The next morning, as the snowfall paused its gentle descent, the soft glow of sunlight kissed the earth, spilling through the cracks of a weathered, half-broken wooden window. Golden beams danced across the room, their warmth finding her—a woman lost in slumber, her head resting back on the chair. Her face, bathed in the morning light, seemed tranquil, almost serene, betraying none of the storms that raged quietly within her heart.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The sunlight, now harsher, began to sting her face, stirring her from her sweet, dreamless sleep. She shifted, blinking as she took in her surroundings, realization dawning with a soft sigh. "Ham kab so gaye... pata hi nahi chala," she murmured to herself, her voice drowsy, as she tried to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. Stretching her arms wide, she let out a long yawn, trying to rid herself of the laziness that clung to her body like the remnants of a dream.
Reluctantly, she rose from the chair, pulling her winter coat tightly around her as the sharp chill of the morning air brushed against her skin. "Ooohh, bohot thand hai!" she whispered through gritted teeth, her breath escaping in little white clouds. Without thinking, her feet carried her downstairs and toward the door, as if guided by habit rather than intention.
Still half-lost in her sleepy stupor, she found herself standing outside a lavish restaurant, its design a blend of sleek modernity and the rustic charm of Kashmiri craftsmanship. She wandered inside, barely conscious of her steps, and headed for a corner table with a view through the large glass window—a seat that seemed to call her name, as if it was meant to be hers each morning.
Collapsing into the chair, she glanced out at the snowy world beyond before calling out, "Kasim Miya, ek black coffee dedooo! Sar fata ja raha hai neend ki kami se!" Her voice, though heavy with exhaustion, carried a familiar warmth, as if this was part of her daily ritual.
Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at her, some eyes wide in disbelief, others staring in confusion, as if she were some kind of eccentric for shouting in such a refined place. Murmurs floated through the air, but she seemed oblivious, lost in her own world.
Behind the cash counter, the man in charge stopped mid-task, abandoning everything as he hurried toward her, whispering instructions to his waiter with urgency. "Chef se kehna, coffee mai hazelnut syrup dalna na bhule, aur shakkar ka ek dana bhi nahi. Jaldi order leke aao! Aur han, sathme blueberry muffins bhi kehna!".
The waiter dashed to the kitchen, following his boss's orders without hesitation. Meanwhile, the restaurant owner, Shekhar, approached her table, a mix of concern and surprise on his face. As he stood before her, he spoke gently, "Haseena bitiya? Aap yaha?"
At his words, she finally snapped out of her drowsiness, blinking as the fog of sleep lifted. She glanced around and realized she had left the hospital far behind. This wasn't a dream—she had truly wandered into the restaurant. Her eyes met Shekhar's, who was dressed impeccably, every bit the polished owner of this high-end place. She stammered, still groggy, "Shekhar uncle? A-aap? Hum yaha kaise aaye? Hum toh... waha, hospital mein the... yaha?"
