JI HUZOORI | ✔

EPILOGUE~2.0 (Part-2)

Pushing open the front door of his house, Shaurya's weary footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hallway. The neighbourhood still slumbered under a blanket of darkness, and the only sound was the ticking of the wall clock. He knew that he had managed to finish his night shift earlier than usual, a rare occurrence that allowed him to return home before dawn.

As he stepped inside, he noticed the faint glow of light emanating from his parents' room. The partially ajar door signalled that his mother was up, a loving gesture she reserved for her tardy son.

With a tired but appreciative smile, Shaurya approached the kitchen, where he knew his mother would be. Mrs Suniti Mohan, all wrapped in a brown shawl, was bustling around, preparing something.

"Tired, Shaurya?"

Mrs Mohan asked, her voice a mix of concern and motherly pride. He nodded, knowing that she could see the weariness in his eyes.

"Yeah, Maa. You know how it is. But see, 25 minutes earlier than the usual time."

"Wash your hands."

Without waiting for a response, Mrs Mohan placed a plate of toast and a warm cup of coffee on the table.

"You need to eat something light before you crash. You're no good to anyone if you're running on empty."

Shaurya couldn't argue with her. After wiping his hands, he obediently took a bite, the simple nourishment providing a small burst of energy. Thankful for his mother's unwavering care, he looked at her as she brought a cup of tea for herself.

"Did she sleep then?"

"A while ago. After taking inhaling some steam forcibly. Nose drops didn't work on her. She kept on fussing in discomfort for the whole night."

"I'll check on her."

After finishing a quiet breakfast with his mother, Shaurya got up and passed through the hall. It was a rare moment of serenity in the bustling household, thanks to the notorious kids of his cousin brothers, who usually ensured that silence was a fleeting luxury.

He trudged up the stairs, exhaustion weighing on every step.

Finally, he reached his bedroom door and pushed it open with a gentle creak, unsure of what to expect. But what he found inside instantly washed away his fatigue, replacing it with a surge of tenderness.

The world outside was still cloaked in darkness, but a soft, ambient glow from a nearby streetlight seeped through the curtains, casting a gentle illumination over his room.

A soft, tender smile played on his lips as he caught sight of his wife and their six-month-old daughter, nestled together beneath a warm, cocoon-like blanket on the bed.

Latching the door, he took cautious steps towards his desk to keep his bag and other belongings there.

Then he drew closer to the bed, the room's faint glow and the dim blue lights lit near the night stands revealed the heart-warming details. Manjiri with her long hair gathered in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, just as it was when he left, held their precious daughter close to her chest. Her peaceful visage was framed by the gentle glow, her eyes closed, and her lips curved into the softest of smiles, though tired.

And then, the object of his unwavering affection, their six-month-old daughter, nestled securely in the curve of her mother's arm. Her miniature fingers, barely bigger than petals, clutched at a tuft of her mother's hair that had escaped the bun.

It was a small, intimate detail that spoke volumes about their connection, a delicate thread binding them together. Her that habit mirrored his own habits. He had done that countless times in the past.