Kashi had always smelled like temple smoke and memories.
As the auto rickshaw turned into the narrow lane, my heart thudded hard in my chest.
Every crack in the road, every neem tree we passed, tugged at something buried deep inside me.
This was the street I had walked a hundred times as a child, carefree, barefoot, laughing.
But today, my hands trembled as I held Vedika’s. Today, I wasn’t just a daughter coming home.
I was a mother.
A single divorced mother.
Though they know about it.
But still my heart was thumping loudly inside my chest.
Vedika sat on my lap, legs swinging, humming something under her breath.
She kept asking me for chocolates.
Kept poking me..
My baby..
I didn’t know how to speak with this lump in my throat.
And then the auto stopped.
I stepped while handling the fair from my purse.
The gate. The faded blue gate.
The old big garden is still blooming with beautiful flowers..
Chipped paint, a crooked nameplate, and two flower pots that still somehow survived the years.
Before I could even reach for the latch, it opened.
Papa.
He stood there in his simple kurta, barefoot, like always. When his eyes met mine, something in him broke.
His eyes filled.
That strong man, who never once cried when I left after my wedding, who didn’t blink when he sent his daughter away to a stranger’s home was crying.
I still remember he sobbed while hugging me.
I stepped forward, but before I could speak, before I could explain or apologize or say any word from my mouth.
"Aarti ki thaal kahaan hai?" he called out, voice cracking. "Humari do betiyan apne ghar aayi hain."
(Where’s the aarti plate? My two daughters have come home.)
My knees almost gave out.
He bent down and picked up the brass plate himself. His hands were shaking as he lit the diya.
He did the aarti, circling it in front of me and Vedika.
He looked at Vedika with eyes so full they could drown, and then he touched her head gently, whispering, "Khush reh," (Stay blessed,)
When he hugged us both, I collapsed into him. I buried my face into his chest and cried like I was five again.
The sobs tore through me, loud, so broken, so honest.
I didn’t have to be strong here.
I didn’t have to explain.
Vedika looked up, confused. She touched my cheek with her tiny fingers. "Mumma!" (Mumma!)
She whispered like she'll break down too.
Papa pulled back and smiled down at her. "Aaj toh humari sabse pyari mehmaan aayi hai. Chalo, main tumhe dikhata hoon maine kya banaya hai."
(Our sweetest guest has come today. Come, let me show you what I made for you.)
After marriage we have come many times to our home and vedika is very fond of her grandpa.
He picked her up like she was made of light. She wrapped her arms around his neck instantly, no hesitation, as if she belonged there.
We enter inside.
Inside, the smell of tadka hit me. Home. I saw the kitchen light on.
I saw the slippers near the door still lined up the same way.
"Aloo-tamatar tere liye banaya hai. Jaise tujhe pasand hai. Rasgulle bhi. Aur Vedika ke liye halwa." Papa grinned proudly.
(I made aloo-tamatar for you. Just like you like it. Rasgulla too. And halwa for Vedika.)
My vision blurred again.
Then Ma came rushing from the inside, her pallu slipping off her shoulder. Her face crumpled the second she saw me.
"Katha," she whispered, like she was afraid I’d vanish if she spoke too loud.
I ran into her arms.
She hugged me so tightly I could feel her heartbeat racing. Her hands ran through my hair like she used to when I was a child, whispering nothing, just letting me cry.
Vedika wriggled out of Papa's arms and ran to us, confused but smiling.
"aayee nani?" she asked.
Ma wiped her eyes and bent down.
"Haan, beta. Main nani."
(Yes, baby. nani.)
She hugged Vedika, kissed her cheeks over and over again until Vedika giggled.
Then my brother stepped out. His eyes were moist but he tried to hide it with a teasing grin.
"Yeh rahi asli drama queen. Bilkul Katha jaisi," he said, lifting Vedika in his arms.
(Here comes a drama queen. Just like Katha.)
Everyone laughed through the tears.
Everyone, except one.
Her
She stood by the hallway entrance, arms crossed. She smiled, politely. But her eyes didn't soften. She didn't come forward. Didn't say anything.
I noticed.
But I said nothing.
Right now, I have my Papa, my Ma, my brother, and Vedika. I was finally home.
Away from the place where my daughter was considered as a burden.
And that was enough.
But her stare still bothered me.
They say after marriage there's no home for a woman.
Is it true?
I do not know.
But her stare was making me question this. Again and again.
My bhabhi.
(My sister in law)
****
Sorry for a short chapt
er guyss ❤️
As I am currently working on 'The Other Woman' it's hard for me to write and edit a long chapter.
Vote and comment.
Love you all.
Bye ❤️

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