One evening, years later, Misthi found herself sitting by the fire, with Abhir and his little daughter Abhira beside her. Abhir had grown up on her stories, and his fascination with their father’s life only deepened with time.

Years passed like whispers in the wind, and Abhir grew into a man his father would have been proud of—a strong, compassionate leader, now a major in the Indian Army. His uniform was a reminder of the legacy he carried, and every time he looked at it, he felt closer to the memory of his father. He married Jhanvi, a spirited woman with a heart as strong as his own, and together they had a little girl, Abhiraa, who had Abir’s gentle smile.

One evening, after a long day of training exercises, Abhir returned home to find Jhanvi and Abhiraa waiting for him on the porch, their faces lit up with excitement. “Papa!” Abhiraa cried, running to him and wrapping her small arms around his legs.

Abhir scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My little soldier, were you a good girl today?”

“Very good, Papa!” she replied with a beaming smile. “Mumma and I made something special for you.”

“Oh really?” Abhir chuckled, glancing at Jhanvi, who stood with a proud smile.

“It’s true,” Jhanvi nodded. “Abhiraa wanted to make you something that would remind you of your roots, something she thought her ‘hero papa’ would love.”

They stepped inside, where Jhanvi pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box and handed it to Abhir. As he opened it, his heart swelled. Inside was a framed photograph of his father, Abir, in his own army uniform, standing tall and proud.

Abhir’s throat tightened as he looked at the photo, memories flooding back to him. “Where… where did you find this?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Maa had it tucked away with a few letters your father had sent her,” Jhanvi replied, her voice soft. “She thought it was time for you to have it.”

Just then, Misthi walked in, her eyes soft with love as she watched her son gaze at the photo. “He would’ve been so proud of you, Abhir,” she said, her voice filled with the warmth of a thousand memories. “You’ve become everything he hoped you would be.”

Abhir set the frame down and embraced her, feeling that familiar comfort in her arms. “Maa, I’m only here because of you and him. Every step I took, I felt him guiding me, watching over me.”

Misthi smiled, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “And he always will be. You carry him in your heart, just as I have.”

“Tell us again, Ma,” Abhir asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Tell us about the day you and Papa met.”

Misthi smiled, the bittersweet ache of memory filling her heart. “It was in Kashmir,” she began, her voice warm and steady. “Your father was a soldier, brave and strong, with a smile that could melt the snow. I was just a journalist, curious and wandering, never expecting to find someone who would change my world.”

As she spoke, Misthi’s gaze drifted to the photograph of Abir that hung on the wall, the same fierce pride in his eyes that she had fallen in love with all those years ago. She continued, weaving the tale of a love that had been brief but profound, one that had outlasted war and loss and the passing of time.

As the children listened, they felt the weight of her words, a story that had been both beautiful and tragic, yet one that had given them life, hope, and the legacy of a man they would never meet.

“And do you know,” Misthi added softly, “even though he’s not here, he’s watching over us. His love is in every step we take, every smile we share. He’s a part of us, forever.”

“Will you tell me one more story about him, Dadi?” Abhiraa asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Misthi chuckled, pulling her granddaughter close. “Oh, there are so many stories to tell,” she began, settling onto the couch with Abhiraa on her lap. “Did you know that your Dadu once rescued a puppy during a storm? He brought it home, soaking wet, and convinced me to let him keep it. That was your Dadu—always kind-hearted, always ready to help anyone in need.”

Abhir smiled, listening as Misthi recounted yet another tale of his father’s kindness. He felt a warmth in his chest, realizing that though Abir was gone, he was still here—in the stories, in their hearts, and in the way each of them carried forward his spirit.

After putting Abhiraa to bed, Abhir joined Jhanvi on the balcony, where they stood together, gazing up at the stars. “I sometimes wonder if he can see us from up there,” Abhir said softly, looking up at the night sky.

Jhanvi took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure he can, Abhir. And he’s watching over you, smiling with pride every time he sees the man you’ve become.”

Abhir looked down, his heart heavy but full. “I just wish he could’ve been here… to see his granddaughter, to see everything he left behind grow and flourish.”

Misthi appeared at the doorway, overhearing his words. “In many ways, he’s still here,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet strength. “Every time you put on that uniform, every time you show kindness, every time you lead with courage—he lives on in you.”

Abhir wrapped an arm around her, grateful for the love and strength she had always given him. “Thank you, Maa… for everything. For raising me to understand that love never truly fades.”

Misthi leaned into her son’s embrace, her eyes filled with pride. “Your father’s love is woven into the very fabric of who you are, Abhir. And now, you’re passing that legacy on to Abhiraa. Love like that… it never truly leaves us.”

As they stood together under the vast sky, Abhir felt a peace he hadn’t felt in years. He looked at his mother, his wife, and thought of his father, feeling his presence as if he were right there with them, in every breath, every heartbeat. In that moment, he knew he would continue to carry forward his father’s legacy, with the same love, courage, and dedication that had defined Abir Rajvansh’s life.