🌺 The Hidden Chapters: A Poem for Every Woman

 

There are stories the world will sing aloud,
And those it buries beneath the crowd.
But hidden in silence, fierce and deep,
Lie the chapters that women keep.

This is Meera’s tale — not hers alone,
But every woman’s silent tone.
A journey carved in pain and grace,
Of battles fought with a smiling face.

---

🌸 What is a Woman?

Is she just flesh, a body, a name?
Or is she fire wrapped in frame?

Why did God shape her soul so wide —
To break, to bow, or stand with pride?

She’s not a shadow to a man,
She’s the reason life began.
When He made her, He sowed the seed
Of boundless strength and quiet need.

---

🌼 Childhood: The Forgotten Flower (0–12)

Born where sons were more desired,
Yet her spirit never tired.
By six, she saw the world divide,
By eight, was told her knees to hide.
By ten, her voice was locked away,
Touched in fear, with none to say.

---

🌿 Teenage Years: The Silent Storm (13–19)

Then came the flood of growing pains,
A body judged, a heart in chains.
She loved with innocence and light,
But blame was hers — not his that night.
At eighteen, dreams of books grew still,
Crushed beneath the marriage will.

---

🌺 Young Adult: The Tug of Dreams and Duty (20–35)

Freedom teased with sweetest taste,
But turned to fire, harsh and faced.
The streets would leer, the home would bind,
She served with grace, but lost her mind.
Marriage came — the vows grew thin,
Motherhood wore her from within.

---

🌻 Middle Age: The Silent Sacrifice (36–55)

She held the walls, she bore the weight,
While time walked on and sealed her fate.
Her mirror whispered, Who are you?
She smiled — a mask the world once knew.
Dreams, once bright, now gathered dust,
Yet she pressed on — because she must.

---

🌙 Old Age: The Quiet Queen (56+)

The house grew still, the laughter gone,
She sat with time, completely drawn.
But in the hush, a voice came near,
And washed away the guilt and fear:

“You were not born to serve and fold —
You were born in fire, fierce and bold.
You are not weak — you are divine.
A masterpiece in every line.”

---

🌟 Final Verse

Meera is you. Meera is me.
She lives in every home we see.
But hush no more — let truth be told,
Let every woman’s voice be bold.

For every chapter, scar, and strife
Is stitched into the book of life.
Let silence end. Let echoes start.
The story of woman is a work of art.

💫 My Message to You

“She was never weak — the world just feared her strength.”

The Woman Who Refused to Give Up: My Journey of Struggle and Strength

 

Life has tested me in countless ways. But through every struggle, one thing kept me going: the promise I made to myself — that I would never give up.

This is the story of a woman’s journey through darkness, towards the light.

🌸 Childhood: The Early Struggles

I was born in Ernakulam, Kerala, but my family moved to Delhi when I was very young. I grew up with three younger sisters, in a home where love and struggle lived side by side.

We were poor. Many nights, we went to bed on empty stomachs. My parents worked hard to provide for us, but it was never enough.

What hurt more than hunger was watching my mother suffer. My father, trapped in alcoholism, often brought pain to our doorstep. His anger, fueled by drink, made our small home feel unsafe. As a child, I would pray for peace — for my mother’s tears to stop, for my father to change.

But even in those dark days, I learned something powerful: strength is born in silence, in the quiet promise to keep going.

---

🌱 Teenage Years: Dreams vs. Reality

School was my escape, but also my burden. I loved learning, but how could I focus when there was no money for books or fees? My uniform was worn thin; my shoes had holes.

People said, “Why educate a girl? She will marry and leave anyway.” But I knew that education was my only way out. I studied under streetlights, borrowed books, and ignored the whispers.

Each small success felt like a victory against the world’s expectations.

---

🌿 Adulthood: New Challenges, New Strength

As I grew older, the struggles changed but didn’t stop. I took up any work I could find to support my family. There was no room for my own dreams — survival came first.

Marriage brought hope of a better future, but it wasn’t to be. A year ago, my husband walked away, leaving me and our son behind. No explanations. No support.

Was I broken? Maybe. But I chose to stand. I took up administrative work to provide for my son. I fight each day — against stress, against loneliness, against the fear of failure.

