༄°.🍂.ೃ

As Piyali left the room, Samar’s mother came closer to him.

She sat down carefully beside him, making sure he didn’t wake up. Her hand gently brushed through his hair.

That’s when she noticed how calm and relaxed he looked, so different from the restless, tired days she had watched him struggle through in the hospital.

Yes, he still looked tired, but less than before. All her life she had seen him as the dutiful son. Always working, always standing beside his father, carrying responsibilities without complaint.

She often told him to rest, to live a little like boys his age, but he would always reply, “Abhi nahi, Maa… kaam hai.” Then he would return to his routine.

It wasn’t as if they were poor. Even if he took a few days off, their farming and other income sources were enough.

They could hire workers, just like they have now. But her son believed a man should have his own hands in the work. Depending completely on others weakness, that’s what he always said.

Yet today, she finally saw him let go. Unguarded. Carefree. Resting in her arms as if nothing could touch him.

The wounds didn’t matter, nor the fear of being caught. In her arms, he looked free.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled.

Somewhere in her heart, she had a thought- maybe something was going on between him and Piyali.

But then she reminded herself, Samar was never one to bother about such things. Still, she wouldn’t mind if it were true.

She trusted Piyali. That girl had grown up right in front of her eyes. And if her son could find peace with her, then who was she to stand in the way? All she wanted was for Samar to stay happy, fulfilled, and one day keep his own family happy too.

She wiped her eyes, patted his head one last time, and quietly left the room.

Outside, she found Piyali sitting on the stairs near a pillar. The girl looked nervous, a little scared. If her parents hadn’t been inside talking to Mr. Sharma, she might have run away.

Samar’s mother sat beside her. Piyali noticed, her fingers twisting her dupatta- just like she always did when nervous.

Her lips fumbled, ready to give an explanation, but Maasa stopped her.

“Ghabra mat” she said softly. “Tu abhi bhi mere liye meri Piu hi hai.”

[Don't be nervous, you are still my piu.]

Piyali slowly looked up, a faint relief in her teary eyes as she breathed out before lowering her gaze again.

After a pause, Maasa said 

“I won’t say much… if you two are happy together then everyone will agree.”

Piyali bit her lip as Maasa’s hand rested gently on her head in blessing.

But before leaving, Maasa turned once more with a teasing smile

"Aur haan… bas itne jaldi poti-pota ke darshan mat karwa dena. Hum khush honge, par tu abhi chhoti hai.”

Her words left Piyali blushing furiously.

As Maasa walked back to the room where the elders were, Piyali quickly hid her beet-red face behind her dupatta and rushed away from the verandah, her heart pounding.

✿⁠ 

The house was calm that evening. The glow from the lantern in the kitchen spread across the courtyard.

The smell of dal and fried bhaja was in the air.

Piyali sat quietly on the kitchen doorway, her knees pulled up, carefully stitching the torn side of her old kurti.

Her head bent low in concentration while inside her mother worked over the stove, stirring the dal.

Suddenly, her mother spoke without looking back.

“Acha shun, Piu.”

[Listen, Piu.]

“Hain, Maa?”

[Yes, Maa?]

“Bhabchhilam Diwali’r jonno tohke Kakimoni’r barite pathai.”

[I was thinking of sending you to your chaichi's house for Diwali.]

Piyali’s needle paused mid-stitch. She quickly looked up,.surprised.

“Keno?”

[Why?]

She had already made plans in her heart. This Diwali she wanted to be here with everyone- Samar, Kittu, her own family.

“Kichu na re… Kaki moni bolchhilen tohke khub miss korchhe.”

[Oh, nothing… your aunty was saying she’s missing you.]

Piyali bit her lip, hesitating. Then replied

“Maa, ami oder kache onno shomoy chole jabo… ei bar ami ekhanei Diwali korte chai.”

[Maa, I will go to her some other time… this time I want to celebrate Diwali here.]

Her mother turned, raising an eyebrow.

“Keno?”

[Why?]

Caught off guard, Piyali fumbled, trying to make an excuse.

“Keno mane ki? Kittu ekhane ache… ami jodi chole jai toh she kharap pabe.”

[What do you mean why? Kittu is here… if I leave, she will feel bad.]

Her mother’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Shudhu Kittu’r jonno?”

[Only for Kittu?]

“H-h-hain… erokom keno bolchho?”

[Y-yes… why are you saying it like that?]

Her mother chuckled, turning back to the dal.

