🌙 Six Months Later — A Quiet Evening
It was early evening in the Saxena household — that golden hour when the sun dipped lazily, splashing the living room in warm amber. The hum of the ceiling fan mixed with the faint laughter of neighbours echoing through the courtyard.
Komal ji was in the kitchen, her soft voice drifting out as she spoke to Diya about the evening tea. Diya, in a simple bottle green cotton suit, sleeves rolled up just a bit, was kneading dough on the marble counter, her bangles clinking every now and then.
Agni had just returned home — his khaki uniform replaced by a simple white tshirt, hair still damp from a quick shower. He stepped into the kitchen doorway, watching for a moment — the mundane sight of his wife laughing with his mother something he’d come to treasure more than he’d ever admit aloud.
Diya caught him in the corner of her eye and paused, smiling. “Aap wahan kyun khade ho? Aaiye, chai ho gayi.”
Komal ji chuckled softly. “Main bartan sambhaalti hoon, tum dono baitho.” She wiped her hands on her pallu and looked at her son fondly. “Sun, Diya ne nayi recipe try ki hai. Pehli baar banaya… par maza aa gaya.”
Agni raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Aisa? Toh phir judge karna hi padega.”
They all moved to the small dining table in the veranda. Diya poured him tea, careful not to spill, the steam curling up and catching the dying sun. She placed a small bowl of freshly made methi mathri next to his cup.
Agni took a bite — his expression perfectly neutral at first, then his eyes twinkled. “Perfect.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Sach?”
“Bilkul.” He leaned forward just a little, dropping his voice. “Aapko pata hai na… ek din main moota ho jaaunga. Aapki wajah se.”
She gave his arm a soft shove, but her giggle escaped anyway. “Aap aur moote? Naamumkin.”
Komal ji watched them, her eyes crinkling with the warmth only a mother knows. “Mujhe toh lagta hai… tum dono ek doosre ke saath bilkul theek ho.” She stood up with a sigh, patting Diya’s shoulder. “Main thoda mandir jaa rahi hoon. Jaldi lautungi.”
Once she left, a gentle silence settled between them. Agni leaned back in his chair, sipping tea, his eyes on Diya — still fussing with a stray lock of hair that kept falling on her face.
He reached across the table, brushing the hair behind her ear. The touch was so brief, so casual, but her breath still caught — six months in, and this man still managed to make the ordinary feel new.
“Waise,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing, “aaj chhutti kaisi thi?”
Diya rolled her eyes dramatically. “Aapko kya lagta hai? Aapki files sambhalti hoon ya ghar?”
He chuckled, looking every bit the boy she sometimes glimpsed beneath the officer’s exterior. “Mujhe bas yeh lagta hai ki agar aap ghar sambhal rahi ho… toh main poora duniya sambhaal sakta hoon.”
She opened her mouth to retort — but instead, she reached out and flicked his forehead lightly with her flour-dusted fingers. “Aapka romantic mode kabhi kabhi bohot mushkil ho jata hai, Agni ji.”
He caught her hand before she could pull it back — pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, ignoring the smudge of flour that stayed behind on his lip. “Mushkil nahi… zaroori hai.”
She giggled, pulling her hand back, her cheeks warm. “Chalo, ab yeh sab baatein chhodiye. Aap jaldi se fresh ho jaiye, main dinner lagati hoon.”
But before she could stand up, he caught her wrist again, this time with that stubborn tenderness only he could have. He rose from his chair, leaned in, and pressed his lips to her forehead — slow, lingering, like he was grounding himself in her before stepping back into his chaotic world tomorrow.
“Firefly…” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm, “aap ho toh sab kuch sambhal jayega.”
She looked up at him — eyes shining, heart full — never knowing that soon these tiny moments would become memories she’d hold on to like sacred keepsakes.
And outside, in the quiet verandah, the last rays of the sun slipped away, carrying with them the laughter of a house that still felt whole — for now.
___________________________________________
The day had been beautifully, painfully ordinary.
Diya had left for her dance class in her soft pastel kurta, dupatta tucked in neatly so it wouldn’t get in her way while dancing. She’d teased Komal ji while tying her ghungroos, giggling when her mother-in-law reminded her for the hundredth time not to come home too late.
Komal ji had left the house just a few minutes before Diya did — her purse slung over her shoulder, a cloth bag for vegetables in one hand, her eyes warm with that affectionate warning only a mother can give: “Zyada naachna mat, seedha ghar aana.”
Diya had stuck out her tongue playfully behind her back. She didn’t know those small gestures would become memories she’d cling to later like prayer beads.
---
At the IPS office, Agni was at his desk, finalising a file about a smuggling ring they’d cracked open last month. His pen tapped absently against the paper — his mind, though focused, drifted every now and then to a certain Firefly he had promised to pick up today.
When Diya’s message came — “Class khatam, pick kar lijiye. Maa bahar gayi hain.” — he smiled to himself. Six months, he thought. Six months and every text from her still feels new.
He typed back: “5 baje tak main wahaan hoon.”
He shoved his chair back, grabbed his keys, and glanced at the badge on his desk. He tucked it into his pocket — the sharp edge pressing against his heart like a reminder of who he was.
His phone buzzed again — this time an unknown number:
> “Goodbye Officer Saxena.”
He paused, thumb hovering over the screen. His instincts twitched. He’d received plenty of threats in the line of duty — most were empty words from men who’d lost their nerve long before they lost their freedom.
He narrowed his eyes, let out a short breath, then tossed the phone onto the seat beside him. “Pata kar lunga baad mein.”
He started the engine, the soft growl of the car grounding him. He had a wife to pick up. And a mother to tease if she scolded him for getting late.
---
The road home was a familiar one — trees leaning over the narrow street, little vendors packing up for the evening, their chatter mixing with the distant honking of scooters and rickshaws. His eyes scanned the footpath, half out of habit.
And then he saw her.
Komal ji was standing by the corner shop, balancing her grocery bag while adjusting her pallu. She looked up and saw his car — and that mother’s smile spread across her face like sunshine through monsoon clouds.
She lifted one hand — a half-wave, half-blessing.
He grinned back instinctively, one hand lifting off the steering wheel in reply. For that moment, she wasn’t just his mother — she was his home, wrapped up in a cream saree and a cloth bag of vegetables.
The signal turned yellow. A bus lumbered past him, and by the time it cleared, Komal ji had stepped onto the zebra crossing, eyes still on him.
___________________________________________
So that's it for today guys. Trauma is coming soon😁😁Do let me know in the comments how was the chapter was and please vote and comment. And a request to all the silent readers please vote yaar. Thoda toh support karo. Motivation hi nehi milta 😭. Milte hain agle chapter main tab tak keliye bye and take care ❤️
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