The Things We Love and Lose

Chapter 18

Moments are precious.

Some moments are more precious than others, some moments you carry in your heart, some moments could mean nothing if you desire, some moments could define your whole life.

"Kabir, what are you doing?" I hissed with a calm smile at the boy dangling from his bed, his right hand curled around the headboard whilst I tried to make sense of it.

And some moments are troublesome when you have kids.

"Mom," He smiled cheekily, his blue kindergarten uniform giving life to his hazel eyes. If looked from the features of hair and eyes, he had inherited mine, but when given a thought of his actions and deep musings, he would no doubt be his father. "I don't know."

Shaking my head, I bent down on the floor, engulfed him in my arms and carried him to the air. "What am I supposed to do with you?" He giggled, resting his head on my shoulder blade. Mama's boy. That's what Udisha called him. "It's your lunch time. Where is your sister?"

"No clue," He sang.

"Where is Nisha?"

"I don't know."

Narrowing my eyes at his small figure in my arms, I directed it to his bed, bit my lip, dropped him on the ground and peered at the hidden figure under the bed.

Nisha.

With paints on her whole body.

My paints.

Gifted by Arnav on my birthday.

"Nisha," I said, trying to control my anger. If Udisha behaved like her father, these two had tricks from whole around the world. "What is it?"

"I did it!" Kabir stepped up, tugging my arm to come out of the bed. "I wanted to play and suggested to use your paints." Did you? Arnav had warned how Kabir defended Nisha time to time to cover her mistakes, how that's the habit he had learned when Arnav tried to give him brotherly duties. "Mom, leave her."

Rolling my eyes, I stood on my toes, nodded at Nisha to crawl out of the bed and the two soldiers stood in front of me. One glaring at me, the other glaring at her shoes.

"What will I do of you?" A week ago, they both had caked Arnav's face with their black sketches, and when he cracked at their jokes, I couldn't help but hold my head in despair.

It took an hour for him to wipe it out.

"Sorry," They both sang, dangling from one side to another. "Please don't tell dad." Each of my kurta ends was fisted in their hands. "Say something, mom." What should I say? Should I get angry about how you had spoiled my birthday gift? How Arnav had surprised me with those paints?

"She is angry," Nisha pointed out, a frown on her face. "It is all my mis—"

"It is mine." He glared at her to shut up. "I am sorry."

Patience.

He was just three.

He had no idea about the sentimental values of a gift.

Bending on my knees, I gathered him in my arms, ran my hand on his back to soothe his worries. "It is okay. They were just paints."

"I will buy you a new one." He blinked innocently. "I will ask dad." Dashing from my arms, he ran downstairs whilst I was left to stare at my daughter with her dangling arms.

Time to clean her up.