Author’s POV,

In the heart of Varanasi, where the ancient and the modern blend into a vibrant, chaotic tapestry, the early morning was still and calm. The city’s usual bustle was yet to begin, but inside a small, modest house, restlessness reigned. A young woman lay curled up in her bed, her brow glistening with sweat. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps as she tossed and turned, caught in the grip of a nightmare.

In her dream, Prachi found herself standing in a dark, shadowy room. The air was thick and suffocating, carrying the musty scent of neglect. A faint, distant echo of dripping water filled the silence. Her nine-year-old self was huddled in a corner, her tiny body trembling with fear. The child’s eyes, wide and wet with tears, seemed to pierce through the darkness. Prachi felt a desperate urge to reach out, to comfort the little girl, to hold her close. But when she tried to move, her legs wouldn’t obey. It was as if invisible chains held her back, tightening with every struggle. The child’s silent cries filled the space, echoing in Prachi’s mind, choking her with a sense of helplessness and despair.

Suddenly, the shrill sound of her alarm sliced through the darkness, shattering the nightmare. Prachi’s eyes flew open, and she bolted upright in bed, her chest heaving. Her heart pounded in her ears, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away hastily, as if trying to erase the lingering fear. For a moment, she just sat there, breathing deeply, grounding herself in the reality of her room—the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, the familiar scent of sandalwood from the incense her mother burned every day.

From the kitchen, her mother’s voice broke through the silence. “Prachi, wake up! You’ll be late for the office. Prachi! Are you awake?”

The urgency in her mother’s voice pulled Prachi further into the present. She wiped the remaining sweat from her forehead and forced herself to steady her breathing. “Yes, Maa, I’m awake!” she called back, trying to inject cheerfulness into her voice despite the shadows of the nightmare still clinging to her mind.

Prachi quickly got ready for work, slipping into the armor of her professional life. When she entered the kitchen, she found her mother, Preeti, busy packing her lunch and setting breakfast on the table. The rich aroma of freshly made parathas filled the air, mingling with the scent of the sandalwood, wrapping around Prachi like a warm hug.

Preeti placed a lunchbox beside Prachi’s plate. “Put this in your bag now, or you’ll forget it like you always do,” she said with a teasing smile, her eyes sparkling with affection.

Prachi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “Maa, you could remind me without the taunt, you know.”

Preeti laughed softly, the sound like a soothing melody. “Sure, because I’m saying something that isn’t true, right?”

Prachi pouted playfully, making her mother chuckle even more. “Okay, okay, don’t sulk,” Preeti said, waving her hand dismissively. “Come and eat. I made your favorite—Sattu Paratha.”

Prachi’s face lit up. “Maa, you’re the best! How did you know I was craving it?”

Preeti’s smile softened, love shining in her eyes. “Because I’m your mother. I just know.”

As they shared breakfast, their laughter filled the small kitchen, mingling with the clinking of dishes and the sizzling sound of the frying pan. The warmth of these moments chased away the remnants of Prachi’s nightmare, bringing her a sense of normalcy and safety.

The sound of footsteps approached, and Naveen Gupta, Prachi’s father, entered the kitchen. He was a man of few words, his face etched with lines from years of hard work. Yet his eyes lit up at the sight of his wife and daughter together, their happiness like a balm to his soul.

“Good morning, beta,” Naveen greeted Prachi with a gentle smile as he took his seat at the table. “What’s all this laughter about?”

Prachi grinned at her father. “Maa made Sattu Paratha for breakfast. And she’s teasing me about forgetting my lunch.”

Naveen chuckled, his voice a low rumble. “Well, she’s not wrong. You’ve forgotten your lunch more times than I can count.”

Prachi laughed, the sound light and free, as if shaking off the last of her morning’s dark thoughts. In moments like these, surrounded by the love of her family, the shadows of her past seemed to fade away, replaced by the comforting light of the present.

They ate together, the conversation drifting to light topics—Naveen spoke about the new customers at the restaurant, and Preeti reminded Prachi not to push herself too hard at work. Prachi nodded, her mind already shifting to the day ahead, the tasks she needed to complete, and the goals she had set for herself.

After breakfast, Prachi grabbed her bag, making sure to slip the lunchbox inside with a grin, and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’m off, Maa. See you in the evening.”

Preeti waved her off with a smile. “Take care, beta. And remember, don’t skip your lunch!”

Naveen added, “Be careful on the road. Call me once you reach.”

Prachi nodded and stepped out into the morning light. The bustling streets of Varanasi greeted her with their familiar chaos—the honking of rickshaws, the chatter of shopkeepers, the ringing of temple bells in the distance. She started the engine of her second-hand scooty, a recent purchase she was proud of, and maneuvered her way through the morning crowd.

