In the Hope of Love

Portraits of Love and Art

DEV's POV

The first rays of the sun peeked through the curtains, filling the room with a soft golden hue. I woke up to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Stretching lazily, I glanced at the clock—6:30 AM.

As I stepped out of my room, the sound of laughter greeted me. Niha was in the kitchen, her hair tied up in a messy bun, chatting animatedly with Maa while helping her knead dough. She had a smudge of flour on her cheek, and Maa was shaking her head with an amused smile.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Niha chirped, catching sight of me. "Finally awake? Maa and I were wondering if we should send an alarm team to rescue you from your dreams."

"Very funny," I replied, walking to the kitchen and ruffling her hair on purpose. "What's the special occasion today? You seem extra chirpy."

Before she could answer, Maa intervened, "She's helping me make Chole Bature for breakfast. And you, Dev, can set the table."

I groaned in mock protest but grabbed the plates. Niha followed me, carrying the bowls of chutney and sabzi. "By the way," she whispered as we walked, "I'm heading to the hospital after breakfast. You coming along?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"

She grinned. "Not really."

With everyone gathered around the dining table, a cheerful energy filled the room. We greeted each other warmly, exchanged light-hearted banter, and settled into our seats. The enticing aroma of Chole Bhature wafted through the air, instantly elevating my mood.

As soon as I took the first bite, the flavours transported me back in time. A vivid memory surfaced—

FLASHBACK  STARTS

I vividly remember being around 16 years old, tagging along with Baba on a work trip to Delhi. We were staying at one of his Army friends' houses in Delhi Cantonment. For reasons I didn't quite grasp back then, Maa and Saurabh Bhai didn't come with us. Baba called it "confidential work," and I didn't push further.

The days were a whirlwind of activity. I watched the soldiers train, joined a few sports sessions, and even tried my hand at obstacle courses. It was exhilarating but exhausting. By the end of each day, I felt like collapsing onto my bed.

Fifteen days passed in a blur, but there was one thing that grated on my nerves—the food. Every meal was an experiment in mediocrity. "Seriously, how hard is it to make decent dal?" I muttered under my breath one evening.

"You'll survive, Dev," Baba said, overhearing me. "A little discipline won't kill you."

I didn't argue. Complaining to Baba about food was like yelling at a rock—absolutely pointless.

One afternoon, Baba's old friend, Uncle Vijay Sharma, stopped by. He couldn't stop talking about his niece.

"Vijay, if I hear one more word about your niece, I might actually think she's perfect," Baba teased.

 Uncle Vijay replied, ignoring the jab. "She's visiting us now, and she's an absolute gem. Why don't you and Dev come over tomorrow? My father would love to meet you too as we have discuss about our plan as well."

Baba agreed, much to my dismay. The next day, as we got ready to leave for their guest house, I overheard one of Baba's Army friends mention a rope-climbing session nearby.

"Rope climbing?" My ears perked up.

Baba shot me a knowing look. "What's that expression for?"

"Baba," I began, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "Can I go? Just for a while? You can manage the... uh... meeting without me, right?"