09-12-2025, 03:01 AM
CHAPTER – 74
Danish woke before the azaan. The old house was still asleep. He rolled out of bed, pulled on track pants, and went to the courtyard for push-ups and surya-namaskar under the slowly lightening sky. Every downward dog reminded him of her (back arched, hips high, the exact pose he had watched from the shadows that first morning). He did 108 rounds instead of his usual 54. Punishment and prayer at the same time.
By 8:30 AM he was at the office, smiling at colleagues, chairing meetings, signing contracts. No one noticed the way his hand sometimes drifted to the side of his own neck, thumb pressing the spot where her nails had left faint crescents that night.
At lunch he sat alone on the terrace, staring at a plate of biryani he barely tasted. He opened the chat with Kavya, sent her a heart, then opened the chat with “Mummy ji ❤️” (he had changed the contact name three nights ago and hated how much he loved seeing it).
Delhi – same morning Trisha woke at 4:55 AM, five minutes before her alarm. She lay motionless beside Rajesh’s gentle snores, feeling the familiar ache low in her belly. She slipped out of bed, padded to the balcony, unrolled her mat, and began yoga while the sky was still indigo.
Every pose felt like confession: Uttanasana (her nightie riding up exactly the way it had when he watched). Virabhadrasana II (hips open, chest lifted, remembering how his palm had covered her entire lower back). She held each asana longer than necessary, breathing through the burn, eyes closed, imagining his gaze on her skin.
By 7:30 AM she was in the kitchen making Rajesh’s sugar-free tea and Kavya’s favourite poha. She caught herself adding extra elaichi without thinking. Kavya noticed.
“Mummy, you’re putting elaichi like Danish does.” Trisha’s hand jerked; tea almost spilled. She laughed it off. Kavya didn’t press.
The day dragged: grocery shopping, physiotherapist visit for Rajesh, folding laundry (she lingered over one of Danish’s kurtas that had been left behind, pressed it to her face for one guilty second, then folded it with shaking hands).
In the night Danish had just ended the nightly video call with Kavya. She had fallen asleep mid-sentence, phone propped on the pillow, mouth slightly open, hair fanned across the screen. He watched her for a minute, smiling at the soft snore she always denied making, then whispered “love you” and hung up.
The room felt too large again.
He lay on his back in the dark, one arm flung over his eyes, trying to summon the familiar ache of missing his wife.
Instead he felt a different ache, lower, sharper, impossible to name out loud.
His thumb moved on its own and texted Trisha.
Danish 1:17 AM Namaste, Mummy ji ? Hope the message doesn’t disturb. Just wanted to take an update on Papa ji’s health.
Mummy ji 1:18 AM Namaste beta ? No disturbance at all. Papa ji slept peacefully tonight. BP 128/82, sugar normal. Doctor reduced one tablet today.
Danish 1:19 AM Jai Shri Krishna! That’s wonderful news ? Please give him my pranaam when he wakes up.
Mummy ji 1:20 AM I will. He keeps asking when you’ll come again. How are you keeping, beta?
Danish 1:22 AM Missing home… and the food here tastes different without your hands in it.
Mummy ji 1:23 AM Arre, now you’re making me blush at 1 AM ? Kavya is asleep. She spent the evening helping me with the puja ghar cleaning. Said she misses doing it with you.
Danish 1:24 AM Tell her I miss lighting the diya with her every evening. And I miss someone scolding me for putting too much ghee in the halwa ?
Mummy ji 1:26 AM That someone still makes halwa with extra ghee and thinks of a certain someone while stirring ?
Danish 1:27 AM My waistline is suffering without that halwa.
Mummy ji 1:28 AM Good. Come back soon and suffer properly ?
They talk gently for the next hour and fifty minutes:
• Papa ji’s new walking record (twelve steps without support)
• The marigold garland Trisha made for the small home Ganesh ji today
• How Kavya has started adding extra elaichi in chai “because someone likes it that way”
• How Danish still can’t fall asleep without imagining the smell of Mummy ji’s kitchen at 6 AM
• The stray cat that now waits on the balcony every dawn for milk
• How Trisha found Danish’s forgotten prayer cap in the guest-room drawer and keeps it on the puja shelf now
Every sentence perfectly respectful. Every pause humming with everything they are not saying.
Mummy ji 3:07 AM Beta, it’s past 3. You have work tomorrow.
Danish 3:08 AM Just a few more minutes… please, Mummy ji.
Mummy ji 3:09 AM Only because you said please ?
Danish 3:14 AM Talking to you makes the nights shorter. Thank you for always replying, even at this hour.
Mummy ji 3:16 AM Thank you for always checking on us, beta. It means the world.
Danish 3:18 AM Jai Shri Krishna, Mummy ji. Sweet dreams.
Mummy ji 3:19 AM Radhe Radhe, beta ? May Bholenath keep you safe and happy.
The chat ends at 3:21 AM.
Two phones rest on two nightstands. Two hearts settle into the first peaceful quiet they’ve known in weeks.
They never mentioned that morning. They never needed to.
Every “Namaste”, every “Jai Shri Krishna”, every careful, loving word carried the weight of ninety-eight seconds that changed everything.