As Prachi rode through the winding streets, the cool breeze against her face, her thoughts drifted back to her nightmare. The image of her younger self, alone and crying, clung to her mind like a dark cloud. She shook her head, determined to push those thoughts away. The past was a shadow that lingered, but she couldn’t let it control her present. She had her future to think about, her dreams to chase. She had to stay strong, not just for herself, but for her mother, who had sacrificed so much to see her succeed.

Across the street from her own modest home, the Rajawat residence stood tall and proud, its pristine white walls gleaming in the morning sun. The two-story house, with its well-tended garden and elegant fountain, spoke of comfort and luxury. The scent of blooming jasmine drifted from the garden, mixing with the earthy aroma of the city’s early morning bustle. A gardener tended to the flowers, and the soft hum of activity within the house was almost tangible, hinting at the presence of the three servants who kept everything running smoothly.

Prachi cast a fleeting glance at the house as she passed by, memories tugging at the corners of her mind. The Rajawat home had always seemed a world apart from hers, a place where dreams could take shape in broad daylight. She remembered being a small child, just five years old, wandering over to the Rajawat’s front gate, her tiny hand gripping her mother’s fingers tightly. Back then, her visits had been a daily ritual, a comfort amid the turmoil that lay hidden beneath her own roof.

Prachi could still see Srestha Rajawat’s warm smile, the way her eyes had crinkled with kindness whenever she saw Prachi approaching. Srestha had moved back into her childhood home when her son Sarthak was nine, leaving behind a life marred by betrayal. It was the talk of the neighborhood back then—Srestha’s decision to leave her unfaithful husband, Vikram Singh Rajawat. Society had pressured her to forgive and return, to put on a brave face for the sake of appearances. But Srestha had stood firm, a pillar of strength, even when judgment and whispers followed her like a shadow. With her father’s support, she had built a new life for herself and Sarthak, even as financial difficulties loomed large.

Prachi remembered how her mother, Preeti, had often taken her over to the Rajawat house. Preeti would help Srestha with small tasks, offering comfort in the form of companionship and shared burdens. Little Prachi, with her innocent curiosity, had always tried to play with Sarthak, the older boy who kept to himself. At first, Sarthak had been distant, his young heart weighed down by the pain of his parents’ separation. But Prachi’s relentless joy, her bright eyes and infectious laughter, slowly chipped away at his defenses. Before long, they would spend hours playing together in the Rajawat garden, their giggles filling the air, momentarily lifting the shadows that clung to Sarthak’s heart.

As Prachi weaved through the traffic, she couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Sarthak’s shy smile, the way he would finally give in and join her in a game of tag or hide-and-seek. Those were simpler times, before life’s complications began to take their toll. But as they both grew older, things changed. Sarthak became more engrossed in his studies, preparing to take on the responsibility of supporting his mother. The carefree days of childhood faded, replaced by the weight of duty and ambition. Prachi, too, found herself withdrawing, her own world darkened by her father’s infidelity, a mirror of the betrayal Sarthak had witnessed.

The sound of a horn blaring pulled Prachi back to the present. She swerved her scooty to avoid a pothole, her heart skipping a beat. Shaking her head, she focused on the road ahead, pushing away the lingering thoughts. She had more pressing things to worry about than the ghosts of the past.

The office building, a modern structure of glass and steel, rose up in front of her. Prachi parked her scooty, took a deep breath, and headed inside. The familiar hum of office life greeted her—the clicking of keyboards, the low murmur of conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter. She greeted her colleagues with a nod and a smile, her professional facade firmly in place.

As the day wore on, Prachi immersed herself in her work. Yet, the shadow of her nightmare lingered in her thoughts, a reminder of the emotional scars she carried. She knew that the road ahead would be challenging, but she was determined to face it with strength and resolve. For Prachi, each day was a step towards reclaiming her sense of self, her dreams, and her place in a world that often seemed so indifferent.

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Meanwhile, as Prachi disappeared around the corner, Sarthak watched from the upstairs window of the Rajawat house. Her long hair caught the sunlight as she rode away on her scooter, a familiar sight that never failed to bring a pang of nostalgia to his heart. Sarthak had returned to Varanasi just a year ago, after spending years away for his studies and business ventures. The Rajawat house, once filled with the laughter of his childhood, now stood as a silent witness to his growing resolve.

Sarthak’s gaze lingered on the empty street where Prachi had just been. He remembered those early days when she would come over to play, her innocence a soothing balm for his wounded heart. Even now, the memory of her laughter brought a faint smile to his lips. Back then, Prachi had been a beacon of light in his dark world. But time had changed them both. The little girl who used to chase after him with endless energy had grown into a woman who carried her own scars, just as he did.

He turned away from the window, his expression hardening with determination. The house around him was a testament to his mother’s strength and resilience. Srestha had rebuilt their failing family business into a thriving enterprise, refusing to let betrayal or hardship define her. Sarthak had vowed to continue her legacy, to expand the business even further. But his heart held onto another promise, one he was determined to fulfill now that he was back in Varanasi.