“Na na, kichu na… bujhe gechi. Kaki moni ke bolbo, tui ashbina.”

[No, no, nothing… I understood. I will tell your chachi you won’t come.]

Relieved, Piyali stood up with her kurti in hand, ready to leave for her room.

But just as she was about to walk away, her mother spoke again, her voice carrying a playful edge.

“Acha shun.”

[Listen.]

“Haan, Maa?”

[Yes, Maa?]

“Porer bar jokhon dujone ekshathe thakbe, darwaza ta bhalo kore bandho korish… thik ache?”

[Next time when you two are together, make sure you close the door properly… alright?]

Her words had a teasing smile hidden in them.

Piyali froze. Her lips parted, then she bit down on them, her cheeks burning. With a little whine, she dashed off to her room.

“Maaa!”

Her father, who had been sitting on the khaat outside, burst out laughing along with her mother, both exchanging a knowing smile as they watched their daughter run away, face red as a beetroot.

Next day

The afternoon sun on the head. Inside, the smell of sweets is being prepared for the upcoming festival.

Samar sat on the edge of the charpai, leaning forward, restless. He was tired sitting at home and resting all day under his mother's guidance. His bruises had faded, his body was steadier and better now.

Maasa sat nearby, sorting through a box of clay diyas that a vendor had left earlier in the morning.

She tapped each one, checking for cracks, then dipped a few in water But her eyes kept glancing toward her son, already guessing what he wanted to say.

“Maa, aap jada hi chinta kar rahi hain. Main chala jaunga.”

[Maa, you’re worrying too much. I will go.]

Maasa’s hands are still. She looked up sharply.

“Bilkul Nahi. Kahin chakkar aa gaya ya gir pad gaye toh?”

[No. What if you feel dizzy or collapse?]

“Abh theek hoon maa… sirf kuch ghante ki baat hai. Mithai, rangoli ke rang, kapde- sab laane padenge. Kaun jaayega agar main nahi gaya toh?”

[Iam fine now… it’s just a few hours. Sweets, rangoli colors, clothes- someone has to bring them. Who else will, if not me?]

Maasa put the diya aside with a sigh.

“Ajay sheher gaya hai. Tumhare papa raat ko lautenge. Kittu bhi apne rishtedaar ke ghar hai. Ghar mein koi nahi hai jo tumhare saath ja sake.”

[Ajay is away in the city. Your father won’t be back until night. Kittu is at the relatives’ place. There’s no one here who can go with you.]

Samar leaned forward, the voice softer but firm.

"Maa, main akela bhi ja sakta hoon. Bazaar door thodi hai. Aur itna bhi kamzor nahi hoon main.”

[Maa, I can go alone. The market isn’t far. And I am not that weak.]

Her brows furrowed. He had his father’s stubbornness; once Samar made up his mind, he wouldn’t rest. But the thought of him alone in the busy market didn’t sit right. After a pause, she spoke.

“Theek hai. Akela nahi jaaoge. Piyali ke saath jao.”

[Fine. But you won’t go alone. Go with Piyali.]

Samar blinked. “Piyali?”

“Haan. Waise bhi usse ghar se nikalne ka itna mauka nahi milta… bazaar jaa ke thoda hawa bhi lag jaayegi. Tum dono jao, lekin jaldi laut aana.”

[ Yes. She hardly gets to go out. The market will be good for her too. You both go but come back quickly.]

Her lips curved in a smile secretly. Samar sighed, still unsure how his mother had come up with this. Unaware of this whole situation.

“Theek hai, Maa. Jaisa aap kahen.”

[Alright, Maa. As you say.]

Maasa said in her mind. “Haan haan, bada ‘aap jaisa kahen.’ Itni der se main mana karti rahi, woh toh nahi suna. Bas Piyali ka naam aate hi maan gaye.”

[Yes, yes, ‘as you say.’ I was refusing all this while but you didn’t listen. The moment I said Piyali’s name, you agreed.]

She chuckled to herself as he got up.

✿

The house slowly faded into distance as the bullock cart was running along the muddy path.

Piyali sat beside Samar, her dupatta was tugged carefully into place. She kept her gaze lowered, sometimes on her lap, sometimes on the beautiful fields passing by.

Yet often, her eyes glanced towards him- checking if he was alright.

Her gaze finally falls on his hand resting on his lap. The skin near his fingers was still bruised, the wounds only half-healed.

Despite Shyness and hesistance, the concern pushed it aside. Slowly, she reached for his hand and holded it in hers.

