𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝟑

In the warmth of the bustling kitchen, the aroma of spices and the sizzle of cooking filled the air, a comforting symphony to the morning's work. The golden light of dawn streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on the faces of those within.

Kiara's entrance was like a gust of wind, her presence as tangy as the lemon she sought to soothe her vexation. "Bhabhi, lemon water, please," she implored, her annoyance palpable in the tight line of her lips and the furrow of her brow.

"What's got you so riled up this early, Kiara?" I inquired, my laughter barely contained behind a playful smirk.

She huffed, a storm brewing in her eyes. "Why do people drink if they can't handle it?" she grumbled, her face contorting in a display of irritation that was, admittedly, quite amusing.

Drishti, ever the silent observer, let a smile dance on her lips, her amusement shared as she continued her tea-making ritual.

"Hand it over, I'll whip up some lemon water," I offered, reaching for the bottle. "Drishti, could you pass the Advil? Kiara, make sure Veer gets some ; it'll help with his headache," I suggested, my voice a calm anchor in the morning's minor tempest.

"I thought Veer was at the rally with his brothers," Drishti chimed in, her tone laced with mirth.

"Subah, bhaiya aaye the bulane per itni chadi hui thi ki vo inko nahi le gaye," Kiara grumbled, her voice laced with annoyance that clung to the words like the humidity in the air. We couldn't help but laugh-a shared moment of levity in the midst of the morning rush.

"Koi nahi, aap yeh unko de dijiye," I offered, extending the bottle of lemon water as a peace offering. She snatched it and stormed off, her footsteps a staccato against the marble floor, leaving me and Drishti to our mirth.

"Waise, aap ke CM Sahab ka phone aya tha. Aap ne pucha ki vo sab kab tak aayenge?" I teased Drishti, my words dancing with mischief. But her shoulders fell, a silent shrug carrying the weight of unspoken worries. She turned away, her voice barely above a whisper, "Nahi, bhabhi, humko nahi pata." There was a sadness there, a shadow that crossed her face, and I wondered at its cause.

"Theek hai phir, hum intezaar karte hai. Per pehle dadi sa aur Maa ka breakfast serve kar dete hai. Aur ha, vo smashed banana aap Rudra ko khila dijiyega," I directed, trying to keep the morning on track. At the mention of Rudra, a smile bloomed on Drishti's face, a blush painting her cheeks with a rosy hue. Had I missed something?

Shaking my head, I turned towards the dining hall. Dadi sa sat regally at the head of the table, her presence commanding even in silence. Maa was there too, her smile a warm beacon in the cool morning. And little Rudra, behind her, gnawing on his rubber toy with the earnestness of a puppy.

"Good Morning Dadi sa, Good morning Maa," I greeted them, my voice carrying the cheer I hoped would spread. Dadi sa remained still, a statue in her own home, while Maa's "Good morning beta" was a soft melody that eased some of the tension in my chest. Rudra's giggle was a spark of joy, his tiny hands reaching for me-a balm to any heartache.