04-09-2025, 01:12 AM
CHAPTER – 63
A year had passed since their wedding, a year that had shaped Danish and Kavya’s life in Mumbai into something steady, predictable, almost ordinary. The little 2BHK flat that once felt cramped now carried the rhythm of their marriage — Kavya’s dupattas drying on the balcony rail, Danish’s dumbbells tucked under the bed, the soft hum of the ceiling fan at night as they lay side by side, sometimes tangled in each other’s arms, sometimes with their backs turned after an argument that neither of them had the courage to stretch into the morning.
Life wasn’t bad. In fact, it was good — but a certain restlessness hung in the air, unspoken between them.
That Sunday evening, the city was quieter than usual. The distant horns from the traffic below were muted, the sky painted with orange and violet streaks as the sun sank behind the skyline. Danish sat in the balcony chair, phone to his ear, tapping his fingers on the armrest. His father’s voice, deep and steady yet edged with loneliness, filled the silence around him.
“Beta, how are you both doing?” Feroz asked, his tone affectionate, but Kavya — from the kitchen where she was folding fresh laundry — could hear the weariness underneath.
Danish smiled faintly, though his eyes carried a guilt he didn’t admit. “We’re fine, Abba. Work is busy, but we’re managing. Kavya keeps everything running. You should see her — she’s the reason this place feels like home.”
On the other side of the line, Feroz let out a soft chuckle. “Haan, I can imagine. She has that in her nature. She fills a home the way light fills a room. I’m glad you have her, beta.”
Kavya’s hands paused on the pile of folded clothes. Her chest tightened at the compliment, at the warmth in his tone. It was fatherly, yes… but something in it carried an intimacy she couldn’t shake off. She shook her head quickly, forcing herself back into the rhythm of folding.
Then Feroz’s voice softened, hesitant, as though testing the waters. “Tell me, Danish… it has been one year since your marriage, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, Abba,” Danish answered, a smile in his voice. “One year already. Time runs fast.”
There was a pause, then Feroz continued, his words careful but heavy: “One year is long enough to know each other, to settle into life. Have you thought about the next step? About children?”
The question lingered in the evening air.
Danish rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “We’ve… talked about it a little. But, Abba, it’s not something we want to rush. We’re still adjusting to everything.”
Inside, Kavya’s hands froze completely now. Her heart gave a nervous flutter, and she bit her lip. A baby. The word alone was enough to twist her stomach with both longing and fear. She wanted to be a mother one day — she could picture tiny feet running across the living room, small hands tugging at her saree — but not yet. Not when she was still struggling to fully steady herself in this marriage, in this city, in this secret that lay buried in her chest like a live coal.
“I understand, beta,” Feroz said gently. His tone carried no pressure, only wistfulness. “These things happen when ,.' wills. I only ask because… I imagine a child in the house, and it fills me with happiness. You don’t know how much I long to hear laughter again in these rooms.” His voice dipped lower, fragile now. “This house is so big, and I am alone. Some nights the silence feels heavier than I can bear.”
Danish closed his eyes, guilt pooling in his chest. “Abba…” His voice cracked a little, but he steadied it. “You should have told me sooner. We didn’t know you felt like this.”
Feroz gave a short, humorless laugh. “What would I say? ‘Come back because I am lonely’? A father should never pull his son away from his life. But when I see the days go by… when I think of Kavya, when I think of the family you’ll one day build… I can’t help but wish you were closer.”
Kavya, still standing with the laundry in her arms, felt her throat tighten. She could almost see him as he spoke — sitting in his armchair in the Hyderabad living room, the same one where she had sat months ago, the same house that held memories she tried desperately to bury. The thought of him sitting there alone made her heart ache. And yet, another part of her recoiled at the idea of returning to that house, to those walls that knew too much.
As if sensing his son’s silence, Feroz continued, his words measured but meaningful: “Mumbai is busy, beta. Hard. Especially for a new bride like Kavya. I worry sometimes… she does too much, manages everything without family support. Here, she would have me, she would have a bigger home, more comfort. When the time comes for children… wouldn’t it be better for her to be surrounded by family?”
