Written in the Stars (Rewriting)

Chapter 3

I reached home sooner than I would have liked, the quiet warmth of the house offering some relief from the day’s weariness. As I stepped inside, I slowly made my way to the living room, where my mother sat crocheting a soft, cozy-looking sweater. Her focus was intense, each movement of her fingers precise, and the rhythmic sound of yarn against the needle filled the room.

"Assalamu alaikum, Ammi," I greeted her softly, letting the comfort of her presence wash over me. Without another word, I moved close and gently rested my head on her lap.

Her hands paused mid-stitch as she looked down at me, surprise flashing briefly across her face before she set her wool aside. She let her fingers slip into my hair, caressing it with such tenderness that I felt a knot in my chest begin to loosen.

"Kya hua, meri chanda?" she asked softly, her voice full of warmth and concern.

A faint smile curved my lips, my eyes closing at the familiar term. Meri chanda. I still remember the first time she called me that. When I’d asked her why, she simply smiled and said I was the only thing that lit up her life, her moon, her chanda—the one thing that made her world brighter. I was the center of her universe, and that thought had always filled me with a deep, unspoken comfort.

I said nothing, only sighed and snuggled further into her warmth, letting her fingers comb gently through my hair. She didn’t ask anything more, simply letting her fingers move in a soothing rhythm, each stroke easing the tension in my mind. For a few minutes, we sat in peaceful silence, her comforting presence grounding me in a way that words couldn’t.

After a while, she nudged me gently, whispering, “Come on, get up. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

I mumbled in protest but reluctantly sat up, watching her as she disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with a small plate of food and settled beside me on the sofa, holding out a bite toward me.

“Ammi?” I looked at her, a little confused by her gesture.

She just smiled, nodding toward her hands, as if to say, Let me take care of you.

Quietly, I let her feed me, each bite tasting warmer, fuller, somehow comforting. She didn’t rush, taking her time as if knowing that this was exactly what I needed. When the food was gone, I thanked her softly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me once again. I dragged myself to my room, changed into something more comfortable, and let myself fall into bed with a long, contented sigh.

It didn’t take long before sleep claimed me.

But somewhere in that slumber, a faint voice began to reach me, its soft echo pulling me from the depths of sleep.

“Beta…”

The voice continued to call out, gentle yet insistent, pulling me further from the depths of sleep. My eyes fluttered open, still heavy, and I slowly turned my head toward the source of the sound. The room was dim, shadows stretching across the walls, and it took me a moment to register my surroundings.

“Beta,” the voice murmured again, and I realized it was Ammi, her warm hand resting lightly on my shoulder as she leaned over me. Her face was soft with concern, her eyes full of that endless motherly care I’d known my whole life.

I blinked, rubbing my eyes as the sleep faded, and managed a faint smile. “Ammi?” I mumbled, my voice thick with lingering drowsiness.

She brushed a stray strand of hair from my forehead, her touch soothing. “Tum theek ho?” she asked softly, her voice threaded with gentle worry. I nodded, slowly sitting up, still feeling a bit disoriented from the sleep.