---

🌺 Where I Am Today

I am still on my journey. But today, I stand stronger. I am proud of the mother I am, the woman I have become.

Yes, life tested me. But I did not give up. I will not give up.

---

💫 My Message to You

“Life will test you in every way. People will doubt you, and you may doubt yourself. But if you keep taking one step forward, no matter how small, you will find your light.”

If I Die First, Please Come See Me on My Birthday

It was a conversation they had never expected to have, but one that had lingered in the back of their minds for years. The kind of conversation you avoided, thinking if you didn’t talk about it, maybe it wouldn’t happen. But there they were, sitting on the worn bench beneath the ancient oak tree, the one they always came to when life felt heavy.

Aarav leaned back, staring up at the dappled sunlight breaking through the canopy of leaves. His best friend, Meera, sat beside him, quiet for a change, her usual laughter subdued. They had been through everything together—the fights, the celebrations, the heartbreaks, the dreams. In a world that constantly shifted, they had been each other's constants.

"I need to tell you something," Meera said softly, breaking the silence. Aarav turned his head to look at her, sensing the gravity in her voice. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were serious, shadowed by something deeper.

"If I die first, promise me you'll come see me on my birthday," she said, her words deliberate, careful.

Aarav blinked, caught off guard. "Why are we talking about this? You're not going anywhere, Meera. We're going to grow old and cranky together, remember?" He tried to laugh it off, but the look in her eyes made the smile falter on his lips.

She smiled, but it was a soft, sad smile, the kind that knew more than it was letting on. "I know. I’m not planning on dying any time soon. But life… it’s unpredictable. And I need to know that you’ll do this for me."

Aarav swallowed, the weight of her words sinking in. "Why your birthday?" he asked quietly, feeling the chill of an unseen reality creeping into their sacred space.

Meera shrugged, but there was meaning in her eyes. "It’s the day I came into the world. It’s always been a day of new beginnings for me, a reminder that I'm here for a reason. If I’m gone, I don’t want you to come out of duty or sadness. I want you to celebrate with me, just like we always do. Even if I’m not there physically… come and remind me I’m not forgotten."

Aarav’s chest tightened as he considered her request. Meera was the kind of person who celebrated life, even in its most fragile moments. It made sense that she would want her memory honored in the same way. But the thought of losing her, of not having her next to him, felt unbearable.

"You’re not dying," he said again, more firmly this time, as if saying it could make it true. "I can’t even imagine what life would be like without you."

Meera reached over and took his hand, her fingers warm and grounding. "Aarav, we don’t have to imagine it right now. But I need you to promise me. If I die first, come see me. Bring the things we love. Tell me the stories I won’t be there for. It doesn’t have to be sad, okay?"

His throat felt tight, but he nodded, squeezing her hand. "I promise."

---

Years passed. They never spoke of that conversation again. Life moved forward, as it always does, and they both assumed they had time. But time has a way of shifting when you least expect it.

Meera was gone. The news had hit him like a wave crashing, leaving him breathless and disoriented. One moment she was there, and the next, she wasn’t. No warning, no time to prepare. Just a phone call that shattered his world.

In the days that followed, Aarav went through the motions. The funeral, the condolences, the numbness. But every day, he thought about that conversation beneath the oak tree, the promise he had made, and the birthday that was fast approaching.

---

On the morning of her birthday, Aarav found himself standing outside the cemetery, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers—the kind Meera loved. The air was crisp, the sky an endless stretch of blue. It was strange, standing there with the knowledge that she wasn’t going to laugh at his choice of flowers or tease him about being late, like she always did.

He walked slowly, his heart heavy but his mind determined. He found her grave easily, marked by a simple stone. "Meera Kapoor. Loved by all. Forever our sunshine." The words felt too small for someone so big, someone who had filled the world with her light.

He knelt down, placing the flowers gently at the base of the stone. The silence around him was overwhelming, but he remembered her words. "It doesn’t have to be sad."

Aarav smiled through the tightness in his chest. "Happy birthday, Meera."

He sat down next to her, the way he used to when they would meet under the oak tree. The stillness of the cemetery felt nothing like those carefree days, but he had promised her. He had promised to come, to celebrate her.

"I brought wildflowers," he said, laughing a little as he placed them down. "I can hear you saying they’re better than roses."

