Tera deedar hua
pehla sa payaar hua
pehli hi baar hua
Iss dil ko...
Na toh inkaar hua
Na hi ikraar hua
Jane kya yaar hua
Iss dil ko..
♡♡♡♡♡
˜"*°•.˜"*°• Kashish x kavya •°*"˜.•°*"˜
✧✧✧✧✧
"Asmaan...
Tumse Dil Jo lagaya To jahaan Maine paaya Kabhi Sacha na tha yun Meelon dur hoga Saaya Kyun khuda tune mujhe Aisa khwaab dikhaya Jab haqiqat mein usey todna tha.. Ek Dooje se Huye juda Jab ek duje ek liye Bane.. Teri Meri Meri Teri Prem kahani hai Mushkil Do lafzo mein yeh Bayaan na ho paaye .
🥀 💔🥀
.·´¯'✿Age currently✿ ´¯'·.
Kashish - 15 years Kavya - 12 years
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Sunita's voice cut through the morning air like a buzzer. "Kavya! Chal ab uth ja! Varna agar main aa gayi toh fir teri khair nahi!" Her tone held a mix of warning and affection, echoing from the kitchen as she prepared for the busy day ahead. It was Kavya’s first day of 9th grade, and the clock was ticking.
From under her cozy blanket, Kavya mumbled, "Bas paanch minute, Mumma, please…" Her voice was muffled, and she clutched her pillow tighter, burying her face into its softness, hoping for just a few more precious moments of sleep.
Meanwhile, in the living room, Kavya's grandmother, Sita Sharma, settled herself comfortably on the sofa after her morning prayers. “Bahu, meri chai kidhar hai?” she called out in a soft but commanding tone, folding her hands in her lap with a look of expectation.
“Ji Maa, bas do minute!” Sunita called back, her hands deftly preparing tea as she darted around the kitchen, mentally juggling all the tasks ahead.
“Sunita, mera lunch box de do, mujhe der ho rahi hai!” Kavya's father, Anil Sharma, called from near the shoe rack as he hurriedly slipped on his shoes, his face a blend of urgency and excitement. Today was his first day at his new office in Kanpur, and the nerves were starting to show.
“Ji, aayi, bas do minute, Sunita replied with a chuckle, reaching for his lunch box while keeping an eye on the kettle for tea.
“Arey, mera akhbaar kidhar hai, bhai?” Hariom Sharma, Kavya’s grandfather, grumbled as he sat down across from Sita in the living room. He pushed his glasses up and looked around, slightly flustered.
“Samne pada hai, table par,” Sita replied with a grin, nodding towards the newspaper on the center table. “Chashma lagaiye pehle, kuch dikhai toh deta nahi aapko! Bas chillana hai.” Her playful tone carried a hint of fondness, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as she teased her husband, whose faux grumpy face melted into a reluctant smile. There was a warmth hidden in their gentle bickering, the kind that only years of love could forge.
Back in the kitchen, Sunita was multitasking like a pro—pouring tea, packing lunch, and keeping one ear tuned to the commotion of the household. She muttered to herself, “Agar ye ladki paanch minute mein neeche nahi aayi na, toh mujhse bura koi nahi hoga.” Her eyes darted towards the staircase, her face scrunched up in mock irritation. But her muttering was interrupted by a sudden hug from behind.