Danish’s brows furrowed as he listened. The argument made sense, painfully so. His mind flicked to their tiny flat, to Kavya running from kitchen to living room to bedroom, balancing everything without complaint. He thought of how cramped their future would feel with a child here. The contrast with the spacious home in Hyderabad gnawed at him.
He exhaled slowly. “You’re right, Abba. Life here isn’t easy. Sometimes… sometimes I think about it myself. About moving back. But Kavya—” his eyes flicked to her through the balcony door, where she was now quietly setting the folded laundry on the table “—she’s grown attached to Mumbai. It’s not an easy decision.
There was a long silence before Feroz spoke again, his tone softer, almost resigned. “I won’t ask you for promises, beta. I only wanted to share my heart. Think about it, that’s all. My doors will always be open — for you, for Kavya, for the children you will bring into this world. Whether you come or not… this house is yours as much as mine.”
When the call ended, the balcony fell into silence, broken only by the distant bark of a stray dog in the lane below. Danish put his phone aside, his face troubled.
Kavya walked out, placing the laundry neatly on the chair beside him. “Abba’s okay?” she asked, her voice calm but her chest still knotted from hearing parts of the conversation.
“He’s fine,” Danish said, but his voice carried weight. “But he’s lonely. Too lonely. And he…” Danish hesitated, then sighed. “He asked about children. About when we’ll start a family.”
Kavya forced a smile, her fingers tightening around the edge of her dupatta. “Everyone asks that after a year. It doesn’t mean we have to rush.”
Danish reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know. I told him we’ll think about it. But… he’s right about one thing. Maybe Hyderabad would be easier. A bigger home, Abba’s company, family support… and if we do decide to have kids, wouldn’t it be better there?”
Kavya looked away, her throat dry, the weight of his words pressing down on her. The idea of Hyderabad was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting, because it meant support, safety, stability. Terrifying, because it meant being closer to Feroz — the man whose presence could unravel her.
She drew in a breath, steadying herself. “We’ll talk about it, Danish. Just… not today.”
He nodded, respecting her silence. But Kavya knew, even without him saying it, that the seed had been planted.
Later that night, when the lights were off and Danish’s breathing had softened beside her, she lay awake staring at the ceiling. The conversation replayed in her mind — Feroz’s voice, filled with longing, talking of children, of an empty house, of open doors. And no matter how much she tried to banish the thought, her heart kept circling back to the same truth: Hyderabad was no longer just his home. It was her past, her secret, her burden. And now, it was threatening to become her future.
The phone call with Feroz lingered in the air long after it had ended. For the next few days, Danish carried it with him like a stone in his pocket — always there, weighing him down. The words replayed in his mind at odd moments: “This house is so big, and I am alone.” He couldn’t shake the image of his father sitting in that empty Hyderabad house, the ticking clock echoing through the silence.
Kavya had noticed his quietness. In the mornings, while she set his breakfast, he seemed lost in thought. At night, when they lay side by side, he would hold her tighter, almost as if he was clinging to something he feared losing. She didn’t ask at first; she knew him well enough to wait.
One evening, a week after the call, the rain had come down heavy over Mumbai. The streets were flooded, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and frying pakoras from the neighbors’ kitchen. The two of them sat by the balcony door, watching the water trickle down the glass. Danish sipped his tea slowly, while Kavya leaned against the doorframe, her dupatta wrapped around her shoulders.
Breaking the silence, Danish finally spoke. His voice was low, thoughtful. “Do you ever feel like this flat is… too small for us?”
Kavya glanced at him, caught off guard. “Small?”
“Not just in size,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “In life. Like… it holds us, but it doesn’t give us space to grow. If we have a child, where would we even put a crib? Where would it play?”
Kavya’s lips parted, but no words came. She knew where this was leading, though he hadn’t said it yet. She turned back toward the rain, her heart beating faster.
Danish continued, almost to himself, “Abba was right, you know. Hyderabad is different. The house is big. There’s space, comfort. And Abba wouldn’t be alone anymore.” He paused, glancing at her carefully. “Wouldn’t that be better for us? For you?”
Kavya hugged the dupatta closer to her body. The thought of Hyderabad pressed against her chest like a weight. She could picture the wide verandas, the big kitchen, the quiet lanes. She could also picture Feroz, his voice in her ear, his hands steady and sure, the one night that bound them in secret forever.