For the next hour, Aarav talked. He told her everything she had missed. About the silly things, the big things, the moments she would have rolled her eyes at, and the moments she would have loved. He spoke of the dreams they had shared, the plans they had made that now felt like unfinished sentences.

Then, with a soft chuckle, he leaned back against the cool stone. "Do you remember the time we got locked out of your apartment? You were so sure you could break in through the kitchen window." He grinned, shaking his head. "You practically fell headfirst into the sink, and I was there, laughing like an idiot instead of helping you."

Aarav could almost hear Meera’s laughter in the wind, that infectious giggle she always had when things went wrong. "And then, after you finally climbed in and unlocked the door from the inside, we realized the whole time the front door wasn’t even locked!" He threw his head back and laughed, the memory warm and alive in his heart. "I don’t think you’ve ever let me live that down."

He paused, looking at her name etched into the stone, the reality of her absence settling back over him like a heavy weight. "I know you would’ve had some smart comeback about me being useless in a crisis," he said softly, wiping a tear that slipped from his eye. "I miss that. I miss you."

He took a deep breath, feeling the wind brush against his face as if Meera was there, teasing him, making light of the situation like she always had. He smiled, remembering her spirit, how she could turn even the worst moments into something funny, something light.

"You know," Aarav added, his voice quieter now, "I kept expecting you to come back. For the longest time, I thought I'd get a message from you, like this was all some elaborate prank. But you didn’t, and you’re really gone."

He wiped his face again, but this time, there was a strange comfort in his heart. He wasn’t alone, not entirely. Meera was here, in the stories, in the laughter, in the quiet moments they still shared, even like this.

"I’ll come back next year," he promised, looking up at the sky that seemed to stretch on forever. "I’ll tell you everything, just like today. And I’ll bring wildflowers again, and maybe this time I won’t cry so much."

He stood up slowly, brushing off his pants as he looked down at her grave one last time. "You always made sure I didn’t take life too seriously, and I promise I’ll try to do the same. But I’ll keep celebrating with you. Every year. I’ll keep telling you the funny stories."

As he walked away, the wind carried a soft, familiar whisper through the trees, and Aarav smiled.

"Happy birthday, Meera." 

To Reach Somewhere, You Have To Leave Somewhere

Rajeev stood at the edge of his family's farm, his calloused hands resting on the worn wooden fence. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, casting long shadows across the fields he had tended since childhood. In the distance, the faint outline of the city skyline shimmered like a mirage, a constant reminder of a world beyond the village of Chandanpur.

At 25, Rajeev felt the weight of unfulfilled dreams pressing down on him. He had always been a dreamer, imagining a life beyond the narrow lanes and familiar faces of his village. But dreams, he had learned, were easier to nurture than to pursue.

"Beta, dinner is ready!" his mother's voice called from their modest home. Rajeev sighed, taking one last look at the horizon before turning back.

As he entered the house, the aroma of dal and freshly made rotis filled the air. His father, Vijay, sat at the table, his weathered face a map of years spent working under the sun.

"How were the crops today?" Vijay asked as Rajeev sat down.

"Fine, Pitaji. The rains have been good this year."

A comfortable silence fell as they ate, broken only by the occasional clink of utensils against steel plates. It was a scene that had played out countless times, a routine as familiar as the back of Rajeev's hand. Yet tonight, it felt different. The comfort of home felt almost suffocating.

After dinner, Rajeev climbed to the hilltop overlooking the village, a spot that had been his refuge since childhood. The city lights twinkled in the distance, each pinprick of light a star in an earthbound sky.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?" a voice startled him from his reverie.

Rajeev turned to see Mr. Sharma, his former teacher, walking up the path. Even in the dim light, Rajeev could see the kindness in the old man's eyes.

"It is, sir," Rajeev replied, making room for Mr. Sharma to sit beside him.

"Something troubles you, Rajeev. I can see it in your eyes."

Rajeev hesitated, then the words tumbled out. "I feel... stuck. Like I'm meant for something more, but I don't know how to reach it. And I'm afraid of leaving everything I know behind."

Mr. Sharma nodded thoughtfully. "You know, Rajeev, there's an old saying: 'Kahi pahuchne ke liye kahi se nikalna padta hai.' To reach somewhere, you have to leave from somewhere."

