattered was getting through the day.

The road ahead seemed endless, the distance between them growing wider with each passing moment, even though they were sitting side by side.

Prithvi's heart clenched. He could feel Tara slipping away from him, like sand through his fingers, and the thought terrified him.

He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to tell her how much she meant to him. But he knew that words alone couldn't mend the rift between them.

As the jeep neared the outskirts of their home, the familiar sights of the city home brought a faint sense of normalcy, but the silence between them remained thick and unyielding.

Prithvi slowed the jeep to a stop in front of their house, the engine idling softly as he hesitated.

For a moment, they both remained still, neither making a move to get out.

"Tara," Prithvi whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry... for everything."

Tara's hand tightened on the door handle, her heart a tangled mess of emotions.

She didn't respond, not yet ready to forgive or even acknowledge his apology.

Instead, she quietly opened the door and stepped out, leaving Prithvi sitting there, watching as she walked toward the house, her posture rigid, her emotions held tight within.

Prithvi sighed, his heart heavy with regret. He knew the road to forgiveness would be long, but for now, all he could do was wait.

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Tara stepped into the room first, her body heavy with exhaustion and her mind still reeling from the events of the past two days.

Without a word, she walked straight to the wardrobe, gathering her fresh clothes before heading to the bathroom.

She needed to wash away the weight of the hospital, the blood transfusion, and everything that had come crashing down on her heart.

Prithvi stood at the doorway, watching her retreating form.

He had thought of saying something, perhaps offering some small words of comfort, but the tension between them was thick, and he knew his presence only added to it.

The door to the bathroom closed with a soft click, and Prithvi was left standing alone, the emptiness of the room matching the hollowness inside him.

Prithvi's heart clenched as he recalled the promises he had made-promises to Jay, to himself-and how he had failed.

Prithvi sighed deeply, rubbing his hand over his face, feeling the roughness of his unshaven beard. His eyes, red from sleepless nights, were drawn to the bathroom door again.

He knew Tara needed space, but he feared that with each passing moment, the distance between them grew wider.

Tara closed the door of the bathroom behind her. She leaned her back against it for a moment, feeling the cold wood press against her spine.

Her mind, heavy with exhaustion and emotions, was a swirl of thoughts she could no longer push away.

The tiles were cold beneath her bare feet as she moved toward the sink.

She turned on the faucet, watching the water rush out, and cupped her hands beneath it, letting the coolness slip through her fingers. For a brief moment, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her eyes, rimmed with fatigue, held shadows that hadn't been there before.

She couldn't stop thinking about Manik, lying there in the hospital, so fragile and small.

How many times had she held him close, whispering to him that everything would be alright? But now, she wasn't sure she had any more reassurances left to give.

Her heart clenched at the thought of him suffering-of him being hurt because of things she hadn't known, secrets that had been hidden from her.

Manik was her world. The very thought of life without him was unbearable.

And now, as she stood there in the stillness, she could feel the anger bubbling beneath her surface. Anger toward Prithvi, toward Kusum, toward the entire situation.

They had kept so much from her, so much that was her right to know.

She wasn't angry because Manik wasn't her blood; no, she loved him with all her heart regardless of biology.

But the deception-the fact that Prithvi, the one person she trusted most in the world, had hidden the truth-hurt her deeply.

Tara stripped off her clothes and stepped under the shower. As the water poured over her, warm and soothing, she felt some of the tension leave her muscles, but her mind remained alert, restless.

Her thoughts were drawn back to Prithvi, to the unspoken conversation that hung between them.

She hadn't spoken much since the hospital, the unvoiced anger still simmering within her. How could they hide such a thing from her? Did they think she couldn't handle the truth?

But another part of her-a softer, quieter part-whispered in the background, telling her that Prithvi had been just as scared, just as desperate to protect their son.

She hated the anger, hated the way it made her feel, but she couldn't deny it either. Still, beneath all of that rage, there was love.

Her love for Manik, her love for Prithvi. And it was that love, she knew, that would keep her going.

She closed her eyes, letting the water wash over her, and for a brief moment, allowed herself to feel a sense of calm.

Just a moment, before she would have to step back into the world, back into the weight of it all.

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Prithvi watched as Tara came out of the bathroom, her hair still damp, her face expressionless.

He felt an urge to speak, to apologize again, but something in her demeanor told him it wasn't the right time.

She glanced at him briefly, then moved toward the kitchen without a word. The silence between them felt like an impenetrable wall.

