Vaani:- "Ye kya kar rahe aap, hum gir jaayenge! Niche utaariye humein. Aan, put me down." In a surprise turn of events, she didn't even realised what she called him.
Aanvik:- "Don't ever call me that, only my family members are allowed to call me by...
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In the real world, there's no thrilling hero who would greet you with "Welcome to your living hell hole" and spark excitement. Instead, it would be a frightening and daunting experience. This isn't a storybook where the hero, despite uttering those words, succumbs to the charm of the protagonist and they live happily ever after. This is the reality where, if the hero has ushered you into a living hell, it signifies their intent to ensure that your time alongside them is marked by intense suffering and pain, making even the concept of hell seem preferable by comparison.
Taking a deep breath, I cautiously exit the car, my nervousness evident through my fidgety movements. The uncertainty of how everyone will respond to my presence weighs heavily on my mind. I am, after all, a stranger, an unexpected addition to their lives. I can't even be sure if they will accept me or not, so the idea of fitting in seems like a distant possibility.
The nervousness is overwhelming, and I find myself at a loss for words and actions. I'm unsure of whether they will warm up to me or not. It's a paralyzing feeling, not knowing who to trust or confide in. The anxiety takes hold, causing my hands to tremble in fear. As panic begins to set in, I instinctively close my eyes, seeking a moment of calm to combat the impending panic attack.
Keeping my gaze lowered, I make my way towards his family, standing in front of them. My nervousness keeps me from meeting their eyes, and I remain apprehensive. Out of nowhere, a pair of hands gently grasp my shoulder, causing me to startle and flinch back in fear.
"I apologize for startling you, beta," says a gentle voice. I slowly raise my head to see a kind lady looking at me with a warm, apologetic smile. Instantly, I feel guilty for my reaction, realizing that I've made her feel uncomfortable. Hesitantly, I reach out and hold her hand, assuring her that there's no need to apologize. Her beautiful smile returns, and she motions to a younger girl, asking her to present the Aarti plate.
With grace and warmth in her gaze, the same woman, whom I presume to be Aanvik's mother, performs both our Aarti and recites hymns. I extend my hand to touch her feet for blessings, but she stops me with her radiant and reassuring smile. The room is filled with the scent of incense and the gentle glow of a traditional oil lamp.
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