"But how can I leave? This is all I know. My family needs me here."

"Change is never easy, beta. But remember, life is a journey. Every step forward means leaving something behind. The question is, what do you want your journey to be?"

As Mr. Sharma's words sank in, Rajeev felt a spark of determination ignite within him. The next few weeks were a whirlwind of decision-making, planning, and heart-wrenching conversations with his family.

His mother, Lakshmi, tried to hide her tears as she packed his bags. "Promise me you'll eat well," she said, slipping extra packets of homemade snacks into his suitcase.

His father was more stoic, but Rajeev could see the mix of pride and worry in his eyes. "Remember who you are and where you come from," Vijay said, pressing a small bundle of money into Rajeev's hand.

The day of departure arrived all too soon. As Rajeev boarded the bus that would take him to the city, he felt a complex mix of excitement and fear. The familiar faces of the village grew smaller as the bus pulled away, and Rajeev felt as if he were leaving a part of himself behind.

Life in the city was a shock to Rajeev's system. The noise, the crowds, the pace—everything was overwhelming. He had enrolled in a business college, determined to make something of himself, but the classrooms felt alien compared to the open fields of home.

There were nights when homesickness threatened to overwhelm him, when the sound of honking cars made him long for the chirping of crickets. But each time he felt like giving up, he remembered Mr. Sharma's words: "To reach somewhere, you have to leave from somewhere."

Slowly, Rajeev adapted. He made friends, learned new skills, and discovered strengths he never knew he had. The city, once intimidating, became a land of opportunity. After graduation, he secured a job at a reputable company, working his way up from junior associate to manager.

Years passed, marked by successes and failures, lessons learned, and challenges overcome. Rajeev's world had expanded far beyond what he could have imagined in Chandanpur, yet his roots remained a vital part of who he was.

One day, after a particularly grueling week at work, Rajeev decided it was time to visit home. As the bus wound its way through familiar countryside, emotions welled up inside him. The village looked smaller somehow, yet it still held the warmth of home.

His parents had aged, their hair grayer, their steps slower, but their eyes lit up at the sight of their son. That evening, as they sat down to a meal of dal and rotis, just like old times, Rajeev realized that while he had left, a part of him had always remained.

The next morning, Rajeev climbed the old hilltop. The city skyline was still visible, but now it held a different meaning. It was no longer a distant dream, but a reminder of the journey he had undertaken.

"It's still a beautiful view," came a familiar voice. Mr. Sharma, now stooped with age, joined him.

"It is," Rajeev agreed. "You know, sir, I've thought about what you said that night, about having to leave to reach somewhere new. I understand it now, more than ever."

Mr. Sharma smiled. "And what have you learned, Rajeev?"

Rajeev looked out over the village, then back towards the city. "I've learned that leaving isn't about forgetting where you came from. It's about carrying your roots with you as you grow. Every new achievement, every step forward, is built on the foundation of where I began."

As they stood there, teacher and student, the sun rose higher in the sky, illuminating both the village and the distant city. Rajeev felt a sense of peace wash over him. He had left, he had achieved, but most importantly, he had grown. And in that growth, he had found a way to bridge the two worlds that had shaped him.

The journey, Rajeev realized, was far from over. But now he understood that every ending was just a new beginning, every departure a step toward a new destination. As long as he carried the lessons of his past and the courage to face the unknown, there would always be new horizons to explore.

"Kahi pahuchne ke liye kahi se nikalna padta hai," Rajeev murmured, feeling the truth of those words in his bones. To reach somewhere, you have to leave from somewhere. But in leaving, you carry with you the strength to reach even further than you ever imagined.

A Love That Never Fades

In a charming little town where the sun always seemed to shine just right, there lived a couple, Maya and Arjun. Their love was the kind that fairy tales are made of—filled with laughter, shared dreams, and small, sweet gestures that spoke volumes. One of Arjun's most cherished rituals was sending Maya a single rose every day, no matter where he was.

Each morning, Maya would wake to the sight of a fresh rose waiting for her, its petals glistening with morning dew, a symbol of Arjun’s unwavering love. As she held the rose to her heart, she'd often find herself grinning, recalling their playful banter and tender moments.