As Tara left the room, Prithvi finally moved.

He entered the bathroom, turning on the tap and splashing cold water on his face, hoping to wash away the guilt and fatigue that clung to him.

As he stared at his reflection in the small, foggy mirror, he saw a man who had failed-not just his brother, but his wife as well.

He reached for the razor, knowing that Manik always preferred him clean-shaven.

Whenever Manik had seen him with stubble, he would scrunch his little nose and insist that his father looked best without any facial hair.

The thought of disappointing Manik, especially now, spurred him into action. With each stroke of the razor, he tried to remove not just the hair but also the weight of the secrets he carried.

Once he had finished, Prithvi stepped into the shower. The water poured over him, and he let out a shaky breath.

Every moment he spent under the water, he thought about Tara-how he had hurt her by keeping the truth hidden.

He had wanted to protect her, to shield her from the pain, but in doing so, he had created a rift between them.

Now, standing in the steamy haze of the bathroom, he wondered if that rift could ever be bridged.

When he finally stepped out of the shower, he dressed quietly and walked toward the kitchen, where Tara had been preparing their food.

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Tara stood at the counter, mechanically serving food onto two plates.

She hadn't eaten much since the transfusion, and she knew Prithvi hadn't either, but the silence between them made every small task feel monumental.

As she set the plates down on the table, Prithvi entered the kitchen. He hesitated at the doorway, watching her for a moment, unsure of how to approach.

The tension between them had not eased, and he could see the weight of everything still pressing down on her.

Without a word, he walked over to the table and sat down. Tara followed suit, neither of them speaking, neither of them able to break the silence that had settled like a thick fog around them.

They ate in silence, the sound of their utensils against the plates the only noise in the room.

Both of them were lost in their own thoughts, each struggling with their emotions, their guilt, their love for Manik, and their unresolved anger with each other.

Prithvi stole a glance at Tara as she quietly ate her food. His heart ached with the need to fix what had been broken, but he knew it would take time.

He wasn't sure how long this silence between them would last, but he was willing to wait, willing to do whatever it took to heal the wounds that had been opened.

For now, the silence remained. But they were together. And that, Prithvi thought, was a start.

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The hospital room was bathed in the soft afternoon sunlight, its warm rays filtering through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the tiled floor.

Manik lay nestled in Prithvi's lap on the hospital bed, his small frame resting against his father's chest, fidgeting playfully as Prithvi tried to coax him into drinking the bitter medicine.

Tara stood nearby, her hands folded, watching over them. Her eyes were gentle, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed the heaviness in her heart. She hadn't spoken much since they returned from home.

The silence between Prithvi and Tara was like a fragile thread, unbroken but delicate, hanging in the air.

Neither dared to address it, especially not now, when they had to be strong for Manik.

In front of their son, they masked their exhaustion and unspoken emotions, presenting a united front, even though the space between them felt vast.

Manik wriggled in Prithvi's lap, his face scrunched up in an exaggerated pout as he eyed the small cup of medicine in his father's hand with suspicion.

"Baba, nooo!" he whined, his voice small but stubborn, his dark eyes glistening with the kind of defiance only a child could muster.

"I don't want it! It's too yucky!"

Prithvi exhaled, his hand gently cupping the back of Manik's head, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from his face.

His voice was calm but tinged with weariness.

"I know, Shona. I know it's yucky. But you need to drink it, or you won't get better."

Manik shook his head firmly, his lips pressing together in a tight line as if sealing his mouth shut.

"No, I'm already better, Baba! I don't need this mud-water medicine!"

He glanced at the cup with pure disdain, his little legs kicking slightly as he leaned back against Prithvi, doing his best to escape the inevitable.

Tara took a small step forward, her voice soft as she tried to reason with him.

"Manik, if you don't take the medicine, we'll have to stay here for longer. Don't you want to go home? You miss playing with Mannu outside, don't you?"

Manik's eyes flickered at the mention of home. His frown wavered for a moment, and for a second, Tara thought he might agree. But the determined pout returned as quickly as it had vanished.

"But Maa, this medicine tastes like cow dung! I won't drink it!"

He wrinkled his nose dramatically, causing Prithvi to suppress a chuckle, though he remained focused on the task at hand.

Prithvi exchanged a quick glance with Tara, a silent plea for support in his eyes. Tara offered a faint smile but didn't move closer, her heart heavy as she watched the exchange between father and son.

