In this heartfelt tale, we follow the lives of Aravind and Chaaru, two teenage school sweethearts, as they navigate the complexities of love, responsibility, and growing up together. Unlike most teenage couples, they strive to build a relationship b...
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It's been a week already. Following our return home blurred together, each one tinged with joy and a peculiar kind of quiet struggle. I wanted to be fully here, to support Chaaru through every moment, but a small weight of guilt sat heavily on my chest, reminding me of the complications she'd gone through because of me. Every time she'd wince in pain or need help, a part of me would hesitate, almost reflexively. I wanted to protect her, yes, but there was a fear in me that I'd only end up hurting her again.
Yesterday morning, I heard her call out for me from the bathroom. She'd asked for help getting in and out of the bath, her body still fragile from the delivery. I took a shaky breath, feeling an uncomfortable pulse of warmth and nerves all at once. But as I made my way toward her, the unease crept back in, almost like an instinct I couldn't shake. Instead, I called her mother.
"Auntie, could you...help her?" I said softly, feeling an immediate sense of defeat.
Mrs. Saranya looked at me, a flicker of worry in her eyes, but she didn't ask anything. She simply nodded and moved towards the bathroom. Watching her go, I could only hope Chaaru didn't sense the hesitation in my voice. But when she emerged later, her eyes sought mine, a quiet question lingering in their depths. I offered her a small, reassuring smile, masking the discomfort as best I could.
It wasn't that I didn't want to help, to be there for her. I just wasn't sure if I could. Each time I thought of how close I'd come to losing her, a gnawing fear crept up, warning me not to get too close, as though distance could protect her from harm.
Aaradhya's soft cry brought me out of my thoughts, and I instinctively went to her crib, scooping her up. Her small, perfect fingers clutching my tee, and I felt something shift in me, something I couldn't name but knew I had to trust. Holding her, I felt a pull to be stronger, to push past the things holding me back.
"Hey, Aadhya baby," I murmured, rubbing her tiny back as she fussed, "let's make sure you're all set for Mommy, okay?"
The thought of supporting Chaaru in something, even in this small way, gave me a sense of purpose, something I clung to as I brought Aaradhya to her my girl who was sitting in the living.
As I handed Aaradhya to her, I noticed the way Chaaru's eyes lingered on me, and I wondered if she could see the struggle I was hiding behind the smiles and soft words. I decided to shift the topic, hoping to distract her—and myself.
"Chaaru, I was looking at some colleges, you know, for when you're ready to Start our ug programme. I know how important your ambition is to you," I began, feeling a sense of relief at the change in conversation.
But she shook her head gently, glancing down at Aaradhya with a soft, unguarded smile. "I don't think I'll be going back, Aravind. At least not for a while. Right now, all I want is to be here, with her."
I blinked, surprised. "But you wanted to be a doctor. I know you've dreamed of helping people, of healing."
Her eyes met mine, and there was a quiet conviction in her gaze. "And right now, my purpose is here. With you, and with her. I want to be a mother—to be here fully. Studying can wait."