She forced a calmness into her voice. “It’s not that simple, Danish.
“I know,” he said quickly, nodding. “I’m not saying tomorrow. Just… think about it. We could at least visit for a week. See how it feels. If we don’t like it, we come back. No pressure.”
Kavya looked at him then. His eyes were earnest, carrying guilt and longing — guilt for his father, longing for something more than their cramped city life. She didn’t want to hurt him, but her own chest burned with dread. A week in Hyderabad meant being back under Feroz’s roof. It meant risking the calm she had built in the last year.
She reached out, covering his hand with hers. “Let’s not rush. Maybe we visit after Diwali? When things are quieter here.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “Diwali. Okay. That’s fair.”
He squeezed her hand back, but she could see it in his face — the seed had already grown into something larger.
Over the next few weeks, Danish began to speak of Hyderabad more often, though always casually, as if testing her mood.
When they were stuck in traffic for an hour, he muttered, “Hyderabad roads are better. Less chaos.”
When the landlord raised the rent again, he sighed, “Abba’s house is ours. No one could ask us for a single rupee.”
When Kavya struggled carrying groceries up the stairs, he said softly, “You wouldn’t have to do this there. Abba’s house has help nearby. You’d be cared for.”
Each time, Kavya smiled faintly and said nothing, but inside she wrestled with herself. His arguments made sense, painfully so. Life would be easier there. Safer. Kinder. But at what cost to her peace?
One night, as they lay in bed, Danish turned toward her, his arm dbangd over her waist. His voice was sleepy, but sincere. “You know, Kavya… Abba said something that stayed with me. He said his doors are always open. For me. For you. For the children we’ll have one day.”
The word children hit her like a spark. She tensed slightly, though she tried to hide it. Danish didn’t notice; his eyes were already drifting shut.
But Kavya lay awake long after, staring into the dark. The thought of Hyderabad wrapped around her like a storm — the promise of family, the shadow of memory, the pull of duty, the ache of guilt.
And though she didn’t say it aloud, she knew: the path to Hyderabad was no longer just a possibility. It was coming closer with every conversation, every sigh, every lonely word from Feroz that reached them through the phone.
A year had passed since their wedding, a year that had shaped Danish and Kavya’s life in Mumbai into something steady, predictable, almost ordinary. The little 2BHK flat that once felt cramped now carried the rhythm of their marriage — Kavya’s dupattas drying on the balcony rail, Danish’s dumbbells tucked under the bed, the soft hum of the ceiling fan at night as they lay side by side, sometimes tangled in each other’s arms, sometimes with their backs turned after an argument that neither of them had the courage to stretch into the morning.
Life wasn’t bad. In fact, it was good — but a certain restlessness hung in the air, unspoken between them.
That Sunday evening, the city was quieter than usual. The distant horns from the traffic below were muted, the sky painted with orange and violet streaks as the sun sank behind the skyline. Danish sat in the balcony chair, phone to his ear, tapping his fingers on the armrest. His father’s voice, deep and steady yet edged with loneliness, filled the silence around him.
“Beta, how are you both doing?” Feroz asked, his tone affectionate, but Kavya — from the kitchen where she was folding fresh laundry — could hear the weariness underneath.
Danish smiled faintly, though his eyes carried a guilt he didn’t admit. “We’re fine, Abba. Work is busy, but we’re managing. Kavya keeps everything running. You should see her — she’s the reason this place feels like home.”
On the other side of the line, Feroz let out a soft chuckle. “Haan, I can imagine. She has that in her nature. She fills a home the way light fills a room. I’m glad you have her, beta.”
Kavya’s hands paused on the pile of folded clothes. Her chest tightened at the compliment, at the warmth in his tone. It was fatherly, yes… but something in it carried an intimacy she couldn’t shake off. She shook her head quickly, forcing herself back into the rhythm of folding.
Then Feroz’s voice softened, hesitant, as though testing the waters. “Tell me, Danish… it has been one year since your marriage, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, Abba,” Danish answered, a smile in his voice. “One year already. Time runs fast.”
There was a pause, then Feroz continued, his words careful but heavy: “One year is long enough to know each other, to settle into life. Have you thought about the next step? About children?”
The question lingered in the evening air.