The strain between her and Prithvi was there, quietly present, but they both put it aside for Manik.

Prithvi took a deep breath and turned his attention back to his son.

"Alright, how about this, champ? If I drink some of the medicine first, will you drink it after me? You can't let your Baba be braver than you, can you?"

Manik paused, considering his father's offer, his curiosity piqued.

"You? You're gonna drink the yucky medicine Baba?"

Prithvi nodded with a smile.

"Yes, me. If I drink it, then you'll have to drink it too. It's only fair, right?"

Manik stared at his father, weighing the challenge in his mind. Finally, after a moment, he gave a slow nod, his eyes still skeptical.

"Okay... but you have to drink all of it first!"

Tara watched them, her heart softening at the playful negotiation.

She folded her arms across her chest, hiding a small smile as she leaned against the wall, observing how naturally Prithvi and Manik shared these moments, despite the weight they both carried.

Prithvi raised the small cup to his lips, stealing a brief glance at Tara, as if seeking her approval.

She gave the smallest of nods, and Prithvi took a quick sip of the bitter liquid.

The taste hit him hard, and he had to fight back the grimace that threatened to appear. Swallowing it quickly, he cleared his throat, keeping his expression calm.

Manik's eyes widened in surprise, his lips parting as he let out a delighted giggle.

"Baba! Your face went all funny!"

He clapped his small, armless shoulders against Prithvi's chest, his laughter echoing in the room. For a moment, the tension lightened as Manik's innocent joy filled the air.

Prithvi couldn't help but chuckle himself, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he ruffled Manik's hair.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?"

But Manik wasn't convinced. He wriggled once more in Prithvi's lap, shaking his head stubbornly.

"No, no, I don't want it! You drink it again!"

Prithvi raised an eyebrow, playfully pretending to consider the request.

"You want me to drink more of this?" He held up the cup with mock disbelief, his eyes twinkling.

"If I drink it all, who's going to help me get better, huh? You want your Baba to get sick?"

Manik giggled again, his mischief growing.

"Yes! Drink it all, Baba! Then I'll drink some too!"

Tara, who had been quietly standing by, stepped forward with a gentle shake of her head.

"Manik, you can't keep making Baba drink your medicine."

Her voice was soft but carried a tone of gentle authority.

"How about this-if you drink the medicine, I'll give you some honey right after. Sweet honey, just for you."

Manik's eyes brightened at the mention of honey. He loved honey, and the thought of something sweet washing away the bitter taste was enough to make him reconsider.

"Promise, Maa?"

Tara smiled warmly, holding up a small spoonful of honey as proof.

"Promise."

Manik sighed dramatically, as if the weight of the world rested on his small shoulders.

"Alright... but only if Baba drinks it with me!"

He grinned cheekily, knowing full well he was prolonging his tantrum for as long as possible.

Prithvi rolled his eyes good-naturedly, shaking his head as he gave Tara a quick, amused glance.

"This boy's going to be the end of me," he muttered under his breath, though there was a hint of pride in his voice.

Taking the cup once more, Prithvi gently adjusted Manik in his lap, positioning him so he could easily take a sip.

"Okay, Shona, here we go. You and me, together."

Manik eyed the cup one last time, his expression still filled with mock dread. But after another exaggerated sigh, he opened his mouth, allowing Prithvi to tilt the cup toward his lips.

The bitter liquid touched his tongue, and instantly, his face scrunched up in the most adorable grimace.

"Eww, yucky!" Manik whined, but he swallowed the medicine nonetheless, his eyes squeezing shut as if the act of drinking it was too much to bear.

Tara chuckled softly from the side, stepping forward with the spoon of honey.

"Here you go, sweetheart. Just like I promised."

Manik greedily accepted the spoonful of honey, his little face lighting up as the sweetness hit his tongue.

"Mmm, much better!" he declared triumphantly, snuggling back against Prithvi's chest.

"Baba, next time we'll both drink it again, okay? But you drink first!"

Prithvi laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to Manik's forehead as he set the cup aside.

"No way. Next time, it's all you."

Manik giggled, clearly satisfied with himself as he nestled closer to his father.

For a brief moment, the hospital room felt lighter, filled with warmth and laughter, despite the lingering tension between Prithvi and Tara.

As Prithvi held Manik close, his gaze drifted to Tara, who was watching them with a soft but distant look in her eyes.