Samar was busy speaking to the cart driver about the road ahead when he suddenly felt the warmth of her touch. He looked down.

Piyali, lost in her own care, gently traced the edges of his wound. In the closeness, her head found its way to his shoulder without her even realizing it.

His hand slipped over her thigh, resting there unconsciously, as if it belonged there.

Samar kept staring at her, at the softness of her hair against his cheek. Unable to stop himself, he lowered his lips to them, breathing in their faint fragrance.

She felt the sudden warmth, glancing up in curiosity then returned to inspecting his hand as if nothing had happened.

“Dawai lagai thi apne?” she asked softly, her eyes still fixed on the wound.

[Did you apply medicine?]

“Hmm.” he murmured, his gaze never leaving her.

For a long moment, only the sound of the cart filled the silence. Then Piyali’s voice broke through, low but serious.

“Aapki Aama hamse keh rahi thi… ham aapka khayal rakhein.”

[Your mother told me… I should take care of you.]

Samar let out a small chuckle, finding her oddly amusing.

Piyali’s head snapped up, her brows frowning together. “Ismein hasne wali kya baat hai?”

[What’s so funny about that?]

The teasing in his eyes faded. He quickly shook his head, lips pressing together under her offended gaze.

She gave a little twist of her lips, half sulk, half shy protest before lowering her eyes again.

Her fingers curled back around his hand, holding it gently, caressing the healing skin as if to prove her point.

“Acha… apko kya kharidari karni hai?” Piyali asked suddenly, her voice light as she dared to glance up at him.

[Okay… what shopping do you have to do?]

Samar kept his eyes ahead, his tone calm.

“Sabke liye naye kapde… ghar sazane ki cheezein. Aur Kittu ne khaas rangoli mangwayi hai… aur-”

[New clothes for everyone… things to decorate the house. And Kittu has specially asked for rangoli… and-]

Piyali tilted her head up, waiting. “Aur?”

[And?]

This time, he looked at her, a faint smile on his lips.

“Aur… tumhare liye chudiya.”

[And... bangles for you.]

Her eyes stayed on him, warmth 8? her chest.

“Itna dhyaan dete hai aap…”

[You pay so much attention…]

He gave a short laugh, his voice softer than before.

“Main nahi dunga toh aur kaun dega?”

[If I don’t give you, then who else will?]

He turned his gaze back to the open road. The vast fields stretching endlessly on both sides, with only a few houses far apart. The world felt empty, almost belonging just to them.

His hand was still resting lightly on her lap, as if it had forgotten its place but found comfort there only.

After a pause, she spoke again.

“Mat lijiye… hain hamare paas.”

[Don’t buy… I still have them with me.]

Samar turned his head slowly, his brows knitting. He thought hard- how could they have survived? The accident had ruined clothes, jewelry, almost everything.

Surely the glass bangles had been shattered to pieces.

Before he could ask, she continued, her voice  filled with quiet pride.

“Hamne unhe jod kar rakh liya tha… abhi bhi rakhe hain hamare paas, pehen nahi sakte toh kya hua...Wo aabhi bhi mere liye bohat kimti hai.”

[I had pieced them together… I still kept them with me so what if i can't wear them...They are still precious to me.]

His eyes softened, taken aback by the depth hidden in her simple words.

Piyali felt his gaze on her, heavy yet full of something she could never put into words.

Her lashes lowered under his intensity, her heart was racing. His eyes always unsettled her, always made her feel both shy and cherished.

Slowly, his free hand lifted, reaching towards her face.

His fingers brushed against her cheek, going upward to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the warmth of his touch.

The roughness of his palm against her soft skin, the gentleness with which he caressed her, made her feel as though she might melt into him.

Her body leaning ever so slightly closer, craving the safety of his closeness.

Just then, a sudden cough shattered the silence.

Her eyes snapped open. The cart driver uncle ji- shifted awkwardly on the front seat, clearly pretending to focus on the oxen.

Color rushed to Piyali’s cheeks.

Before Samar could even pull back, she buried her face against his arm, pressing her forehead into the curve of his bicep.

Her fingers holded his sleeve, hiding herself in the only place she felt safe.

Samar’s eyes glanced once toward the driver, calm and unbothered, then back to the road.

A small smile on his lips. Without moving his arm away, he bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

The cart kept rolling along, the fields were slipping past while Piyali stayed hidden against him and Samar gazed ahead quiet, steady, but carrying her in every breath.

༄°.🍂.ೃ