𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟔 ：𝑬𝒌 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒎 𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒂 ✓

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘐𝘐. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵

The afternoon sun streamed through the cracks in the attic's wooden shutters, casting long shadows across the room. Dust floated lazily in the golden light as Raghav stood in the middle of the cluttered space. His fingers, smeared with dust, paused mid-air as his gaze landed on an old, weathered canvas propped against the wall.

The figure in the painting tugged at his memory—too familiar to dismiss, yet just out of reach. Heart racing, Raghav grabbed a discarded cloth from a nearby trunk and began wiping away years of grime. Slowly, the image came into focus: a man in a British military uniform, his posture proud and his face alight with confidence. Raghav's breath hitched as realization struck.

It was his father.

The painting’s artistry was remarkable, capturing every line of pride and determination etched into the man’s expression. Though time had dulled its vibrancy, the emotions it conveyed were timeless. Raghav wasted no time, running down the stairs to fetch his father.

"Papa!" Raghav called, breathless, tugging at the older man’s hand. "Come with me. You need to see this!"

Curiosity piqued, his father followed, his steps slower yet deliberate. As his eyes fell on the painting, a faint smile played on his lips—a shy, almost wistful expression. His gaze softened, and for a moment, he seemed to drift away into memories long buried.

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*Flashback: 1946*

A soft breeze rustled through the curtains of a sunlit room. Seated on a wooden chair was a young woman, her figure poised with quiet confidence. In one hand, she held a paintbrush, its tip coated with vibrant colors, while her other hand rested lightly on the edge of the canvas before her.

Her hair was gathered in a loose bun, secured by a simple brush, a strand rebelliously framing her face. Though her features remained obscured, her presence filled the room with an air of focus and serenity.

With each deliberate stroke, her subject—the man in uniform—came alive on the canvas.

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*Present Day: 1975*

"Papa! Papa!" Raghav’s voice brought his father back to the present. "Yeh kisne banaya?"

{"Dad, who made this?"}

His father blinked, his trance broken. The question lingered for a moment before he answered softly, almost reverently, "Mumma ne"

{"Your mom did."}

"Mumma?!" Raghav’s eyes widened with awe. "Wow, Papa! Mummy bohot achi painting banati hai! Mujhe mummy se milna hai!"

{"Mom?! Wow, Dad, Mom makes such good paintings! I want to meet her!"}

The excitement in his son’s voice pierced his heart, but he could only manage a bittersweet smile. "Milenge, beta" he promised gently. "We will find her"

{"We will meet her, son. We will find her."}

Leaving Raghav behind in the attic, he retreated to his room, his steps heavy with the weight of unspoken longing. Once inside, he paused, his gaze landing on a dusty suitcase lying forgotten in the corner. With a deep breath, he knelt and opened it.

Inside were photographs from his days in the British Army—moments captured with fellow officers, their camaraderie frozen in black and white. He sifted through them, one by one, until his fingers brushed against something unusual.

A red envelope, ornate and carefully preserved, lay tucked in the corner of the suitcase. His breath caught as he picked it up, his hands trembling slightly. Slowly, he opened it.

The photograph inside was of a young woman. Her face, framed by soft curls, turned ever so slightly toward the camera. Her eyes held a quiet strength, her smile serene yet enigmatic. Beneath the photograph, in elegant handwriting, was a name: Manjari Das.

"Manjari," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion.

He pressed the photo to his lips, kissing her forehead tenderly before clutching it against his chest. For a moment, time ceased to exist, and he was no longer the 48-year-old man weighed down by years of separation. In his heart, he was young again, yearning for the woman who had painted his soul onto that canvas.

"If I could see her just once," he murmured to himself, "I’d go back to her in a heartbeat"

~~~~

Hello loves ❤️
Here comes Chapter 2
Will he find his manjari?
Why is Raghav’s father so deeply affected by the memory of his youth and Manjari

I hoped you like it !!

Stay tuned for 3rd chapter

Do comment follow and vote

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*730 words*

~Nishaa♡