They shared a brief moment of eye contact, but it was fleeting, both of them too afraid to say what they really felt.

For now, they had Manik-and that was enough to keep them going.

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𝙁𝙚𝙬 𝘿𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙇𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

The gentle afternoon light spilled into the hospital room, casting soft shadows across the bed where little Manik lay.

His face, once bright with youthful energy, now held a weariness that tugged at Tara's heart. She sat beside him, her hands carefully peeling an apple, trying her best to coax him into eating.

"Just a little, Manik," she said, her voice tender, though it wavered slightly as she watched her son's quiet frustration.

"You haven't eaten much today. One bite, hmm?"

Manik looked away, his small lips pressed into a stubborn pout. His large eyes stared blankly out the window, ignoring the slice of apple Tara held out to him.

"I don't want it, Maa," he mumbled, his voice small, tired.

"I'm tired of hospital food. I want to go home."

Tara's heart clenched at his words. She set the apple down, her hands trembling slightly as she placed them gently on his shoulder.

"I know, beta... I know. But you have to stay just a little longer until you're strong again."

Manik shook his head, his bottom lip quivering as tears welled up in his eyes.

"I don't want to be strong anymore. I want to go home," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"I miss Mannu... I miss playing with him. I miss being with you and Baba."

Tara blinked back tears of her own. Seeing her little boy so upset, so fragile, pulled at every corner of her soul. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"I miss that too, Shona. We all do. But you're still getting better. Just a few more days."

Manik sniffled, his small face scrunching in frustration.

"No, Maa. I don't want to wait! I don't want to stay here anymore. I don't like the medicines... or the people who poke me with needles..."

His voice cracked, and fresh tears spilled over his cheeks.

"And I miss sleeping between you and Baba... just like before."

Tara's resolve nearly broke. She cupped his cheek, brushing away the tears that fell, her own emotions barely held in check.

"I know, sweetheart... soon, I promise. We'll all be together again soon."

At that moment, the door creaked open, and Prithvi stepped inside. He carried a small plate of food, but his usual confident stride was missing, replaced with a careful, hesitant step. He had overheard everything.

His eyes, heavy with worry, softened as he watched Tara and Manik, the tension in the room making his chest tighten.

"Manik," Prithvi said gently, his deep voice barely above a whisper as he set the plate on the bedside table. He knelt beside the bed, resting a hand on Manik's small foot.

"What's this I hear? You're upset, my Shona?"

Manik turned his tear-streaked face toward his father, his lip quivering.

"Baba, I don't want to be here anymore," he whimpered, his voice breaking again.

"I want to go home... I miss home. I miss sleeping with you and Maa."

Prithvi's heart twisted at his son's plea. He reached out, cupping Manik's small face in his large, rough hands.

"I know, beta. I know it's hard." His voice trembled as he spoke.

"But you're so brave, aren't you? You're my strong little man."

Manik shook his head, his small body trembling with sobs.

"I'm not strong. I don't want to be strong anymore, Baba. I just want to be home."

Prithvi glanced at Tara, their eyes meeting in a shared moment of heartbreak.

The silence between them, unspoken but heavy, weighed them down. They had been trying so hard to remain normal for Manik's sake, but the cracks were beginning to show.

Tara wiped her own tears discreetly, not wanting to add to Manik's distress, while Prithvi tried to keep his voice steady.

"You will be home soon, my son," Prithvi said, his voice softer now, thick with emotion.

"I promise you. We'll all go back together. And you can play with Mannu again... sleep with us again... everything will be just like before."

Manik sniffled, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

"Promise?"

Prithvi leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead.

"Promise," he whispered, though his heart ached at the uncertainty of his words.

Tara, standing just behind them, stepped closer.

They were both struggling, torn between their love for Manik and the weight of their own unhealed wounds.

Manik's sobs gradually quieted, though his tiny immature hand still clung to his father.

"I want to go home soon, Baba," he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion.

"We will, my boy. We will," Prithvi replied, though the heaviness in his chest remained.

Tara sat on the edge of the bed beside them, gently stroking Manik's hair. The room fell into a fragile peace, but the unspoken tension lingered. For now, they would pretend for their son's sake, pushing aside their own pain to give Manik the comfort and security he needed.

But deep down, they both knew-things were far from being "just like before."

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The quiet ticking of the clock in the doctor's cabin seemed louder than usual as Prithvi sat across from Dr. Mehra.

