|ONE SHOT| AJNABI AND QURBAT

~Will You Be My Baba?~

I must have been loved a little too much by you in our past lives that I had to come back again, this time to return all the love with interest.

(KABIR: 17 YEARS OLD MANTHAN: 9 YEARS OLD)

❋❋❋

Only if you could see what the future holds for you, you could've saved so many disasters. If we knew what kind of future we have, we might have fewer worries. A seventeen-year-old Kabir Raheja never thought he'd become rich in his life. It was surely his dream and aim to become rich, but he didn't know how rich and in what way. Maybe not knowing the future was a blessing because destiny and the future are interlinked. The more you know, the more anxious you get. And the lesser you know, the more you work to unravel your future.

"I am not hungry." Manthan repeated for the eighth time in the past one hour. The little kid was throwing tantrums more than usual. It wasn't like Manthan never threw tantrums. He did, but the boy rarely refused to eat. 

"You didn't even eat your lunch at school. Are you feeling sick, Maan? Should I inform Madame, we can see a doctor, beta. Yaha aa." Kabir said, gently placing the plate down as he gathered the boy in his arms. 

Manthan refused to look into Kabir's eyes. The dark gaze that always twinkled with happiness, exuded warmth every time they landed on the boy, the pair of eyes that reminded him of the dark chocolate he once tasted, they were now looking at him with concern that didn't settle well with him. 

"I am not sick. I am just not hungry." Manthan argued, and Kabir sighed in frustration. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned the boy, forcefully this time, grasping his jaw to make him look up. 

When Manthan refused to comply, Kabir's patience started wearing. It had been three hours since Manthan returned from school, an hour of pleading with the kid to eat, and this was the extent of Kabir's patience. He had work in an hour and leaving Manthan hungry was not something he'd ever do. 

"If you won't give me a reason, Manthan, I'll force feed you. Your last meal was in the morning. One paratha. That's it. Either you tell me what's wrong, or just sit down and start eating before I lose my patience with you. You are not starving yourself. Do you hear me?" Kabir asked him, teenager temper making itself known, and Manthan flinched at the sharpness of his brother's tone. 

"Bhaiya , yaar—" 

"Eat, Manthan." Kabir said, lifting spoonful of khichdi and curd before bringing it closer to his mouth. Manthan glared at him in return. 

There was nothing more than stern Kabir, Manthan loathed. It really— really disliked when Kabir scolded him. A moment of anger would always end up with Kabir running behind a little Manthan, trying to pacify him. If Kabir had little patience, Manthan had none. 

"Nahi khaunga. Kya karoge aap?" Manthan asked loudly, his voice increasing. 

He was hungry, to begin with. Hunger is no one's friend. It starts eating you from inside. Hunger controls your mind, makes your tongue bitter. It makes you your biggest enemy. A hungry Manthan was an extremely grumpy and unruly kid. He'd snap remorselessly. 

Kabir's eyes darkened. A seventeen-year-old teenager wasn't really well-versed with parenting. The patience his future self had in abundance, his teenage-self lacked. He placed the plate down and crouched in front of him, to match his height. And suddenly Manthan was intimidated.