Amnesia is hard to battle, when the most recent memories you have of yourself are of living on cold cemented floors, and being on the run, constantly.
Amnesia is hard to overcome when you find yourself with a husband and a family you have no memori...
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The routine for the past five years have been monotonous—— the life of a dead man, brightened by the singular light in his life: his son, Karthik Singh Oberoi.
Shivaay had never in his life known that it would be possible to love someone so unconditionally, and protect someone so fiercely, with no limits and no hesitations.
He stares at his son who is busy scarfing down the French toast Shivaay's made for him, and the thirty-seven-year-old businessman, has to exhale a sigh before chiding his son.
"Karthik," his stern tone, makes the boy look at him with wide blue doe eyes—— a carbon copy of his irises—— which he blinks slowly, as his rapid chewing slows down. "Your French toasts aren't running away, young man. Dheere khao."
"But, Papa," Karthik frowns, swallowing the morsel he's just crushed with his molars. "We read about the gingerbread man who ran away from the baker, and her husband, and the farmer, and then another, and the cows, and the sheep——"
Shivaay blinks rapidly, trying to keep up with his son who babbles on and on about the story he'd read the previous week.
"Good morning, Bade Bhaiya," the cheerful tone makes the two look at the jovial woman, who walks up to Karthik, and ruffles his hair. "Good morning, Cheeku."
Karthik frowns, "Sumo Didi, I'm not a kid anymore. Don't call me that," he grumbles, his lower lip jutting out.
Saumya laughs. "Says who, kiddo? You'll always," she wraps her arms around him, and placed a kiss on his cheek as his nose scrunches, "be my adorable little knight in shining armour."
Karthik blushes, and mumbles a half hearted word of annoyance, before chewing his French toasts slowly.
"I'm done," he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, the chocolate staining his lips. "Oops," he smiles sheepishly.
Shaking his head with an exasperated yet fond smile on his face, Shivaay chuckles, as he takes the neatly folded handkerchief from his breast pocket and pours a little water from the jug and onto the soft material.
He dabs the handkerchief against his son's lips, before patting his head. "Grab your bag and I'll meet you by the front doors."
Nodding obediently, Karthik rushes off, as Shivaay exhaled slowly, rubbing his fingers over his temple.
"Bhabhi is still asleep," Saumya's soft whisper makes him look up at her with a tired look in his eyes, as he nods slowly. "I'll keep her company if you're not back from dropping Karthik by the time she wakes up."
"Sumo, you have your own life," Shivaay shakes his head. "I cannot possibly——"
"Bade Bhaiya," Saumya frowns. "You and Bhabhi always considered me your sister. You always said that Priyanka and I were equally your sisters, regardless of whether we shared blood or not."