And for tonight, that was enough.
Danish woke before the azaan. The old house was still asleep. He rolled out of bed, pulled on track pants, and went to the courtyard for push-ups and surya-namaskar under the slowly lightening sky. Every downward dog reminded him of her (back arched, hips high, the exact pose he had watched from the shadows that first morning). He did 108 rounds instead of his usual 54. Punishment and prayer at the same time.
By 8:30 AM he was at the office, smiling at colleagues, chairing meetings, signing contracts. No one noticed the way his hand sometimes drifted to the side of his own neck, thumb pressing the spot where her nails had left faint crescents that night.
At lunch he sat alone on the terrace, staring at a plate of biryani he barely tasted. He opened the chat with Kavya, sent her a heart, then opened the chat with “Mummy ji ❤️” (he had changed the contact name three nights ago and hated how much he loved seeing it).
Delhi – same morning Trisha woke at 4:55 AM, five minutes before her alarm. She lay motionless beside Rajesh’s gentle snores, feeling the familiar ache low in her belly. She slipped out of bed, padded to the balcony, unrolled her mat, and began yoga while the sky was still indigo.
Every pose felt like confession: Uttanasana (her nightie riding up exactly the way it had when he watched). Virabhadrasana II (hips open, chest lifted, remembering how his palm had covered her entire lower back). She held each asana longer than necessary, breathing through the burn, eyes closed, imagining his gaze on her skin.
By 7:30 AM she was in the kitchen making Rajesh’s sugar-free tea and Kavya’s favourite poha. She caught herself adding extra elaichi without thinking. Kavya noticed.
“Mummy, you’re putting elaichi like Danish does.” Trisha’s hand jerked; tea almost spilled. She laughed it off. Kavya didn’t press.
The day dragged: grocery shopping, physiotherapist visit for Rajesh, folding laundry (she lingered over one of Danish’s kurtas that had been left behind, pressed it to her face for one guilty second, then folded it with shaking hands).
In the night Danish had just ended the nightly video call with Kavya. She had fallen asleep mid-sentence, phone propped on the pillow, mouth slightly open, hair fanned across the screen. He watched her for a minute, smiling at the soft snore she always denied making, then whispered “love you” and hung up.
The room felt too large again.
He lay on his back in the dark, one arm flung over his eyes, trying to summon the familiar ache of missing his wife.
Instead he felt a different ache, lower, sharper, impossible to name out loud.
His thumb moved on its own and texted Trisha.
Danish 1:17 AM Namaste, Mummy ji ? Hope the message doesn’t disturb. Just wanted to take an update on Papa ji’s health.
Mummy ji 1:18 AM Namaste beta ? No disturbance at all. Papa ji slept peacefully tonight. BP 128/82, sugar normal. Doctor reduced one tablet today.
Danish 1:19 AM Jai Shri Krishna! That’s wonderful news ? Please give him my pranaam when he wakes up.
Mummy ji 1:20 AM I will. He keeps asking when you’ll come again. How are you keeping, beta?
Danish 1:22 AM Missing home… and the food here tastes different without your hands in it.
Mummy ji 1:23 AM Arre, now you’re making me blush at 1 AM ? Kavya is asleep. She spent the evening helping me with the puja ghar cleaning. Said she misses doing it with you.
Danish 1:24 AM Tell her I miss lighting the diya with her every evening. And I miss someone scolding me for putting too much ghee in the halwa ?
Mummy ji 1:26 AM That someone still makes halwa with extra ghee and thinks of a certain someone while stirring ?
Danish 1:27 AM My waistline is suffering without that halwa.
Mummy ji 1:28 AM Good. Come back soon and suffer properly ?
They talk gently for the next hour and fifty minutes:
• Papa ji’s new walking record (twelve steps without support)
• The marigold garland Trisha made for the small home Ganesh ji today
• How Kavya has started adding extra elaichi in chai “because someone likes it that way”
• How Danish still can’t fall asleep without imagining the smell of Mummy ji’s kitchen at 6 AM
• The stray cat that now waits on the balcony every dawn for milk
• How Trisha found Danish’s forgotten prayer cap in the guest-room drawer and keeps it on the puja shelf now
Every sentence perfectly respectful. Every pause humming with everything they are not saying.
Mummy ji 3:07 AM Beta, it’s past 3. You have work tomorrow.
Danish 3:08 AM Just a few more minutes… please, Mummy ji.
Mummy ji 3:09 AM Only because you said please ?
Danish 3:14 AM Talking to you makes the nights shorter. Thank you for always replying, even at this hour.
Mummy ji 3:16 AM Thank you for always checking on us, beta. It means the world.
Danish 3:18 AM Jai Shri Krishna, Mummy ji. Sweet dreams.
Mummy ji 3:19 AM Radhe Radhe, beta ? May Bholenath keep you safe and happy.
The chat ends at 3:21 AM.
Two phones rest on two nightstands. Two hearts settle into the first peaceful quiet they’ve known in weeks.
They never mentioned that morning. They never needed to.
Every “Namaste”, every “Jai Shri Krishna”, every careful, loving word carried the weight of ninety-eight seconds that changed everything.
And for tonight, that was enough.
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