JANE KAISE

32." PANDIT JI AND RIDHU🫣"

In the soft glow of newfound memories, Trisha’s heart flutters with a tender joy. To her, Akshat is not just a name, but a promise of love rediscovered, a life she believes she once lived. As she prepares to walk the path to the priest, her soul is a canvas painted with hues of love and longing, each step a verse in the poetry of reunion.

With every beat, her heart whispers *Akshat*,
A name that stirs the embers of a past so vast.
In her eyes, a reflection of a love so true,
A bond she cherishes, though memories are few.

Ridhi's innocent call, a balm to her soul,
A daughter's love filling an aching hole.
In her mind's quiet corners, doubts may dance,
Yet her heart chooses to give destiny a chance.

To the priest, she walks with hope in her gaze,
Each step a silent vow, through love's gentle haze.
In Akshat's presence, her spirit finds flight,
For in him, she sees her beacon, her light.

In this moment, Trisha's love is a serene river,
Flowing to Akshat, her heart's generous giver.
A future uncertain, yet she smiles through the mist,
For in her heart, she knows she's truly kissed by bliss.

Trisha’s feelings are a delicate tapestry of love and faith, woven with threads of a past she yearns to reclaim and a future she’s ready to embrace with open arms. Her journey to the priest is not just a step towards marriage but a leap into a life she’s pieced together with fragments of a dream she’s determined to live fully.

♠️Trisha's pov ♠️

“Namaste, Pandit Ji,” Simran Di greeted with reverence, bending down to touch his feet in a gesture of respect.

“May you be blessed with good fortune,” Pandit Ji responded, patting her head gently with a benevolent smile.

Following her lead, I approached to seek his blessings as well. Little Ridhu, cradled in my arms, observed the exchange with innocent curiosity.

Pandit Ji, with a grandfatherly warmth, took her into his lap. She gazed at him intently, her eyes wide with wonder, perhaps trying to place this new face in her small world. However, her attention was soon captured by the gleaming Radha Krishna locket dangling from his neck, and she reached out to grasp it with her tiny fingers, utterly fascinated.

“We’ve come to find an auspicious time for Akshat and Trisha’s wedding,” Di announced, her words drawing a smile to my face.

“Bring forth the birth charts,” Pandit Ji requested, his voice carrying the authority of his vocation.

“We don’t have them, Guru Ji,” Di replied, a hint of nervousness betraying her as she bit her lower lip.

“Well then, my child, show me your palm,” Pandit Ji said, turning to me and extending his hand. I obliged, placing my right hand in his.

He scrutinized the lines etched on my palm, his brow furrowing in concentration. I watched his face, trying to decipher his thoughts from his expressions. He alternated between frowning and maintaining a stoic demeanor, as if piecing together a complex puzzle.

But then, without warning, he let out a sharp cry that made me startle.

Our attention snapped to Pandit Ji and Ridhu.

In a moment of playful mischief, she had grabbed hold of his long, white beard and was tugging with all her might, her giggles mingling with his cries of surprise.

The room erupted in laughter at the unexpected turn of events, the tension dissolving into a moment of pure, unbridled joy.

Ridhu’s spontaneous antics had indeed sparked a wave of mirth that rippled through the room. Her laughter, pure and unfettered, resonated with a joy that only a child’s heart knows.