Dil wala DuLhA Le jayenge 🤵🤵‍♂️

1

The late-night London lights bled through the expensive silk curtains, illuminating the opulent bedroom of Abhimanyu Malhotra.

Sprawled across his king-sized bed, a symphony of rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, Abhi snored softly. A gentle knock on the door, followed by the soft creak of opening, announced his mother's arrival.

She wasn't his biological mother, that much was evident from the warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. He called her Maa nonetheless. She glided in, a vision in a silk sari, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. Her smile faltered slightly at the sight of her son, tangled in the sheets like a tousled puppy.

"Abhimanyu,beta chalo utho " she chided softly, placing the coffee on the bedside table, "your father is waiting for you downstairs. Another late night, hmm?"

Abhi, still half asleep, mumbled a sleepy apology. "Five more minutes, Maa. Just five."

Maa chuckled, her touch feather-light as she ran a hand through his hair. "Five minutes turned into three hours last night, young man. Don't make your father wait."

He peeked at her with one eye, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "He wouldn't mind, Maa. You know he spoils me rotten."

Maa's smile widened. "That he does. But wouldn't it be nice to find someone who spoils you the way you deserve, even without the constant prodding?"

Abhi sat up, finally awake. He playfully swatted her hand away. "Maa, you and your matchmaking again! It'll happen, alright? When it's meant to be."

Maa's gaze softened. "I know, beta. But a mother can dream, can't she? Besides," she added, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "your father wouldn't mind having someone else wake you up in the mornings."

Abhi groaned, throwing his head back onto the pillows. "Maa!"

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Kunj woke to the gentle London dawn filtering through the thin curtains. Unlike the opulent drapes that shielded Abhimanyu from the morning light, these offered a glimpse of the bustling city slowly coming alive. He stretched, the familiar creak of his old bed a comforting sound.

Before anyone else stirred, Kunj was on his feet. He made his way to the kitchen, his bare feet padding softly on the worn linoleum floor. Inherited from his mother, his passion for cooking simmered as potently as the chai he began to brew. The aroma soon filled the tiny apartment, promising a warm start to the day.

His mother emerged from her room, a tired smile etched on her face. Unlike Maa, who glided in like royalty, Kunj's mother moved with the practiced ease of a woman who shouldered a lot. But her eyes lit up when she saw him.

"Awake so early, beta?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. Kunj, ever the dutiful son, smiled brightly. "Of course, Maa. You need all the help you can get with everyone rushing about."

It was a white lie. He'd only managed three hours of sleep, the rem of aining hours spent hunched over a pile of paints and glitter, finishing his little sister's forgotten art project. He couldn't risk his father finding out, a scolding was certain. But his mother, bless her heart, wouldn't understand the silent language of sacrifice within their family.

A small whirlwind of energy soon filled the kitchen as his little sister, Priya, tumbled in, her dark braid a mess.

"Bhaiya! Bhaiya! Tie my hair!" she demanded, her voice brimming with excitement. Kunj chuckled, used to his sister's whirlwind energy. He expertly braided her hair while simultaneously prepping lunchboxes - his own included, for college awaited after he dropped Priya at school.

His mother, having finished the chai, gently nudged him away with a laugh. "Kunj beta tumhe bhi college ke lite ready hona jao meh dekh lungi ab."

A glance at the clock confirmed her words. He quickly showered and dressed, the routine as familiar as the worn t-shirt he pulled on.

As he joined the family at the table, his bhabi, his brother's wife, couldn't resist a snide remark about him being "too busy playing house" to be ready on time. While Kunj generally ignored her barbs, a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. He hated arguments, and family meals were sacred.

His brother, however, placed a hand on his shoulder in a silent display of solidarity.

Their father, a man of few words, ate his breakfast in quiet contemplation. Once the chaos subsided, Kunj slung his backpack over his shoulder, a lunchbox clutched in one hand and Priya's hand in the other. He led her outside, the familiar route to her school a comfortable walk before he caught the local bus to college.

Even with the early morning hustle, a quiet contentment settled over Kunj.

Little did he know, his carefully constructed world was about to be shaken by a chance encounter, an encounter that would lead him to a life far grander than the one reflected in the dusty windows of his London flat.

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