Arranged marriages can be as sweet as sugar or it can be as zesty as salt. One is Rom-Com but another is a heartbreaking love story. Both pairs are entangled together in a bond, the bond of a forbidden marriage, you either hate it or love it.
MOHIN...
Meenakshi sighed as she folded a stack of freshly laundered clothes on her bed. Damru sat nearby, fiddling with a toy truck. The evening sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over their cozy studio apartment.
"Maa, why can we go King uncle's dinnaa?" Damru's voice was plaintive, his brows furrowed in confusion.
(Why can't we go to King uncle's dinner)
Meenakshi glanced over at her son, her heart squeezing with a mix of love and frustration. "Oh, sweetie, I just don't feel like going tonight. Mommy's tired."
"But uncle invyay us! I wanno go pay widim" Damru insisted, his eyes wide with excitement.
(But uncle invited us! I want to go play with him)
The thought of facing him made her stomach churn. "Damru, it's complicated, darling. Mommy doesn't really want to see King uncle."
Damru's face scrunched up in puzzlement. "Buh why, Mommy? Is he not naish?"
(But why mummy? Is he not nice?)
Meenakshi paused, folding a tiny shirt with deliberate care. How could she explain to her innocent child the weight of her past hurts? "He is fine, honey. It's just... Mommy and King uncle knew each other a long time ago, and things didn't go well between us."
Damru's expression softened, his eyes searching her face,"You look sad Mumma... If you don wanna go we don go."
(If you don't want to go, we will not go)
Minakshi smiled at her smart son.
Damru slid off the bed and toddled over to Meenakshi, his little hands reaching out for the clothes. "Can I hep, Maa?"
(Can I help, Maa)
Meenakshi smiled down at him, her heart swelling with love. "Of course, sweetheart." She handed him a small pile of socks, watching as he tried his best to match them together.
As Damru diligently paired the socks, Meenakshi's thoughts wandered to Trishul— Meenakshi wasn't ready to confront Trishul, nor did she want to disrupt the peaceful life she had built with Damru.
"Mom, wook! I gig it!" Damru held up a pair of mismatched socks proudly.
(Mom! Look! I did it)
Meenakshi chuckled, tousling his hair affectionately. "Good job, baby." She gathered him into her arms, cherishing this tender moment. Damru was her world—the product of a love that had blossomed and faded, leaving behind a bittersweet memory.
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Trishul sat in the dimly lit room, his form illuminated by the dancing flames in the fireplace. His gaze was fixed on the crackling wood as it was devoured by the fire, the soft glow casting flickering shadows on his face. In his hand, a cigarette hung loosely between his fingers, forgotten and unlit.