The room was modest, filled with old wooden furniture, the walls lined with medical charts. Despite its calm atmosphere, Prithvi felt an unbearable tension weighing down on him.

Dr. Mehra sat at his desk, reviewing Manik's file, his brow slightly furrowed. He finally looked up, catching the anxious expression on Prithvi's face.

"Thakur Sahab," he began, setting down the file.

"I've been monitoring Manik's progress closely, and he is improving. But there's still more we need to ensure before he's ready to go home."

Prithvi leaned forward, his voice low, controlled, but laced with worry.

"Doctor, he's been through so much already. Every day he asks us when we're taking him home. He's miserable here. I'm not questioning your treatment, but I can't stand seeing him like this. Isn't there something we can do?"

Dr. Mehra sighed deeply, understanding the weight of Prithvi's concerns.

"I understand your frustration, Thakur Sahab. Believe me, I do. But Manik's condition is delicate. He may look better on the outside, but internally, we still have work to do. The medicines are doing their job, but his immune system needs to recover fully."

Prithvi clenched his jaw, looking down at his hands, feeling the rough calluses on his fingers as he struggled with his emotions.

"He won't eat properly, Doctor. He's refusing his medicine. He's lost his patience. You've seen how he is. We're trying, but he's just a child-he misses home."

Dr. Mehra's gaze softened.

"I've seen it too. It's normal for a child to feel restless, especially after so long in the hospital. But, Thakur Sahab, I need you to understand-the last thing we want is for Manik to relapse after being discharged too early. His body is still healing. The infection we're treating was serious."

Prithvi swallowed hard. His hands tightened into fists as he fought the urge to demand that they discharge Manik anyway.

He knew he couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment, but seeing his son in pain every day was testing his patience in ways he hadn't anticipated.

"Isn't there something you can do to speed this up?" Prithvi finally asked, his voice tight.

"Manik hasn't played with his Mannu in weeks. He's talking about Mannu and the fields, and he can't stand the food here. It's breaking him."

Dr. Mehra sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I'll be honest, Thakur Sahab, I know it's hard. But we can't rush this. His system is fragile, and the slightest oversight could lead to complications. What we can do, however, is make his time here more comfortable."

Prithvi's eyes darkened, filled with the weight of a father's protective instincts.

"What do you mean by that?"

"We can allow more flexibility for you and your wife to care for him directly," the doctor explained.

"Let him eat home-cooked food if that's what he needs. It may make him more willing to cooperate. You both have been strong for him, but he's picking up on your own exhaustion. It might help if you show him that this isn't permanent."

Prithvi let out a long breath, running a hand through his thick hair, still feeling the tension gnawing at him.

"He cried today, Doctor. He begged Tara to take him home. I don't know how much more we can take."

The doctor leaned forward, his expression serious but empathetic.

"Thakur, I know it's hard to see your son in pain, but if you take him home now, there's a real risk that all this progress could be undone. I'm not asking you to ignore his feelings, but to be patient a little longer. You've seen how much better he is today compared to when he first came in, haven't you?"

Prithvi nodded, though reluctantly. He knew the doctor was right, but his heart ached seeing his son suffer.

"And how much longer do we need to stay here?"

Dr. Mehra thought for a moment.

"I'd say another few days. After that, we'll run some final tests. If everything looks good, you'll be able to take him home."

Prithvi exhaled slowly, feeling the burden lift ever so slightly from his shoulders.

"A few more days..."

The doctor gave him a reassuring nod.

"I promise you, we're almost there. Just a little more patience. Manik will be back home soon, playing in the fields and sleeping in your arms. But we need to make sure he's truly ready for that."

Prithvi rose from the chair, the weight of his worries still present but less suffocating now.

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll... I'll do what's best for him."

Dr. Mehra gave him a final nod.

"He's a strong boy, Thakur Sahab. And with parents like you and your wife, I know he'll pull through."

Prithvi turned and walked out of the doctor's cabin, his heart heavy but his resolve strengthened. He knew the coming days wouldn't be easy, but for Manik, he would endure it all.

Prithvi stepped out of the doctor’s office, his footsteps heavy as if they carried the weight of every unspoken fear.

He paused, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to compose himself.

The conversation with the doctor echoed in his mind—assurances, procedures, warnings, and yet, all he could think about was Manik’s small face, pale but fighting. How did they get here?

As the door clicked shut behind him, he found Tara standing there, waiting. She hadn’t moved far.

