The vivid reds in wedding symbols of celebration , Happiness and Joy . But what will happen if the same red colour change into the colour of blood betrayal and the symphony of despair.
Meera sweet little innocent girl end up being the pawn in the d...
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The morning light streamed through the window, casting a golden hue over the living room as I settled into my chair.
Yesterday’s oddities still lingered in my mind. Meera and Ira, my little schemers, had been unusually quiet.
'Okay Ira is fine but is Meera yours' my inner voice mocked me.
Shut up and let me focus.
'Whatever makes you sleep at night '
I sometimes think if it is me or someone else. I should reduce my time with Aditya he has this stupid kind of brain.
So where was I ha..
Their smiles were too bright, their laughter too forced—it was a performance, and I was the unassuming audience.
But the pièce de résistance was Meera. Gone was the sarcasm, the playful jabs, the “Mr. Khadoos” that had become her trademark.
Instead, she was all sweetness and light, which was even more suspicious.
There is something cooking in her little brain. Even this morning, her antics continued. As I reviewed my emails, she entered with a radiant smile that could rival the sun. She handed me a steaming cup of coffee and sat down beside me.
“Good morning,” she chirped, her voice unnaturally cheerful.
I just gave her a quick nod and muttered, “Morning,” keeping my eyes on the screen. But she didn’t leave. Instead, she leaned closer, her energy practically buzzing.
“Suniye,” she began, “Aap ko pata hai aap jaisa iss duniya mein koi nahi hai— aap jaisa buddhiwan, shaktimaan, dayawan. Aap jaise log bahut kam hote hain.” (Listen, do you know there’s no one like you in this world—someone as wise, powerful, and kind. People like you are rare.)
I froze, my coffee halfway to my lips. Meera, praising me? Is she talking about me? I don’t think so. Because the only word she calls me is Khadoos.
This had to be a trap. Now I was sure—something was fishy.
"Ji aap hi hai vo insaan jo dhyani hai, gyani hai, antaryami hai, swami hai, shaktimaan hai, buddhiman hai... arey main toh kehti hoon ki aap purush hi nahi hai—" (Yes, you're the one who is meditative, enlightened, omniscient, lordly, powerful, intelligent... in fact, I’d say you’re not even a mere man—)
I was almost on the verge of spitting out my coffee when she quickly corrected herself.
"Mera matlab, aap mahapurush hai." (I meant, you are a great man.) She chuckled nervously.
I shifted my gaze from the screen to her, just to see how long she could keep this up. As I looked, her smile widened.
“Sach mein. You’re not just a great boss but also an amazing husband and, most importantly, the best dad. Hum sab kitne lucky hain ke aap humare zindagi mein hain.” (Really. You’re not just a great boss but also an amazing husband and the best dad. We’re so lucky to have you in our lives.)
