SHE SAW ME

AMMI

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Happy Reading 🤗❤️

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"Two spoons of yogurt?" Sanam asked, her hand hovering over the bowl as she glanced at Meher, who stood beside her.

"Yes, and then mix it in. Add the flour after that," Meher answered, her voice steady, though Sanam noticed a flicker in her gaze. "Why are you bothering yourself, Bibiji? I could have made it for you."

Sanam smiled softly, stirring the mixture. "If you made it, how would I learn?" she replied gently, knowing they both sensed the unspoken reason she was here, preparing this dessert was just an excuse. "Actually, it's Azam who loves balushahi. At home, we have the staff for cooking, but here Sima doesn't know how to make this, and I knew you would."

Meher's lips curled in a faint smile as she turned to the syrup on the stove. "I know all the old dishes, Bibiji. If you ever want anything special, just let me know." Her voice was quiet, with a touch of reluctance.

"Not me, but Azam will surely come with all kinds of requests," Sanam laughed lightly, watching Meher's face.

Meher's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and she turned back to the stove. The silence grew, heavy with words left unsaid, until Sanam's voice broke it.

"Khala, may I ask you something?" Her tone was soft, hesitant, but intent.

Meher paused, eyes still focused on stove. "Of course, Bibiji," she replied, already sensing where this was going. She had known since her slip of words in front of Kahini that this conversation was inevitable, that the truth would eventually come to the surface.

"Can you not call me Bibiji?" Sanam's words were tender, filled with a plea she couldn't mask.

Meher's fingers tightened around the spoon. "But you are Bibiji," she murmured, eyes avoiding Sanam's. The ache in Sanam's heart grew sharper as she watched Meher's quiet resistance.

"Not here. Here, I'm not a celebrity, Khala. You're older than me. It pains me when you call me that," Sanam said, her voice pleading, a note of vulnerability woven through each word.

"I'm sorry, I can't call you by your name, Bibiji." Meher hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as she poured oil into the pan.

Sanam's gaze softened, lingering on Meher, feeling the depth of the silent barrier between them. "Why not, Khala? Would you have said the same thing to your own daughter?"

The words struck like a sudden gust, and Sanam saw Meher's shoulders tense, a tremor in her frame. Meher's breath wavered, her composure fraying, and in that moment, Sanam knew Kahini's instincts had been right. This is it, Sanam thought.

"If your daughter were here," Sanam whispered, her voice thick, "we'd be the same age. So, think of me as your daughter."

Meher's voice shook. "W-what are you saying, Bibiji?" Her worst fear, unfolding before her, filled her heart with dread.

"No, not Bibiji," Sanam's voice softened, breaking under the weight of her emotions. "Soni. Call me Soni."

Meher's world stopped, eyes widened, her heart halting, her body freezes as she met Sanam's gaze—a gaze full of unspoken longing of a daughter reaching out to a mother. Sanam's eyes, wide with hope and the quiet ache of a child who'd waited a lifetime, pierced straight through her. She couldn't take it, No she is not ready.

"I... I..." Meher's voice broke, words slipping away as her body trembled. She took a step back, every instinct screaming to flee.

"I just need... I'll be back," she mumbled, barely audible, her body moving before her mind could catch up. She turned sharply, rushing toward the door in a desperate attempt to escape.