“Another rose?” Maya would tease, sending a quick picture of the rose to Arjun. “Are you sure you’re not trying to impress any other women?”

Arjun would reply within seconds, always ready with a charming comeback. “Not a chance. My heart only belongs to you. No one else makes me feel the way you do.”

Their mornings were often filled with laughter, but Arjun always found a way to express how deeply he loved her. “Maya, you don’t even realize how much you mean to me,” he’d say. “Every rose is my way of saying I choose you, every single day. It’s not just a flower, it’s a promise—that I’ll always be with you, even when I’m not physically there.”

But then, the unimaginable happened. One day, tragedy struck, and Arjun passed away unexpectedly while on a business trip. The loss was devastating for Maya. The world felt suddenly colder and emptier without him. Grief consumed her, and she struggled to find meaning in a life without her soulmate.

As she sat alone one morning, lost in her sadness, a familiar knock on the door broke through her haze. It was the florist, holding a vibrant rose, just as always. Maya’s heart skipped a beat. “Another rose?” she whispered, bewildered. “But how? He’s gone...”

The florist, a kind-hearted woman named Mrs. Kapoor, smiled gently and explained, “Arjun arranged for these to be delivered every day, long before he passed. He wanted to make sure you’d always feel his love.”

Tears streamed down Maya’s face as she clutched the rose tightly. “Even now… he’s still thinking of me,” she whispered in disbelief. “But why? How could he plan this?”

Mrs. Kapoor handed her a small envelope. Inside was a letter, written in Arjun’s unmistakable handwriting:

“My dearest Maya,

If you’re reading this, then I’m no longer by your side—but don’t you dare think that I’ve left you. I promised to love you forever, and I intend to keep that promise, even from afar.

Every rose you receive is a reminder that I will always be with you, cheering you on, making you smile, and holding your hand in spirit. You’ve been my light in every dark moment, my joy in every sad time. There’s no one I’ve ever loved as much as I love you.

I know you’ll cry, and I know you’ll miss me—but I need you to remember how strong you are. You’re the most beautiful person, inside and out, and I was blessed to spend my life with you.

So, with every rose, know that it carries a piece of my heart. Every day, I’m sending you my love. Always yours,

Arjun.”

Maya's heart swelled with emotions, the pain of loss mixed with the overwhelming comfort of his words. Even in death, Arjun had found a way to take care of her, to make her feel cherished and loved beyond measure.

“He loved me this much,” Maya whispered to herself, wiping away her tears. “He really did...”

As days passed, Maya continued to receive a rose each morning, and with each rose, she felt Arjun's presence beside her. She remembered all the little things—the way he’d pull her close when they danced in the living room, the way he’d brush a stray lock of hair from her face and say, “How did I get so lucky?” She remembered the soft kisses on her forehead, the laughter they shared, and the unspoken connection between them.

One evening, as she sat by their favorite spot in the garden, Maya whispered into the cool night air, “I love you, Arjun, and I always will.”

Though Arjun was no longer physically by her side, his love continued to bloom in her heart. He had left her with a reminder that love, true love, doesn’t fade—it transcends time, distance, and even death.

On what would have been their wedding anniversary, Maya received a final rose—a delicate, pristine white one. Inside it was a small note, the last one Arjun had written:

“You are my forever, Maya. Love, Arjun.”

Though her heart ached with longing, it was also filled with warmth. She smiled through her tears, clutching the rose close. “Thank you, Arjun,” she whispered, knowing that his love would always live on, guiding her through each day, one rose at a time.

Conclusion: A Love That Never Fades

Maya’s journey, from the depths of sorrow to finding peace in Arjun’s enduring love, is a testament to the idea that love doesn't simply vanish when someone leaves us—it transforms. Every rose she received became a symbol of hope, a reminder that true love transcends even death. Though Arjun was no longer physically with her, his presence was felt in every bloom, in every whispered memory, and in the love that continued to grow in her heart.

Their story wasn’t just about romance—it was about how deeply someone can touch your soul, how love can continue to bloom even in the face of loss, and how the simplest gestures can leave a lasting impact.

For Maya, every rose was not just a reminder of what she lost—it was a celebration of a love that would never fade.

