Mumbai

The sun had just begun to rise over the sprawling city of Mumbai, casting a warm glow over the lavish Singhania Mansion. Inside the grand kitchen of this opulent home, a woman in her mid-40s moved with practiced ease, the clattering of pots and the hum of the stove accompanying her as she went about her morning routine. Her sharp eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, noting the time. It was almost time for her daughter to leave for college.

"Beta, college ka time ho raha hai, jaldi se ready ho jao!" she called out loudly, hoping her words would penetrate through the walls and reach her daughter, still snug in bed.

With a sigh, she turned back to her tasks, warming the milk and neatly packing lunch boxes with the care and love only a mother could provide. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of jasmine from the flowers adorning the kitchen window.

Meanwhile, in a cozy bedroom down the hall, an 18-year-old girl lay sprawled across her bed, the remnants of a late-night study session scattered around her books, a laptop, and various accessories littering the space. As her mother's voice echoed through the house, she stirred, slowly stretching her arms above her head, letting out a small groan as she woke up.

She rubbed her eyes and reluctantly pushed herself off the bed, her feet padding softly on the cool marble floor as she made her way to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she dressed in a simple yet elegant salwar kameez, the fabric soft against her skin. But as she began searching for the books she needed for the day, a wave of panic set in. They weren't where she had left them.

"Mumma, aapne meri books dekhi hai kya?" she shouted, rushing into the kitchen with a frantic look on her face.

Her mother, calm as ever, glanced up from her task. "Beta, tumhari books room mein hi hongi na, ache se dekho," she replied with a knowing smile.

The girl nodded, somewhat embarrassed, and hurried back to her room. In her haste, she misjudged the distance and stubbed her toe on the edge of the couch, letting out a small yelp of pain. She sighed deeply, shaking her head at her own clumsiness before continuing on her search.

As she passed by another bedroom, she paused, noticing her father, a man in his mid-40s, rummaging through his belongings, a look of mild frustration on his face.

"Papa, aap kuch dhoondh rahe ho?" she asked, stepping into the room.

Her father, Vineet, looked up at her and nodded, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Haan, woh maine wallet kahaan rakh diya, yaad nahi aa raha," he confessed, clearly exasperated with himself.

Understanding immediately, crossed her arms over her chest, her expression turning stern. "Kitni time ki medicine skip ki aapne?" she demanded, her voice laced with concern.

Vineet's blank expression confirmed her suspicion. She sighed and walked over to the drawer, pulling out his medicine box. "Hadh hai, Papa. Aap itne careless kaise ho sakte ho?" she chided gently, placing the necessary pills into his hand.

He took the medicine reluctantly, glaring playfully at his daughter, who wasn't about to back down. "Khaiye, mujhe aise mat dekhiye," she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.

"Pani," Vineet requested simply, his voice gruff.

She left and went to the kitchen. Her mother noticed her and asked, "Kya hua? Nahi mili books?"

"Nahi, wo Papa..." she began, her voice trailing off.

Her mother, Ruhana, immediately understood. "Tum jaake apni books dekho, main de dungi tumhare Papa ko pani," she offered.

She nodded and headed to her room, leaving Ruhana to tend to Vineet.

As Ruhana entered the room with the glass of water, she found Vineet sitting silently, lost in thought. She handed him the glass and noticed his wallet on the edge of the bed, which she gently placed within his reach.

"Kya soch rahe ho tum?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Vineet looked up at her, his eyes searching for something. "Tum kahti ho wo gussa karne mein mujhpe gayi hai, lekin mujhe to yaad nahi main kab itna gussa karta tha, Ruhana," he said, his voice carrying a hint of confusion and regret.

Ruhana smiled softly, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "Tumhe yaad nahi, par mujhe yaad hai kitna insecure the tum mujhe leke bachpan se," she said, her tone gentle yet teasing.

Vineet's expression softened, but a shadow crossed his face as he looked at her. "Ruhana, tumne mujhe choda kyun nahi?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with an unspoken burden.

Ruhana's eyes met his, filled with warmth and an unwavering love. "Tumhe chhod deti toh itni pyari beti kaha se milti mujhe," she replied with a soft smile, the love for both her husband and daughter evident in her words.

Just then, Manvi burst into the room, her presence full of energy. "Papa, aapne medicines li ki nahi?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

Ruhana glanced at Vineet and then back at their daughter. "Aur itni caring bhi," she added, her smile widening.

Manvi looked between them, bewildered by the exchange. "Argh, aap dono ki baatein meri samajh se bahar hai," she muttered, half in frustration, half in playful exasperation.

Ruhana chuckled and said, "Itna mat socho, Manvi. Tumhe college jana hai na? Go get ready."

Manvi rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile as she dashed off to her room to prepare.

Vineet watched Manvi leave, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Aur toofan bhi hai," he remarked, his voice a blend of affection and admiration, as if marveling at the force of nature that was their daughter.

But as his words hung in the air, Ruhana's smile faded, replaced by a shadow that crossed her face. The past, long buried but never forgotten, surfaced with a sharp sting. The memories she tried so hard to keep at bay came rushing back, unbidden and relentless.

Twenty-two years ago, life had dealt them a cruel hand. The train accident had stolen Vineet's memory, leaving him a shell of the man he once was. The vibrant, passionate man she had married was suddenly a stranger, and every day became a struggle to help him reclaim pieces of himself. She had tried, with all her strength, to hold them together, to find hope in the midst of despair.

But then, as if fate had not already been unkind enough, the unimaginable happened. A year after the train accident, tragedy struck again. Myra and Aaditya, her pillars of strength, the two people who had been her unwavering support, were taken from her in a horrific road accident. The news had shattered her, leaving her broken in ways she couldn't even begin to mend. They were not just her closest friends; they were her family, her confidants, her everything.

For a while, Ruhana had felt lost, as though the world had gone dark, and the pain was too much to bear. But just when she thought she couldn't go on, a miracle arrived a miracle that looked so much like her beloved Myra that it took her breath away. Manvi was born, with Myra's face, as if destiny had returned a piece of what it had taken from her.

Ruhana's thoughts turned inward, the ache in her chest tightening, a familiar but no less painful weight. Hamari Manvi mujhe Myra ki yaad dilati hai—same wahi face. Aisa lagta hai jaise Myra hi ho, she mused, her mind swirling with bittersweet memories. It was as if Myra had found a way to stay with her, through the laughter and energy of her daughter. Manvi was not just a reminder of the past; she was a symbol of hope, of life continuing despite the unbearable losses.

She looked at Vineet, who was still gazing after their daughter, unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind. Ruhana knew she had to be strong, for both of them. The past was a part of them, but the present this moment with Vineet and Manvi was a gift. She took a deep breath, pushing the painful memories aside, and focused on the here and now, where love and family were all that mattered.

Bangalore

The Sareen Mansion stood as a testament to the legacy of Rajat Sareen, a man who had carved out his empire with relentless ambition and sheer willpower. The sprawling estate, with its manicured lawns and grandiose architecture, was a reflection of the power and influence that Rajat had amassed over the years. Now in his mid-40s, Rajat was a formidable presence, both in the business world and at home. His reputation for being tough, no-nonsense, and unyielding was well-known, and few dared to cross him.

In his study, Rajat sat at his massive mahogany desk, the glow of his laptop screen illuminating his sharp features. His voice, commanding and assertive, filled the room as he conducted a conference call. "Yeah, that's right, finalize it," he instructed, his tone brokering no opposition. For Rajat, business was not just a profession it was his life, and he ran it with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

But as he was immersed in his call, the door to his study swung open, and in walked Riti, his wife. Dressed elegantly in a saree, she exuded grace and sophistication, but her face was flushed with anger. Without hesitation, she reached over and disconnected the call, cutting off Rajat mid-sentence.

Startled, Rajat stared at her in disbelief. "Riti, what the hell? That was an important call!" he barked, his voice laced with irritation. 

Riti crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him with a mixture of frustration and determination. "I am just fed up. Ab tak aap nahi sudhre, Mr. Rajat Sareen," she retorted, her voice sharp and unyielding.

Rajat frowned, confusion mingling with his anger. "What are you talking about?"

Riti sighed, her anger giving way to exasperation. "Ugh, khud to chalti firti company hai, mere bete ko bhi bana rahe hai," she complained, her words revealing the deep-seated concern she had been harboring.

Rajat's expression hardened. "Excuse me, he is my son too. And after all, he is going to be a businessman like me, so I have to train him," he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But Riti was not one to back down. "Jee nahi, main usko aapke jaisa laad governor nahi banne dungi, samjhe aap," she fired back, her voice rising with each word.