Danish rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “We’ve… talked about it a little. But, Abba, it’s not something we want to rush. We’re still adjusting to everything.”
Inside, Kavya’s hands froze completely now. Her heart gave a nervous flutter, and she bit her lip. A baby. The word alone was enough to twist her stomach with both longing and fear. She wanted to be a mother one day — she could picture tiny feet running across the living room, small hands tugging at her saree — but not yet. Not when she was still struggling to fully steady herself in this marriage, in this city, in this secret that lay buried in her chest like a live coal.
“I understand, beta,” Feroz said gently. His tone carried no pressure, only wistfulness. “These things happen when ,.' wills. I only ask because… I imagine a child in the house, and it fills me with happiness. You don’t know how much I long to hear laughter again in these rooms.” His voice dipped lower, fragile now. “This house is so big, and I am alone. Some nights the silence feels heavier than I can bear.”
Danish closed his eyes, guilt pooling in his chest. “Abba…” His voice cracked a little, but he steadied it. “You should have told me sooner. We didn’t know you felt like this.”
Feroz gave a short, humorless laugh. “What would I say? ‘Come back because I am lonely’? A father should never pull his son away from his life. But when I see the days go by… when I think of Kavya, when I think of the family you’ll one day build… I can’t help but wish you were closer.”
Kavya, still standing with the laundry in her arms, felt her throat tighten. She could almost see him as he spoke — sitting in his armchair in the Hyderabad living room, the same one where she had sat months ago, the same house that held memories she tried desperately to bury. The thought of him sitting there alone made her heart ache. And yet, another part of her recoiled at the idea of returning to that house, to those walls that knew too much.
As if sensing his son’s silence, Feroz continued, his words measured but meaningful: “Mumbai is busy, beta. Hard. Especially for a new bride like Kavya. I worry sometimes… she does too much, manages everything without family support. Here, she would have me, she would have a bigger home, more comfort. When the time comes for children… wouldn’t it be better for her to be surrounded by family?”
Danish’s brows furrowed as he listened. The argument made sense, painfully so. His mind flicked to their tiny flat, to Kavya running from kitchen to living room to bedroom, balancing everything without complaint. He thought of how cramped their future would feel with a child here. The contrast with the spacious home in Hyderabad gnawed at him.
He exhaled slowly. “You’re right, Abba. Life here isn’t easy. Sometimes… sometimes I think about it myself. About moving back. But Kavya—” his eyes flicked to her through the balcony door, where she was now quietly setting the folded laundry on the table “—she’s grown attached to Mumbai. It’s not an easy decision.
There was a long silence before Feroz spoke again, his tone softer, almost resigned. “I won’t ask you for promises, beta. I only wanted to share my heart. Think about it, that’s all. My doors will always be open — for you, for Kavya, for the children you will bring into this world. Whether you come or not… this house is yours as much as mine.”
When the call ended, the balcony fell into silence, broken only by the distant bark of a stray dog in the lane below. Danish put his phone aside, his face troubled.
Kavya walked out, placing the laundry neatly on the chair beside him. “Abba’s okay?” she asked, her voice calm but her chest still knotted from hearing parts of the conversation.
“He’s fine,” Danish said, but his voice carried weight. “But he’s lonely. Too lonely. And he…” Danish hesitated, then sighed. “He asked about children. About when we’ll start a family.”
Kavya forced a smile, her fingers tightening around the edge of her dupatta. “Everyone asks that after a year. It doesn’t mean we have to rush.”
Danish reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know. I told him we’ll think about it. But… he’s right about one thing. Maybe Hyderabad would be easier. A bigger home, Abba’s company, family support… and if we do decide to have kids, wouldn’t it be better there?”
Kavya looked away, her throat dry, the weight of his words pressing down on her. The idea of Hyderabad was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting, because it meant support, safety, stability. Terrifying, because it meant being closer to Feroz — the man whose presence could unravel her.
She drew in a breath, steadying herself. “We’ll talk about it, Danish. Just… not today.”
He nodded, respecting her silence. But Kavya knew, even without him saying it, that the seed had been planted.
