Virat booked a room in a nearby hotel. He went to the bathroom and took out his wallet. From it, he took the family photo and stuck it on the mirror with cellophane tape. He began comparing himself with his past self. A clean-shaven, glowing face had turned into a thick beard and a tanned look. He picked up his trimmer and trimmed the entire beard, then shaved for a clean look.
He murmured, “It’s been around four years since I’ve seen my own face.” He looked at the photo stuck on the mirror. “Still not matching.”
He stepped into the bathroom for a proper shower. The water turned murky as years of dust and exhaustion washed off his body. It felt like a complete transformation—from Qasim, a Bangladeshi identity, back to Virat, an Indian. He removed the photo from the mirror and looked at it. He kissed Arya’s face in the photo, took a deep breath, and drifted into the past.
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A Queen Born
Five years earlier, Virat was making food for Anvi. Suddenly, she groaned in pain.
“Viraaaat…!”
He rushed to her instantly, sat beside her, held her hands, and said, “Don’t worry, I’m here. Please.” He quickly took her to a nearby hospital, where she was rushed to the maternity ward.
A staff nurse told him, “Don’t worry. We will take care.”
Virat stood outside the room, breathing heavily, completely nervous. After some time, a doctor rushed inside, and a nurse came out. Virat stopped her.
“Ma’am, what happened? Is there any problem?”
The nurse replied, “Yes, the umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby.”
Virat was shocked, but he asked calmly, “Is there any solution?”
“Doctors are trying their best. If needed, they will perform a cesarean,” she said, and hurried away.
Virat dropped to his knees on the floor. He noticed a statue of Mother Mary and went toward it, stumbling twice on the way. He folded his hands and prayed,
“God, please save my wife and my child… please.”
His eyes filled with tears. After some time, the nurse saw him still sitting there. She walked up to him and said,
“Congratulations, sir. You have a daughter.”
He immediately asked, “Anvi?”
“She’s completely fine. Normal delivery,” she replied.
Overwhelmed with joy, Virat hugged the nurse and rushed to the room. Inside, he saw Anvi lying on the bed, tired, saline tubes attached to her hand, eyes filled with tears. He gently kissed her forehead. Anvi smiled weakly, raised her head, kissed his forehead, and said, “A soldier got a daughter… just like you.”
Virat asked softly, “Where is she?”
“The nurse took her for a bath,” Anvi replied.
After some time, the nurse returned with the baby, wrapped in a light blue towel—tiny, with soft hair, crying loudly. She handed the baby to Virat.
The moment he held her, the baby stopped crying.
Virat smiled. “Hi, darling. Welcome to the world.” He pointed toward Anvi. “See, she is your assistant.”
Anvi smiled and took the baby into her arms. “Stupid. I’m the assistant?”
As soon as she held her, the baby smiled.
“Aww… so cute,” Anvi said.
Virat gently held the baby’s tiny feet and kissed them. “I won’t just be your dad… I’ll be your friend. Always and forever.”
The nurse, who had been watching quietly, smiled emotionally and stepped out.
---
Back to Present
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Anvi was packing her things into a suitcase for her industrial visit to Manali.
Arya asked, “Mumma, can I come with you?”
Anvi replied, “Sorry, dear. You can’t.”
Arya frowned. “Then who will take care of me? I’ll feel lonely.”
Anvi placed her hands on Arya’s shoulders and said, “An uncle will stay with you. Don’t worry.”
Arya asked, “Uncle? Who is that uncle?”
Anvi smiled slightly. “You’ll know tomorrow.” She paused for a moment. “Arya, I always tell you—keep some distance from older boys, okay?”
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Arya nodded. “Okay,” and hugged her.
Inside, Anvi murmured quietly, “I know… it won’t be that simple.”
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