📍Berlin, Germany.

"Waqt ka intehaan... kabhi roshni, kabhi andhera. Isha, tumhe har mushkil ka datkar saamna karna hoga. Life mein ups and downs aate rahenge. Tumhein bas taiyaar rehna hai, aur mazboot bhi. Samajh rahi ho naa meri baat?"
("Time tests us… sometimes with light, sometimes with darkness. Isha, you must face every challenge head-on. Life will always bring highs and lows. You just need to stay ready—and strong. Do you understand what I'm saying?")

I nodded faintly, my eyes fixed on the worn carpet beneath my feet, sitting across from her in the quiet of her office.
"Yes, ma’am... main koshish kar rahi hoon. Magar—magar mujhse nahi ho raha. Mujhse ab aur nahi ho raha..."
("Yes, ma’am... I’m trying. But—I just can’t anymore. I can’t do this anymore...") I whispered, and broke down, tears slipping silently down my cheeks.

She rose from her chair and came over to sit beside me, wrapping her arm gently around my shoulders. Her hand moved to the back of my head, softly caressing, calming.

"Shhh... relax, meri bachhi. Kuch nahi hoga usse. He’s a fighter. Tumhe uske liye strong banna hoga. Aur apne liye bhi. Rishabh ko apni maa ki sabse zyada zarurat hai."
("Relax, my child. Nothing will happen to him. He’s a fighter. You need to be strong—for him, and for yourself. Rishabh needs his mother more than anything.")

I bit my lip hard, trying to suppress another sob.
"Har roz jab main usse milne jaati hoon, woh ek hi sawaal karta hai—Where's his father? Ab main usse kaise bataun ke—"
("Every day when I visit him, he only asks me one thing—Where’s his father? How do I even tell him that—")

“Mumma?”
I froze.

My head turned instantly toward the door—there he stood, tiny and confused, holding my brother’s hand.

I immediately wiped my face, forced a trembling smile, and opened my arms.
He left my brother’s hand and ran straight into my embrace.

"Missed you, Mumma..."
"I missed you too, baby..." I whispered, tightening my hold on him, my heart softening just by feeling his warmth against me.

His presence, his heartbeat—my son, my lifeline, my everything.

“Ghar chalein?” (Shall we go home?)
My brother’s voice broke through gently. I nodded without hesitation and stood up, lifting Rishabh into my arms.

I turned back to look at my teacher, who smiled gently and placed a kiss on Rishabh’s forehead.

“Bye, white granny!”
His innocent voice echoed in the room, making her chuckle and wave goodbye.

And with that, we stepped out of her office.

---

That night, Rishabh slept after listening to five stories—each one longer than the last, each one an effort to keep his mind away from pain.

Once he was fast asleep, I tucked him in, fixed his duvet with care, dimmed the lights, and stepped out of the room—leaving the door slightly ajar, just the way he liked it.

Tying my hair into a loose ponytail, I walked into the kitchen to clean up the mess we had made earlier. The clinking of dishes was the only sound around me.

Until—

CRASH.
The sharp sound of glass shattering from the bedroom.

Panic flooded my veins.

I dropped everything and sprinted to the room, my feet almost slipping on the floor.

Rishabh. His chest was rising and falling fast, erratic. Panic. Breathlessness.

I scooped him into my arms instantly and ran down the hallway, bypassing two doors, and banging on the third with all my strength.

"Bhaiya! Bhaiya, darwaza kholo! It's an emergency, please!"

---

"Ms. Chaturvedi..." the doctor began, his voice low but firm.
"This is going out of our hands. I think we need to take a risk. We need to perform immediate surgery. His VSD is larger than we expected—even compared to other children his age."

I stood frozen. My hands clenched at my sides.

"But... he’s just three..." I whispered.

"I know. But that’s not uncommon. Rishabh’s symptoms just appeared much later than they normally do. Some infants go through surgery within days of being born."

He paused.

"You have to think about what’s best for him. Don’t let him suffer any longer. I’ll give you twelve hours to decide."

He gently patted my shoulder.

"You’re my best friend’s sister. That makes you family. I only want the best for my nephew."
With that, he left the room.

I stood there, staring at my son’s small frame lying on the hospital bed.

Those eyes.

Those features.

Even his stubborn heartbeat.

Exactly like his father’s.

And just like him—he knew how to leave me helpless.

Why did I even meet you...

Rudraksh Agarwal?

©siviecore