Later that night, when the lights were off and Danish’s breathing had softened beside her, she lay awake staring at the ceiling. The conversation replayed in her mind — Feroz’s voice, filled with longing, talking of children, of an empty house, of open doors. And no matter how much she tried to banish the thought, her heart kept circling back to the same truth: Hyderabad was no longer just his home. It was her past, her secret, her burden. And now, it was threatening to become her future.
The phone call with Feroz lingered in the air long after it had ended. For the next few days, Danish carried it with him like a stone in his pocket — always there, weighing him down. The words replayed in his mind at odd moments: “This house is so big, and I am alone.” He couldn’t shake the image of his father sitting in that empty Hyderabad house, the ticking clock echoing through the silence.
Kavya had noticed his quietness. In the mornings, while she set his breakfast, he seemed lost in thought. At night, when they lay side by side, he would hold her tighter, almost as if he was clinging to something he feared losing. She didn’t ask at first; she knew him well enough to wait.
One evening, a week after the call, the rain had come down heavy over Mumbai. The streets were flooded, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and frying pakoras from the neighbors’ kitchen. The two of them sat by the balcony door, watching the water trickle down the glass. Danish sipped his tea slowly, while Kavya leaned against the doorframe, her dupatta wrapped around her shoulders.
Breaking the silence, Danish finally spoke. His voice was low, thoughtful. “Do you ever feel like this flat is… too small for us?”
Kavya glanced at him, caught off guard. “Small?”
“Not just in size,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “In life. Like… it holds us, but it doesn’t give us space to grow. If we have a child, where would we even put a crib? Where would it play?”
Kavya’s lips parted, but no words came. She knew where this was leading, though he hadn’t said it yet. She turned back toward the rain, her heart beating faster.
Danish continued, almost to himself, “Abba was right, you know. Hyderabad is different. The house is big. There’s space, comfort. And Abba wouldn’t be alone anymore.” He paused, glancing at her carefully. “Wouldn’t that be better for us? For you?”
Kavya hugged the dupatta closer to her body. The thought of Hyderabad pressed against her chest like a weight. She could picture the wide verandas, the big kitchen, the quiet lanes. She could also picture Feroz, his voice in her ear, his hands steady and sure, the one night that bound them in secret forever.
She forced a calmness into her voice. “It’s not that simple, Danish.
“I know,” he said quickly, nodding. “I’m not saying tomorrow. Just… think about it. We could at least visit for a week. See how it feels. If we don’t like it, we come back. No pressure.”
Kavya looked at him then. His eyes were earnest, carrying guilt and longing — guilt for his father, longing for something more than their cramped city life. She didn’t want to hurt him, but her own chest burned with dread. A week in Hyderabad meant being back under Feroz’s roof. It meant risking the calm she had built in the last year.
She reached out, covering his hand with hers. “Let’s not rush. Maybe we visit after Diwali? When things are quieter here.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “Diwali. Okay. That’s fair.”
He squeezed her hand back, but she could see it in his face — the seed had already grown into something larger.
Over the next few weeks, Danish began to speak of Hyderabad more often, though always casually, as if testing her mood.
When they were stuck in traffic for an hour, he muttered, “Hyderabad roads are better. Less chaos.”
When the landlord raised the rent again, he sighed, “Abba’s house is ours. No one could ask us for a single rupee.”
When Kavya struggled carrying groceries up the stairs, he said softly, “You wouldn’t have to do this there. Abba’s house has help nearby. You’d be cared for.”
Each time, Kavya smiled faintly and said nothing, but inside she wrestled with herself. His arguments made sense, painfully so. Life would be easier there. Safer. Kinder. But at what cost to her peace?
One night, as they lay in bed, Danish turned toward her, his arm dbangd over her waist. His voice was sleepy, but sincere. “You know, Kavya… Abba said something that stayed with me. He said his doors are always open. For me. For you. For the children we’ll have one day.”
The word children hit her like a spark. She tensed slightly, though she tried to hide it. Danish didn’t notice; his eyes were already drifting shut.
But Kavya lay awake long after, staring into the dark. The thought of Hyderabad wrapped around her like a storm — the promise of family, the shadow of memory, the pull of duty, the ache of guilt.
And though she didn’t say it aloud, she knew: the path to Hyderabad was no longer just a possibility. It was coming closer with every conversation, every sigh, every lonely word from Feroz that reached them through the phone.
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