Her arms were folded across her chest, her face set in a fragile calm, but the way her fingers dug into her skin revealed the anxiety lurking just beneath.

She hadn’t asked him to speak yet, but the question in her eyes was louder than any words.

Prithvi met her gaze for a brief moment, then looked away, unable to hold it for long.

He knew that look—the same look she'd had the night Manik was brought to the hospital—the fear, the silent plea for hope, for something good amidst all this darkness.

“What did the doctor say?”

Tara’s voice broke the silence, soft but steady. There was a trembling undercurrent there, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. Prithvi heard it. He could always hear it in her voice.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

"He said Manik is stable. That’s... that’s all we can hope for right now. But..."

His words faltered as he stared at the floor, his throat tightening. How could he tell her that stability didn’t mean safety? That Manik’s condition was still fragile, and the road to recovery would be long and uncertain?

Tara’s eyes searched his face, picking up on everything unsaid. She swallowed, and in that moment, she wasn’t just Manik’s mother, worrying about her son.

She was a wife, standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure if the ground beneath her feet would give way.

"But...?" she echoed, pushing him gently to continue, needing to know the full truth, however painful.

Prithvi took a step closer to her, his voice low.

"But we can’t predict what will happen. He’s stable now, but the doctor... he said we have to be prepared. There could be complications."

His hands fisted at his sides, hating the way the words tasted in his mouth. He wished he could offer her more, something stronger to hold onto. But all he had was uncertainty.

Tara exhaled, her shoulders sagging just a little, as if the weight of it all had grown heavier.

She nodded slowly, her eyes dropping to the floor, her fingers gripping her arms tighter.

Silence stretched between them again, thick with fear, with words they didn’t know how to say to each other.

The hospital walls, sterile and white, suddenly felt too cold, too distant from the warmth of their home.

Prithvi opened his mouth as if to say more but then closed it, his gaze faltering.

The tension between them was still there—an unspoken distance that neither of them had addressed, a silence that weighed heavier than words.

Tara looked up at him again, noticing the way his hands fidgeted at his sides, a sign he was holding something back.

But she didn’t push. Instead, she swallowed her own emotions, burying them beneath the constant worry for Manik.

They stood there, side by side, in silence, knowing that the real conversation—about their son, about themselves—was still yet to happen.

The night had settled over the hospital like a thick blanket, quiet except for the occasional distant murmur of voices or the soft hum of the machinery down the hall.

Tara and Prithvi found themselves outside on the corridor, the cool breeze brushing past them as they gazed at the night sky.

The moon hung low, its glow softened by the gathering clouds, hinting at an incoming rain.

The silence between them was comfortable for a moment, neither needing to speak as they watched the clouds drift, yet both lost in their own thoughts.

The weight of the past few days clung to their every breath, and though they stood close, there was still that invisible space between them—words left unsaid, emotions bottled up.

Tara shifted slightly, her hands clutching the edge of the railing as her gaze remained fixed on the horizon.

Her heart felt heavy, not just with worry for Manik, but with memories that stirred deep within her. Memories she hadn’t allowed herself to revisit for a long time.

Out of the silence, her voice broke softly, almost a whisper at first.

"I know what it’s like... to feel trapped."

The words seemed to escape her lips before she could stop them, her eyes still on the moon as if she were speaking to the sky, not to Prithvi.

Prithvi turned his head slightly, hearing the faint sadness in her voice, but he didn’t interrupt. He could sense there was something important she needed to say.

Tara’s grip on the railing tightened, her fingers turning pale as the memories flooded back.

“When I was a little girl... my mother and I lived with my maternal uncle after my father died. She was only 24. I was 7,”

she said, her voice steady, though a storm of emotions brewed beneath the surface.

“We had no choice. No place to go. And my uncle... well, we were never really welcome there.”

Prithvi’s eyes softened, realizing she was sharing something from her past—a part of her life he had never heard about before. He waited, allowing her the space to continue.

Tara’s voice grew quieter, as if she was talking more to herself than to him.

“They treated us like a burden. My mother... she did everything she could, working, cleaning... but it was never enough.”

Her breath hitched slightly as the most painful memory surfaced, one she had buried for so long.

“One night... I "

Her eyes closed for a brief second, as if reliving the terror of that night.

“I could hear her screaming.....All night.”

"𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘻𝘢 𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘻𝘢𝘥𝘪! 𝘒𝘩𝘰𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘻𝘢!"

