It was a calm evening at the Shimla. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm glow through the large windows. Little Abhira sat in the middle of the living room, surrounded by her toys, but her face didn’t match the peaceful atmosphere. Instead, her small features were scrunched up in frustration as she absentmindedly pushed her toys around.
Abhimanyu, seated nearby with his medical journal, noticed his daughter’s silence and the frown on her face. It wasn’t like Abhira to be this quiet when she was playing. Usually, the house echoed with her laughter or her stories about what her toys were “saying” to one another. Concerned, he set the journal down and moved closer to her, kneeling beside her on the floor.
"Abhira beta," he began softly, brushing a hand through her hair, "why do you look so upset? Did something happen?"
Abhira looked up at her father with her big, expressive eyes, but then quickly cast them down again, hugging her doll tighter to her chest. She hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. “Dadda, I don’t want a sister anymore,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.
Abhimanyu was taken aback. “What? But, beta, you’ve always been so sad with Ruhi. Why are you saying that ?”
Abhira pouted, her little lips forming a stubborn line. “Because… because Ruhi always wants to play with me. I never get time to play by myself. And everyone always talks about her. She’s the one everyone looks at when she’s here, and I don’t want to share my toys with her.”
Abhimanyu listened intently, his heart aching as he realized that his daughter was feeling something much deeper than just wanting to play alone. He could see the frustration and confusion in her small face, and he knew this was something that needed careful handling.
“Come here,” he said gently, pulling Abhira into his lap. She snuggled into his chest, her tiny hands clutching her doll.
“Abhira, I understand how you feel,” he began softly, his voice calm and soothing. “Sometimes, it’s hard to share things, especially when you feel like you want some time just for yourself. It’s okay to feel that way.”
Abhira’s grip on her doll loosened a little, but she didn’t say anything, still sulking.
Abhimanyu continued, “But there’s something very important I need to tell you about your sister Ruhi. You see, beta, Ruhi doesn’t have her mother or father around. They’re not here with her like I am for you. She only has us—me, you, Abhir and Akshu. We’re her family, her whole world.”
Abhira looked up at him, her little brows furrowed in confusion. “But why doesn’t she have her own parents, Dadda?”
Abhimanyu took a deep breath, his thoughts momentarily drifting to the painful memories of Aarohi and Neil. He knew this was a delicate topic, but it was important for Abhira to understand. “Ruhi’s mother, your Massi, was my sister-in-law. She loved Ruhi very much, but she passed away when Ruhi was just a little girl. Her father, Neil, isn’t with us anymore either. So now, it’s our job to make sure Ruhi feels loved and safe.”
Abhira blinked, her face softening as she began to understand. “So Ruhi needs us because she doesn’t have her own mom and dad?”
“Yes, beta,” Abhimanyu nodded. “She looks up to you. You’re her little sister, but in many ways, you’re her guide too. She loves you so much, and when she wants to play with you or be around you, it’s because she feels happy and safe with you.”
Abhira stayed quiet for a few moments, her small hands fiddling with the fabric of her doll’s dress. “But... sometimes I want to play alone,” she said, her voice still unsure.
