In life, you're often given chances, but they don't always come around again. When it comes to significant choices, sometimes there's no going back. Past decisions—whether in relationships or careers—leave a lasting impact. People do take risks in their endeavours, but once a career path has been chosen, there's often no easy switch. The organisation they worked for may have been left behind without much thought, yet moving on from that isn't always as seamless as it seems.

When it comes to love, however, people tend to be more hesitant. Past experiences that shaped or scarred them create a lingering self-doubt. Trusting again after being hurt is never simple. Many find it difficult to believe in second chances, especially in love. The weight of what happened before makes them question whether it's even possible to open up fully again.

But should one be so hard on themselves? Does it make sense to dwell too much on past mistakes or missed opportunities?

***

The Shekhawat residence was bustling as usual, with the staff attending to their daily chores. A maid stood outside a room, holding a tray with a steaming glass of milk. She knocked gently, but there was no response. She knocked again, only to be met with silence. A woman in her late 50s, draped in a vibrant Bandhej saree, noticed the maid from a distance. With a sigh, she approached the door.

"Kya hua? Darwaza khol kyun nahi rahi?" the woman asked, placing a hand on the maid's shoulder.

The maid shrugged. "Anamika baisa toh kitni der se jawab nahi de rahi," she replied softly.

The woman gave a knowing sigh. "Thik hai, doodh thanda ho gaya hai, jaa, jaake ek doosra glass laa le," she instructed, dismissing the maid.

Left alone, she knocked on the door again. "Anu! Anu!! Darwaza kholo!" she called, this time more firmly. Still, there was no response.

Meanwhile, a young man in his early thirties had been watching the scene unfold from the corridor. Adjusting his shoes, he climbed the stairs toward his mother. He tapped her gently on the shoulder.

"Maa, maine to pehle hi kaha tha, badi galti kar di humne Anu ki shaadi ab tak na karvake," he teased with a smirk.

The woman, who was his mother, playfully smacked his arm. "Chup kar! Meri laadli ke baare mein kuch mat kehna, Prithvi," she warned him.

Prithviraj chuckled at his mother's protective nature but couldn't resist teasing his sister."Maa, main keh raha hoon, shaadi karwa do uski, kam se kam apne sasural mein to itna der tak nahi soyegi," he joked.

Just then, the door creaked open, and a young woman in her early twenties stepped out of the room. She had heard the last bit of their conversation and shot her brother an irritated look.

"Maa, dekho na, Dado mujhe chidha rahe hain," she complained, for her elder brother.

"Oho! Dado hai na tere, tujhse sabse zyada pyaar karta hai. Main teri maa hoon, lekin tera sab kuch toh Bhai hi hai," her mother replied, gently smiling at the sibling bond.

"Woh toh hai, maa. Bachpan se lekar ab tak, Dado ne hi toh mujhe sambhala hai. Jab aap aur Baba Jodhpur jate the, Dado hi toh the jinhone mujhe parvarish di hai. Aur aaj ek saal baad Dado ne mujhse is tarah baat kar rahe hain, I am so happy..." Anamika said excitedly and hugged her brother.

"Iske jeevan ki nai shuruaat jo hone ja rahi hai kal se, promotion jo hua hai iska," her mother said proudly, looking at Prithviraj.

Prithviraj Singh Shekhawat was a well-known police officer. He had recently been promoted for his exceptional service to the department and was now Assistant Commissioner of Police at the National Intelligence Agency in New Delhi.

"Aur hume dekho, kal hi Anu ko hostel chhodne Jodhpur jana hai," her mother sighed.

"Koi baat nahi maa, aap log jaaiye, main apna khayal rakh loonga," Prithviraj reassured her.

"Pakka na, beta?" his mother asked, concerned.

"Haan maa, bilkul. Main theek hoon," he smiled.

"Thik hai, tu keh raha hai toh maan leti hoon," she said, patting his cheek lightly.

"Maa, aapko shopping karne jana tha na?" Anamika interrupted as she saw her mother getting emotional.

"Haan, main toh bhool hi gayi thi. Accha hua yaad dila diya, chalo, main nikalti hoon," her mother said, preparing to leave. She suddenly remembered the glass of turmeric milk she had brought.

"Arre! Ye doodh toh main bhool hi gayi. Le, jaldi se ye haldi wala doodh pi le," she instructed Anamika.

Anamika frowned, looking at the glass. "Haldi wala doodh, maa? Meri coffee kahan hai?"

"Khabardar jo muh banaya! Tu haldi wala doodh hi piyegi, samjhi?" her mother ordered.

"Par maa..."

"Shh! No arguments, Anu. Warna, tumhe poore din ke liye ghar mein band kar dunga," her brother warned.

Anamika's jaw dropped. "Ghar mein band? Sirf doodh nahi peene par?"

"Of course! Kya socha tha?" Prithviraj retorted.

"Dado, kabhi kabhi toh lagta hai aap bhool jaate ho ki yeh ghar hai, police station nahi," she teased.

Prithviraj glared at her, and knowing her brother wasn't kidding, Anamika quickly drank the glass in one go. Prithviraj laughed, and an irritated Anamika stormed back into her room. Their mother smiled and caressed Prithviraj's head.

"Chal, ab main araam se Jodhpur jaaungi. Mera purana Prithviraj wapas aa gaya hai," she said, gently kissing his forehead.

Prithviraj's smile faded slightly. "Sorry maa, vo purana Prithviraj kabhi wapas nahi aa sakta. Jo gyarah mahine pehle kho gaya tha, us Prithviraj aur mere beech zameen-aasman ka farak hai. Lekin sirf aapki khushi ke liye, thodi der ke liye maine  usi Prithviraj ki jhalak dikha di thi," he thought to himself, still smiling outwardly.