( 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩! 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳! )

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘶𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳.

𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘯𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘱, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.

𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢, 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘢, 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘴, 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳.

𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘺.

𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪, 𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.

" 𝘔𝘢𝘢, 𝘬𝘺𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘨𝘢 𝘢𝘣?” 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴.

( 𝘔𝘢𝘢, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘸?)

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

“𝘊𝘩𝘶𝘱, 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘢. 𝘒𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘢𝘩𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘨𝘢. 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯... 𝘩𝘶𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘰 𝘬𝘰 𝘬𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘢𝘩𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘨𝘢,” 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

( 𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵, 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦... 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴. )

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩. 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪’𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘯, 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

“𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘻𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘩𝘪 𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘢, 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘬𝘩 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘢! 𝘛𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘢!”

( 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩! 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯. )

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.

𝘈 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱, 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢’𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢’𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘶𝘥-𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬.

𝘖𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨. 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨.

𝘌𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳.

“𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘢, 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘱 𝘳𝘢𝘩𝘰. 𝘚𝘢𝘣 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘨𝘢,” 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

(  𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺.)

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴—𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.

“𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘻𝘢 𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘭!” 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴.

( 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘰𝘰𝘳)

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵. 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥.

“𝘈𝘢𝘫 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘨𝘪 𝘯𝘢𝘩𝘪, 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘻𝘢𝘥𝘪,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘦.

( 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩. )

𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳.

𝘈𝘴 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢, 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.

“𝘔𝘢𝘢𝘢!” 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘶𝘱. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪’𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪, 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘥, 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.

“𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘢!” 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪’𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳.

“𝘊𝘩𝘩𝘰𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘫𝘩𝘦!” 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵.

( 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦!)

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺. 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢, 𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘶𝘱, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.

“𝘔𝘢𝘢𝘢...” 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸.

“𝘔𝘢𝘢! 𝘔𝘢𝘢!” 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘳𝘢𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤, 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪’𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦.

𝘐𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘺, 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘴. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

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𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯. 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪.

𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘳.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢, 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩.

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢’𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦.

“𝘔𝘢𝘢...” 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘈𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮, 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭.

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦.

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"That monster..." Tara’s voice was barely audible now, choked with sobs. "She screamed... the whole night..."

Tears streamed down her face, unchecked. Her body trembled as she relived the agony, the helplessness she felt as a little girl watching her mother suffer.

The pain of that night had never truly left her. It was still raw, a wound that had never healed.

Prithvi didn’t know when it happened, but his eyes had begun to fill with tears, the sorrow and helplessness in Tara’s words hitting him like a wave.

Tara couldn’t hold back anymore. As soon as the words left her lips, she collapsed into Prithvi's arms, the floodgates of her grief breaking open.

Her body shook with sobs, and she buried her face against his chest, her tears soaking into his kurta.

Prithvi’s arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close, but the weight of her pain felt unbearable.

"I... I won’t be able to live... if something happens to Manik,"

she whispered, her voice broken, muffled against his chest. Each word felt like it was torn from her soul, a confession of the deepest fear she carried.

Prithvi's heart clenched painfully at her words. He could feel her trembling, her body wracked with grief and fear.

The thought of losing Manik had haunted him too, but hearing it from her, like this, tore him apart.

"Nothing will happen to him," Prithvi whispered, though his own voice cracked under the weight of his emotions.

He gently stroked her hair, trying to soothe her, though he knew words weren’t enough.

"We won’t let anything happen to him, Tara. I promise."

But Tara only sobbed harder, her fingers clutching his kurta as if holding on to him was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"I can’t... I can’t lose him... I can't..."

Prithvi’s chest tightened as he pressed his chin against the top of her head.

He wished he could make her believe, could somehow promise her that everything would be okay.

But he knew the uncertainty hung over them both, heavy and relentless.

For a moment, they stood there, locked in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten.

Prithvi’s silent tears mingled with hers, his heart breaking not only for their son but for Tara too, for the weight of her suffering.

He had seen her strength time and again, but in this moment, she was shattered, and it hurt more than anything.

"Tara..." he whispered again, holding her as if he could protect her from the darkness surrounding them.

"We’ll fight for him... together. We’ll fight for our son."

As they held each other close, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them and their silent promise to face whatever came next.

The night stretched on, but within that embrace, there was a quiet strength a testament to their resilience and the hope that flickered, fragile but alive, in the darkest of times.

And in that stillness, they found solace in each other, preparing to face the dawn together.

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𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿...