Her eyes lingered on the next picture, where little Karan kissed a woman’s cheek as she laughed, her joy practically glowing through the faded photo. She realised that must be his mother.
She turned another page, eager to see more.
“22nd August 1995 – Chiku’s first birthday! Mala and I are baking his cake together!”
Mishti blinked as she saw another woman in the picture, standing beside Karan’s mother, both smiling as they baked a cake. She was almost around Karan’s mother’s age.
Curiosity deepened as she flipped further. Another photo of Karan’s mother, again, this time with the same woman, Mala, both holding two little boys in their arms.
“19th July 1997 – Mala and I with Chiku and Abhimanyu.”
Abhimanyu?
Mishti frowned slightly. Who was he? She had never heard that name in this house.
She kept turning the pages, lost in the small, handwritten moments of Karan’s world, long before bitterness had built its walls. She finally saw his father’s photos, too. The following photos showed Karan between his parents, the three of them laughing, hugging, like apicture-perfect family.
Her throat tightened as tears welled in her eyes. Karan did have a sweet childhood. His parents loved him. So what had gone so wrong that he now lived like a man with no heart, no faith, and no peace? Had their deaths destroyed him that deeply?
She looked around the quiet temple again. Maybe that’s why he’d locked this place, because faith reminded him of what he’d lost.
A sudden thought bloomed in her mind. What if she could frame these photos? Restore them, maybe even surprise him someday. Perhaps it could be the first small step toward reaching his heart.
Maybe he wouldn’t say it aloud, but he’d feel it.
Carefully, she closed the fragile diary, holding it against her chest and walked toward her room.
She’d keep it safe, and someday, when the time was right, she’d show it to him. Even if Karan had forgotten the warmth of love, Mishti believed that somewhere deep down, a part of that little boy namedChikustill lived within him.
***************
Same Evening
Mishti was in the kitchen, flipping the golden puris in the kadhai when a familiar teasing voice came from the doorway.
“Sothisis what my patient does in her free time, ignoring all her health follow-ups,” Dr Komal said, leaning against the frame with a playful smile.
Mishti was surprised to see her here.
“Komal? What are you doing here?”
“You missed your appointment twice this week, dear. I had no choice but to come check on you myself.”
“Oh no…” She immediately switched off the flame and turned, wiping her hands on her apron. “I completely forgot. I’m so sorry. I just returned from Lonavala yesterday, and between unpacking and resting, it slipped my mind.”
Komal stepped inside, shaking her head but smiling warmly. “Lonavala? That sounds like a pleasant distraction. Mr Wadhwa did find time to take you on a vacation then? I’m super glad he took this initiative.”
“Well, it was his friend’s birthday,” Mishti replied, smiling softly. “We stayed overnight at his farmhouse. All of Karan’s friends were there.”
Komal arched a brow. “I see. So, this was just a coincidence that he got an opportunity to take you out somewhere.”
Mishti’s smile faltered slightly, but she didn’t respond. Komal didn’t have to know that Karan didn’t even take her along and that she had to drive to Lonavala separately.
That’s when Karan’s voice rang from the living room, breaking her thoughts.
“Maria! Bring me some water.” Karan shouted.
“He’s back,” she murmured. “And Maria’s out. He doesn’t know. I’ll be right back, before his mood turns worse.”
