The vivid reds in wedding symbols of celebration , Happiness and Joy . But what will happen if the same red colour change into the colour of blood betrayal and the symphony of despair.
Meera sweet little innocent girl end up being the pawn in the d...
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I woke up to the gentle rise and fall of Ira's tiny chest against mine. Her small hands clutched the fabric of my kurta, and her peaceful face, framed by soft curls, radiated innocence. For a moment, I just lay there, watching her sleep. It was a rare moment of calm in the storm that had become my life.
Carefully, I shifted, trying not to wake her. "Ira," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "beta, let me get up." (Ira, dear, let me get up.) She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Slowly, I managed to untangle myself from her grip and gently placed her back on the bed. She sighed softly and turned, still lost in her dreams.
I tried standing up but as my feet touched the floor, a sense of pain hit me like a wrecking ball. But as I looked at them, it reminded me of my husband—how gently he had wrapped my bleeding feet with a bandage. But that doesn’t reduce his arrogance.
Now come on, see when I asked him about Ira's mom, he replied to me with a poker face, "I have answered all your questions for today." Stupid person. No no, Khadoos.
I turned back to look at Ira, who was now hugging her pillow. A small smile tugged at my lips despite the chaos in my heart. "I have to be strong," I whispered to myself. I don't know how, but she is the light to my darkness—something I never knew I needed. But now I do know I need it.
This short span of time with her reminds me that I should accept my past, move forward, embrace new beginnings and new bonds, and finally be myself—the version I always wanted to be but was never allowed. Now I will live my life, and not restrict it to this room. I will move out.
---
After a quick wash, I changed into a simple salwar kameez. As I tied my hair into a loose braid, I caught my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back looked older. Wearier. "You can do this, Meera," I muttered, trying to muster some courage.
Ira stirred again, this time waking up. "Mumma," she called out softly, rubbing her eyes. "I'm here, Ira," I replied, walking over to her. I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair back. "Good morning, Ira. Did you sleep well?"
She nodded sleepily and reached out for a hug. I held her close, feeling a rush of protectiveness. This little girl was becoming my anchor in a sea of uncertainty. "Chalo, let's get you ready," I said, trying to keep my tone cheerful. (Come on, let’s get you ready.)
As I led Ira to the bathroom, I couldn’t help but think about the day ahead and the new challenges it would bring. But for now, I focused on Ira, finding solace in her presence and her trust in me. "Mumma I'm hungry, let's go down and have breakfast."
---
As I walked downstairs, I saw my mother-in-law—a graceful woman with kind eyes—bustling about in the kitchen.
"Good morning, Aunty," I greeted her hesitantly. She turned to me with a warm smile. "Good morning, Meera. And please, don't call me Aunty. Call me Maa." (Call me mother.)
