Ankita's Morning
I was a little late making coffee today—the milk packet arrived late. I finally prepared it and carried it into the room. He had just woken up, sitting on the bed and stretching his arms. I set the mug on the side table and turned to leave. But he grabbed it and poured the scalding coffee over me for being ten minutes late. Tears streamed down my face as the burning liquid seared my skin. He gripped me harshly, refusing to let me rush to the bathroom to rinse it off. After five agonizing minutes, he released me and sneered, "At least be useful for something."
I jolted awake in my own bed, heart pounding, the nightmare's terror chasing away any hope of sleep. It was 5:00 a.m. I hadn't rested since then. Dragging myself to the kitchen, I started prepping breakfast and lunch. Ma entered at 6:30, surprised to see me already at work. "How many times have I told you not to do everything alone?" she said. I smiled, hugged her, and murmured, "Good morning, Ma." She hugged back tightly. "You didn't sleep again, did you?" I shrugged, saying nothing.
Her eyes filled with pity. "It's been two years, beta. You can't keep clinging to the past." Tears welled in her eyes too. I hugged her fiercely. "I will, Ma. Just give me time." After getting ready, I grabbed my scooty and headed to my sanctuary—the park. I love watching the children play; their joy soothes me. I sit for half an hour, handing out chocolates, then head to the office.
I work at a garment factory in the design team, checking quality on export orders. Mr. Agarwal gave me this job—he's known my family forever and is the kindest soul I've met. I never finished higher studies; I married at 18. But I've learned fast here, thriving for the last eight months. Our department has about 12 people, and I'm the least noticeable—baggy suits, few words. I report to Ms. Sharma, who claims credit for everything. I don't mind; it keeps me out of the spotlight. My day ends at 5:30 p.m., and I walk home, picking up vegetables or whatever Ma texts.
Abhi (Abhinav Kapoor)
The alarm blared, yanking me from a dream about my crush—those mesmerizing eyes. I've dreamed of her face for eight years, fallen hopelessly for her radiant beauty. But reality crashed in: I don't even know where she is. She might be married by now.
My mood soured, anger bubbling up. Why can't I forget her? I've searched everywhere, all in vain.
Let me introduce myself: Abhinav Kapoor, or Abhi to friends. I'm an entrepreneur in Jaipur with my own import-export business. Originally from Jaisalmer's royal family, my grandparents hail from there. My parents live abroad and want me to join them, but my heart's in India. They adore me, and our family's tight-knit. Mom nags about marriage, but I'm not ready—for obvious reasons. I've dated plenty, but she lingers, my playful sunshine.
Amid the whirlwind of thoughts, my phone rang—Rehan. My best friend, the only one who knows I love her deeply and doesn't call me crazy. We bonded in boarding school and share everything. He works for Mr. Agarwal, who funded his CA and MBA. We live together in this house. His call meant breakfast was ready. Damn, I skipped my workout again. He's the fitness nut; I'm the lazy one who doesn't need it.
I rushed through my routine and headed downstairs. He sat with a spread ready—he's a wizard in the kitchen; I barely know ABCs of cooking. He smirked, "Still lost in your dream world, man?" I grinned sheepishly. He knows me too well. His expression turned serious, voice soft: "What if she's married?" I shot back angrily, mimicking his tone, "Yeah, and I can see Mia marrying someone else." That shut him up. We glared, then burst out laughing. "Rehan," I said, "I just need to see her once. If she's with someone, I won't interfere—but I need that closure."
He grinned. "We'll find your sunshine." Yes, that's what I call her. Only Rehan knows her name.
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