𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐬

58 || 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

Finally here with the much awaited Epilogue:)

[Five years later]

❥

Sometimes, love isn't about finding someone perfect; it's about finding someone who makes your imperfections feel complete. In the quiet moments, you realize, they were the wish you never knew you made.

~Me

♡♡♡

The room basked in the soft glow of the evening light filtering through the pale-yellow curtains. It was a nursery, but it didn't feel ordinary. A cozy reading nook with a beanbag and shelves stuffed with picture books nestled in one corner. A small wooden table with tiny chairs stood by the window, scattered with crayons and paper. The other side of the room was an organized chaos-blocks, miniature cars, and stuffed toys carefully placed in baskets. But the centrepiece was a low study desk where Rudraksh sat on the floor, engrossed in his delicate task.

His broad shoulders hunched slightly as his long fingers worked on a tiny piece of clay, shaping it meticulously. A small box of tools and an array of vibrant colours sat next to him as he gave his undivided attention to his creation. He was almost done when he sensed a movement, a soft shuffle of tiny feet on the wooden floor. A small shadow hovered over him.

He looked up, and there stood his mini version-Kavish. The little boy, his little boy, had silky black hair that curled slightly at the ends, falling over his forehead. His features were almost identical to Rudraksh's-the sharp nose, the defined jawline, the dimple on the left cheek when he smiled-but his eyes were different. Those were pure Saumaya. Deep, black, and expressive, they held the same warmth and curiosity that had captivated Rudraksh from the moment he met her.

Kavish, dressed in his favourite cartoon-themed pyjamas, shook his head dramatically. "No, Papa ji. Aise nahi," he said in a small, determined voice, pointing at the clay earring Rudraksh was holding.

(No Papa Ji, not like this)

Rudraksh raised a brow, glancing at his son and then at the earring. "Acha ji?" he asked in mock surprise.

(Is it?

Kavish climbed onto the floor beside him, grabbing a clay model he had made. "See, aise," he said, holding up a pair of slightly lopsided yet adorable earrings shaped like tiny hearts.

(See, like this)

Rudraksh smirked, leaning back on his hands. "Hun tussi apne pio nu sikhaso?" he asked in his playful Punjabi accent.

(Now, you'll teach your father?)

Kavish gave him a wide, toothy grin, his dimple matching his father's. "Aaho ji!" he said with childlike confidence, nodding as if he was the wisest teacher in the world.

(Yes)

Rudraksh narrowed his eyes at the little troublemaker before pulling him into his lap. "Oho, bada aaya sikhavan wala," he said with mock sternness, his hands already moving to Kavish's sides. Within seconds, laughter erupted as Rudraksh tickled him mercilessly, filling the room with Kavish's high-pitched giggles.

(Really?)

That sound-the sound of his son's uninhibited laughter-was Rudraksh's second most favourite in the world. The first would always be Saumaya's, his Mithiye's, the melody of her laughter forever etched in his heart.