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Money plant are called pothos.
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After stepping out of the elevator, I entered the dining area seamlessly connected to the drawing room, separated only by a glass partition.
There Maa, was seated at the round dining table, was indulging in her breakfast, while Roshni sat beside her, devouring her sandwich at a lightning speed.
Why can't she simply rise a bit earlier?
Papa always envisioned the dining area to be like this, intimate unpretentious, and conducive to family togetherness. We didn't change it even after he left us. He held firm to the belief that a family that dines together, thrives together.
Approaching Maa, I took my place beside her, while the chair to my left was empty, for my wife.
"Good morning, Maa," I greeted, observing her relishing a paratha, meticulously prepared by Nidhi, who has made it her ritual to prepare breakfast for Maa, according to Maa's preference. Somedays it would be Aloo ke Parathe, Besan Chilla,
"Good morning, Beta," Maa reciprocated, her smile radiating warmth.
"Running late today?" she inquired, glancing at me, then focusing back on her plate.
"No, Just, I have to drop Nidhi off at college," I responded, savoring the aroma of the freshly brewed black coffee, undoubtedly prepared by Nidhi.
Maa, nodded understandingly, fully engrossed in her breakfast delight. Oh, how I wish even I could relish such parathas every day!
Just then, my lady entered the dining area, exuding elegance akin, to that of a revered college professor, captivating the attention of all who beheld her.
Yet, her attire exuded modesty.
As she graced the dining area, she balanced two plates delicately in her hands. One plate adorned with sandwiches, while the other cradled a cup of chai, emitting an enticing aroma that instantly engulfed the room-hints of ginger and cardamom wafting through the air, tantalizing my senses.
The notion of forsaking my coffee in favor of the fragrant cup of chai briefly crossed my mind. However, given our time constraints, I refrained from indulging in the temptation.
Elegantly navigating around the dining table, she gracefully settled beside me. With the cup still in hand, she deftly placed a sandwich onto my plate and poured the orange juice into the glass.
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Solace
Lãng mạnNidhi, an adopted child, lost her biological parents in a horrific accident at the tender age of four, resulting in the most traumatic experience of her life. While her father showers her with love, the same cannot be said about her mother. Nidhi pl...