सर्दियों का अंत: आशा का एक बसंती दिन

सर्दियाँ लंबी और सख़्त थीं, बाहर भी और अनिया के दिल में भी। ये सिर्फ़ ठंडी हवा या धूसर आसमान की बात नहीं थी—बल्कि उसके संघर्षों का बोझ था। ज़िंदगी एक अंतहीन सर्दी की तरह लगने लगी थी। अकेले जय की परवरिश करना, करियर की अनिश्चितताओं से जूझना, और अपने पिता को खोने का दुःख सहना, सबने उसे एक ऐसी ठंड में लपेट लिया था जिससे वह बाहर नहीं निकल पा रही थी। ऐसा लग रहा था कि जैसे बसंत, अपनी गर्माहट और नयापन लेकर, कभी नहीं आएगा।

एक ठंडी शाम को, जब बाहर हल्की बर्फ गिर रही थी, अनिया खिड़की के पास बैठी विचारों में खोई हुई थी। उसके हाथों में उसकी पसंदीदा चाय का कप ठंडा हो चुका था, और उसकी यादें और चिंताएँ बाहर की सर्द हवाओं की तरह उसके मन में घूम रही थीं। जय, जो टीवी देख रहा था, थके हुए अपनी आँखें मलते हुए कमरे में आया।

"माँ, आपको सो जाना चाहिए," जय ने नींद भरी आवाज़ में कहा, पर उसकी आवाज़ में चिंता थी। "आप काफी देर से यहाँ बैठी हैं।"

अनिया ने अपने बेटे की तरफ़ देखा और ज़बरदस्ती मुस्कराई। "मैं ठीक हूँ, बेटा। बस बहुत सारी चीज़ों के बारे में सोच रही थी।"

जय ने सिर टेढ़ा करके जिज्ञासा से पूछा, "किस चीज़ के बारे में?"

उसने एक लंबी सांस ली और बाहर बर्फ से ढकी सड़कों की तरफ़ देखा। "ज़िंदगी, जय। कभी-कभी लगता है कि कितनी भी कोशिश कर लूं, सब कुछ वैसा ही रहता है। ठंडा, भारी, जैसे सर्दी कभी ख़त्म ही नहीं होगी।"

जय उसके पास बैठ गया, उसका छोटा सा हाथ उसकी बाँह पर रख दिया। "लेकिन सर्दी हमेशा नहीं रहती, है ना?"

अनिया उसकी बातों की समझदारी से हैरान थी। "तुम्हारा मतलब क्या है?"

जय हल्की सी मुस्कान के साथ बोला, उसकी आँखों में एक चमक थी। "जैसे उस BTS गाने में होता है जो आप हमेशा सुनती हो—'स्प्रिंग डे'। उसमें कहा है कि चाहे जितनी ठंड हो, सर्दियों के बाद बसंत ज़रूर आता है। इसमें समय लग सकता है, पर ठंड हमेशा के लिए नहीं रहती, माँ। सब कुछ बेहतर हो जाएगा।"

अनिया का दिल एक पल के लिए कस गया, और उसकी आँखों में आँसू भरने लगे। उसने उस गाने को कितनी बार सुना था, पर आज उसके बेटे की सादगी भरी बातों ने इस संदेश को पहली बार उसके दिल तक पहुँचाया।

"चाहे तुम्हारी सर्दी कितनी भी ठंडी और अंधेरी क्यों न हो, बसंत हमेशा पास ही होता है।" गाने के शब्द उसके दिमाग में गूँजने लगे, और अनिया ने एक थकी हुई सांस छोड़ी।

"तुम बिल्कुल सही कह रहे हो, जय," उसने फुसफुसाते हुए कहा, उसकी आवाज़ में आश्चर्य और आभार का मिश्रण था। "हमें बस थोड़ी और देर तक टिके रहना है, और सब कुछ बेहतर हो जाएगा।"

जय ने सिर हिलाया और उसे कसकर गले लगाया। "आप हमेशा मुझे बहादुर बनने के लिए कहती हो, माँ। अब आपकी बारी है। हम साथ में इस सर्दी को पार कर लेंगे, और जल्द ही सब कुछ फिर से बसंत जैसा हो जाएगा। आप देखना।"