Rajat raised an eyebrow, his face a mix of surprise and amusement. "We will see," he said with a challenging smirk. Then, as if suddenly remembering, he asked, "By the way, where is he?"

Riti's expression softened slightly as she answered, "Woh apni dadi ko leke mandir gaya hai. Thank God, kuch achi qualities usme hai jo mujhse mili."

Rajat's smirk faded, replaced by a look of mock offense. "You mean mujhse usme sab bad qualities mili hain?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Riti couldn't help but smile, her earlier anger dissipating as she nodded playfully. "Unfortunately, yes," she replied, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

Rajat shook his head, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite their differences, there was a deep bond between them, a connection forged through years of partnership, both in marriage and in life. They were two strong-willed individuals, each with their own views on how to raise their son, but beneath the banter and the arguments, there was a shared love for their family.

Rajat sighed, preparing to respond to Riti's playful jab, when the sound of footsteps interrupted him. The front door opened, and two figures entered the house Sumitra, Rajat's mother, and their son, Aarav. 

Sumitra, her eyes sharp with years of wisdom and experience, immediately sensed the tension in the air. She glanced at Rajat and Riti, who were still locked in their familiar argument.

"Subah subah shuru ho gaye dono," Sumitra remarked, her tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Rajat turned to his mother with a mock pout. "Maa, aapki laadli bahu hi mujhse jhagadti hai," he complained, his voice tinged with playful indignation.

Riti, not one to let that slide, immediately protested. "Jhoothe, Mr. Sareen, don't lie! Shuru aapne kiya tha," she shot back, her hands on her hips as she gave him a stern look.

Just then, Aarav, their 21-year-old son, walked into the room. He had Riti's expressive eyes, full of warmth and empathy, but Rajat's unmistakable attitude and confidence. Seeing his parents in the midst of yet another one of their spats, he couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief.

"Maa, Dad, mujhe samajh nahi aata aap dono ne shaadi ki kaise? Aap dono ko politics mein hona chahiye tha, opposite each other," Aarav quipped, his tone light but laced with genuine curiosity.

Riti and Rajat paused, momentarily silenced by their son's remark. They exchanged glances, the banter temporarily forgotten as they both realized how their arguments might seem to Aarav. Sumitra, observing the scene with a knowing smile, couldn't help but be amused by the sudden quiet.

She turned to Aarav, her voice affectionate. "Ek tu hi hai beta inn dono ko shant karane ke liye, warna meri sunte kaha hai," she said, her eyes twinkling with pride for her grandson.

Aarav grinned and replied, "Dadi, maine situation ke hisab se kaha," he said, his tone respectful but his gaze firm, as if to remind his grandmother that he was merely playing peacemaker.

Riti sighed, her irritation bubbling back to the surface. "Situation, deals—dono baap-bete ghar mein yahi baat karte hain," she muttered, her voice heavy with the frustration of being outnumbered in her own home.

Rajat, however, puffed up with pride. "Beta mera hai akhir," he said, his chest swelling as he looked at Aarav with unmistakable pride.

But before the banter could escalate, Aarav smoothly intervened. With a quick move, he positioned himself between his parents and gently guided Riti away from the confrontation. "Aarav, let me answer him," Riti began, but Aarav, with his charming smile, knew just how to calm her down.

"Maa, please, Dad se argue mat karo. Mujhe bhook lagi hai, breakfast de do, please," Aarav said, his voice sweet and persuasive.

Riti's expression softened instantly, her concern for her son overriding her irritation with Rajat. "Pehle nahi bata sakte they tum? Chalo, main deti hoon," she said, her voice now filled with motherly concern. She cast one last look at Rajat before following Aarav towards the kitchen.

Rajat stood there, mouth agape, watching as his wife and son disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the room. He muttered to himself, still a bit incredulous, "What the hell, I am also here."

Sumitra, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, couldn't suppress her smile. She walked over to her son and patted his shoulder. "Aao, tumhe main nasta karati hoon," she offered warmly, her voice full of the maternal care that never faded, no matter how old her children grew.

Rajat sighed, a resigned smile creeping onto his face as he nodded. With his mother by his side, he followed her out of the room. The house, once filled with tension and banter, now echoed with the familiar sounds of family of love, arguments, and the small, cherished moments that made life complete.

To be continued..