ᴍɪʜɪᴛʜᴀ-𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓸𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷

56

                Author's pov

Each day that passed felt like both an eternity and a blessing to Rudransh. Since the accident, he’d had no one else to turn to for support no parents or family to share the weight of his fears. It was just him and his little girl, Nila, who looked to him for strength even as he fought to hold himself together. At barely three years old, she was both his anchor and his reminder of the fragile hope that kept him going.

The doctors had told him Mihitha’s recovery would be gradual, if it happened at all, but Rudransh didn’t care how slow it was as long as she was fighting her way back to him. He spent every day by her side, quietly telling her stories of their past, of Nila’s latest adventures, and of all the dreams he still hoped they’d share. He held her hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles over her knuckles, whispering promises that, even in the quiet, felt almost sacred.

“Mihitha, you know it’s just us here just you, me, and Nila,” he murmured softly one evening. “We’ve come this far together. We’re not giving up on you now.”

The nurses watched him with a mix of awe and sympathy, knowing he was carrying everything alone, with no family to lean on. But Rudransh didn’t need sympathy; he needed her, and he knew Nila did too. Every morning, he would wake Nila, who stayed in a small room nearby, and bring her to see her mother.

Nila, with her bright eyes and the same warm smile as her mother, was too young to fully grasp the gravity of the situation, but her love for Mihitha was boundless. She’d settle beside her mother on the bed, leaning in close, her soft voice full of innocent certainty.

“Mama,” she whispered one morning, brushing her tiny fingers against her mother’s arm, “Papa says you’re sleeping. But I know you’re just resting until you’re ready to surprise us.” Nila looked up at Rudransh, a glimmer of faith in her wide eyes. “Right, Papa? Mama’s just waiting.”

Rudransh’s heart ached at her words, but he forced a smile, nodding. “Yes, sweetheart. Mama’s just resting. She’ll come back to us soon. We have to keep talking to her, keep reminding her how much we need her.”

Every day, Nila brought her mother small gifts she made with her father: crayon drawings of their family, paper flowers, and little cards covered in colorful scribbles and hearts. Each one said the same thing, scrawled in her careful handwriting: “I love you, Mama. Come back soon.”

The nurses would occasionally glance in, their faces softened by the sight of this little family holding onto each other in such quiet resilience. They offered Rudransh words of encouragement, even though he was too weary to respond most of the time. He’d simply nod, his gaze fixed on Mihitha, watching every slight movement, every flicker of expression that hinted at her return.

One morning, after a quiet night spent beside her bed, Rudransh noticed her fingers twitch under his own. His heart leapt as he bent close, whispering, “Mihitha? Can you hear me? It’s me, Rudransh. I’m right here.”

The slightest squeeze of her hand followed, weak but unmistakable. Overcome, he kissed her fingers, a tear slipping down his cheek as he whispered his thanks to whatever force might be listening. It was a small sign, but he’d waited so long for it.

Days later, Nila returned to the room with another hand-drawn card. She proudly held it up for her mother, even though Mihitha’s eyes remained closed. “Look, Mama! I made this for you.” The card was filled with hearts and stars, and she leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to her mother’s cheek. “I’m saving all my hugs for you, Mama. When you come back, I’ll give you all of them at once.”

Rudransh held Nila as she snuggled up to her mother’s side, feeling his chest tighten at his daughter’s unwavering belief. Her faith held him steady, a light in the dark that he hadn’t realized he needed so badly.

And slowly, her belief became reality. Mihitha’s breathing grew stronger, her skin took on a healthier color, and she began to move, slight but unmistakable, in response to their voices. The doctors noted these improvements cautiously, yet with hope. She was coming back, piece by piece, moment by moment.

One early morning, as Rudransh sat beside her, he felt her fingers curl around his hand more firmly. Her eyes fluttered, barely opening, but he caught a glimpse of that familiar warmth he’d missed so desperately. His breath caught as he leaned in close, voice thick with emotion. “Mihitha? It’s me. I’m here.”

Her gaze was weak, unfocused, but a faint smile touched her lips. She didn’t need words; that look, that spark of recognition was enough to tell him she was truly there. Rudransh felt tears spill over as he kissed her forehead, his heart overflowing with relief and joy.

Just then, Nila, who had fallen asleep on the small couch nearby, awoke and rubbed her eyes, looking around groggily. When she saw her father’s tear-streaked face, she blinked, uncertain, and looked over at her mother.

When she realized her mother’s eyes were open, her face lit up. “Mama!” Nila’s voice was bright and full of wonder as she scrambled to her mother’s side, her little hands resting on Mihitha’s arm. “You’re awake! Papa, look! Mama’s back!”

Though Mihitha was too weak to speak, her eyes softened as she looked at her daughter. Nila beamed, whispering, “I told Papa you’d surprise us. I knew you’d come back.”

Rudransh watched as Mihitha’s gaze shifted from him to their daughter, a silent promise in her weary expression. Her hand trembled as she reached up, barely brushing Nila’s cheek, but it was enough to send waves of emotion crashing over both of them.

In the days that followed, Rudransh’s care for Mihitha grew even more attentive. He’d carefully help her sit up, supporting her as she took sips of water, his touch gentle but strong. He’d comb her hair, brush her lips with a cool cloth, and speak to her in soft, loving tones, telling her everything he and Nila had done to keep her memory alive in those silent, painful weeks.

As her strength slowly returned, Nila would sit beside her mother, filling the room with her cheerful chatter and boundless energy. She’d tell Mihitha about every drawing she made, every new word she learned, and each night she’d say, “Goodnight, Mama. I love you so much. Papa and I missed you.” She never missed a chance to remind her mother of her love, her bright words a lifeline in those delicate days of healing.

Though Mihitha still struggled to speak, her eyes said everything. And as Rudransh watched her recover, bit by bit, he knew they’d weathered the worst of the storm. With Nila at their side and his hand in hers, they were finally ready to begin again, with a future that felt within reach once more.