He looked around his room, the walls still bearing the marks of his childhood, grounding him. His mother had made countless sacrifices for him, standing tall against societal pressure and financial struggles. Now it was his turn to fight for what he wanted. For Sarthak, that meant more than just business success. It meant winning Prachi’s heart, breaking through the walls she had built around herself.

His mother’s voice drifted up from downstairs, calling for the servants to set the breakfast table. Sarthak took a deep breath, then headed out of his room. He would take it one step at a time, just as his mother had taught him. He had come back to Varanasi with a purpose, and nothing would deter him from his path. Prachi was not just a childhood friend or a neighbor; she was the light that had once brought him solace, and now, he was determined to be the light that brought her joy.

Downstairs, the aroma of freshly cooked aloo parathas filled the air, a comforting scent that reminded Sarthak of home. Srestha was already at the table, smiling warmly as he entered the dining room.

“Good morning, beta,” she greeted him. “Come, sit. I made your favorite aloo parathas.”

Sarthak returned her smile. “Good morning, Maa. You always know how to make me happy in the morning.”

As they sat down to eat, Sarthak savored the familiar taste of the parathas, each bite reminding him of the love and care his mother put into everything she did. They ate in companionable silence for a while, until Srestha spoke up.

“Sarthak,” she began, a hint of seriousness in her tone, “now that you’re settled back here, I’ve been thinking. It’s time for you to get married. If you like someone, you should tell me. Otherwise, I can start looking for a suitable match.”

Sarthak felt a flicker of hope but kept his voice steady. “Maa, you don’t need to worry about my marriage. If there’s someone, I’ll let you know. But tell me, what kind of girl do you want for me?”

Srestha thought for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “I want a girl who will love you unconditionally. Someone kind and strong, who can stand by your side. If I had to choose, I’d want someone like Prachi. She’s such a sweet, loving, and independent girl. She would be perfect for you.”

Srestha’s face lit up with sudden realization. “Why didn’t I think of this before? You should marry Prachi! She’s just the right match for you. I’ll talk to her and her mother about arranging a marriage.”

Sarthak’s heart soared, but he quickly masked his excitement. He needed to proceed carefully. “Maa, I don’t want to get married right now. And you can’t just go and tell her to marry me.”

Srestha’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, so my son, who keeps every other woman at a distance, is ready to marry Prachi?”

Sarthak cursed inwardly, realizing his feelings had slipped out. He tried to downplay it. “Maa, it’s not like that.”

Srestha leaned back, a playful smile on her face. “So, you’re saying Prachi isn’t a nice girl?”

Sarthak groaned, feeling trapped. “No, Maa! Stop teasing me. It’s not like that. Prachi is a wonderful girl, and I’ve known her since childhood. But I just… I know she might not be ready for this. And neither am I.”

Srestha’s smile softened into a look of understanding. “Sarthak, I know you both are wounded by the same past, and Prachi’s wounds run deeper. I just want you to find happiness with someone you can truly love. And I believe that person could be Prachi. I’m not saying she will be forced to marry you. It will be her choice. I love her just as much as you do, because I’ve seen her lose her joy. If there’s a way to bring light back into both your lives, I’m willing to give it a try.”

Her sadness gave way to resolve. “So, I’ll talk to them, and you won’t interfere. I know you haven’t outright refused, which tells me enough.”

Sarthak sighed. “Maa…”

Before he could continue, his phone buzzed, interrupting the conversation. He excused himself and went upstairs to retrieve it. The caller ID flashed a name that made his face turn serious. He answered, listening to the firm, older voice on the other end.

“Sarthak, I’ve waited long enough. This is final. You have six months. Make sure you’re ready and tell your mother about it.”

Sarthak’s jaw tightened. “Okay, I’ll handle it. You don’t need to worry.” He hung up, his expression turning grim. The playfulness from earlier had vanished, replaced by a steely resolve. He knew he couldn’t delay his plans any longer. If he didn’t act soon, Prachi might slip out of his reach.

Letting his mother handle the proposal seemed the best course for now. He could only hope that Prachi would agree to the marriage. Deep down, he felt his love turning into something more desperate, almost an obsession. The idea of losing Prachi was unbearable, and the thought of his life without her filled him with dread.

Sarthak had been subtly guiding his mother toward this moment for some time. His earlier insistence on steering clear of marriage had shifted deliberately. He knew his mother admired Prachi; Srestha often spent weekends with Preeti and Prachi, never tiring of praising Prachi’s determination and strength. By asking what type of girl his mother wanted for him, Sarthak had hoped she would say Prachi’s name, and she had. Now all he could do was hope—and prepare to act, if hope failed.