अनिया ने उसे अपने गले से लगाया, और उसके दिल में एक नई उम्मीद जाग उठी। तमाम चुनौतियों और ठंड के बावजूद, जय की बातों ने उसके भीतर गर्माहट का एक बीज बो दिया था।

अगली सुबह, बाहर की दुनिया अब भी बर्फ से ढकी हुई थी, लेकिन अनिया हल्का महसूस कर रही थी। वह रसोई में जाकर नाश्ता बनाने लगी, और खुद से एक धीमा गीत गुनगुनाने लगी। बैकग्राउंड में "स्प्रिंग डे" की हल्की धुन बज रही थी, और जय आँखें मलता हुआ मुस्कुराते हुए रसोई में आया।

"गुड मॉर्निंग, माँ!" उसने हँसते हुए कहा, अभी भी आधी नींद में, पर खुश।

अनिया ने उसके बालों को सहलाते हुए मुस्कुराया। "गुड मॉर्निंग, सोने की गुड़िया। नाश्ते के लिए तैयार हो?"

जय ने जम्हाई लेते हुए सिर हिलाया। "क्या हम आज पैनकेक खा सकते हैं?"

"ज़रूर," उसने हँसते हुए कहा। "लेकिन तुम्हें मेरी मदद करनी होगी।"

जब वे साथ में खाना बना रहे थे, जय ख़ुशी-ख़ुशी बातें कर रहा था, और अनिया को हफ्तों में पहली बार इतना हँसते हुए महसूस हुआ। रसोई में बैटर की सिजलिंग, हंसी की आवाज़ें, और वह गाना गूँज रहा था जो अब उनके लिए उम्मीद का प्रतीक बन चुका था।

"माँ, आपको पता है मुझे बसंत क्यों पसंद है?" जय ने ध्यान से पैनकेक पलटते हुए पूछा।

अनिया ने मुस्कराते हुए पूछा, "क्यों?"

"क्योंकि ऐसा लगता है जैसे दुनिया फिर से शुरू हो रही हो," उसने सोचते हुए कहा। "फूल फिर से उगते हैं, दिन लंबे हो जाते हैं, और सब कुछ नया-नया लगता है। मुझे लगता है कि जब बसंत आएगा, हम भी नए महसूस करेंगे, है ना?"

अनिया का दिल उसके शब्दों से गर्म हो गया। "हाँ, जय," उसने नरमी से कहा, उसकी आवाज़ में भावनाओं का सैलाब था। "हम ज़रूर करेंगे। चाहे चीज़ें कितनी भी मुश्किल हों, हमारे पास हमेशा एक नया शुरूआत होती है। बसंत हमारे लिए भी आएगा।"

जय मुस्कुराया, अपनी माँ के जवाब से संतुष्ट। "फिर हमें ज़्यादा चिंता नहीं करनी चाहिए, है ना? अगर चीज़ें अभी मुश्किल हैं, तो भी कोई बात नहीं। ये बस बर्फ के पिघलने का इंतज़ार करने जैसा है।"

अनिया ने मन ही मन एक गहरी शांति महसूस की। "बिल्कुल, बेटा। ये बस बर्फ के पिघलने का इंतज़ार करने जैसा है।"

जब उन्होंने नाश्ता ख़त्म किया, तो अनिया ने खिड़की से बाहर देखा, जहाँ वही सफेद बर्फ की चादर फैली हुई थी जिसे उसने पिछली रात देखा था। लेकिन इस बार, उसे ठंड से घिरी हुई महसूस नहीं हो रही थी। इसके बजाय, वह एक शांत इंतज़ार महसूस कर रही थी। बर्फ पिघलेगी, फूल खिलेंगे, और उसी तरह, वह और जय भी अपने बसंत को पाएँगे। साथ में, वे इस सर्दी से गुज़र जाएँगे।

पहली बार, उसे ऐसा लगा कि बेहतर दिनों की गर्माहट उससे कहीं ज़्यादा क़रीब है जितना उसने सोचा था। गाने, बेटे की बातों, और उनके प्यार ने उसे याद दिलाया कि हर लंबी, कठिन सर्दी के बाद, बसंत हमेशा इंतज़ार करता है—अपने साथ नया जीवन, उम्मीद, और नए शुरूआतों का वादा लेकर आता है।