Page 113 of Mrs. Pandey
Mrs. Solanki hesitated, glancing at her daughter for approval.
"You can talk in front of her, Prashant."
My breath caught when Ira finally looked at me. Her lips curved into the faintest smile, a smile that could have lit up the entire ward. "Thank you... for taking care of my son."
My son? Her words struck deep inside me.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, forcing my own smile even though my throat was tight.
"I'm weak," she admitted, never taking her gaze off Iraaj. "But I believe I'll heal now. Just seeing his face... it's enough." She stroked his tiny fingers, her eyes shimmering with tears. "He has your eyes, Prashant. And..." her voice softened as Iraaj laughedwhen she nuzzled her nose against his cheek, "...he has dimples, too."
The sight before me was breathtaking. Mother and child, connected again, glowing with a love so pure it made my heart ache.
"I'm glad he resembles you," she whispered after a pause, finally flicking her gaze toward me. Her eyes held a softness I hadn't seen in so long. "I always wanted my children to be like you."
Her words gutted me.
How could I have doubted her? How could I have ever let her slip away, when all this time, she had been the one holding our world together with nothing but her love and determination?
I swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in my eyes. All I wanted, in that moment, was to fall on my knees before her, to apologize for every mistake, and to promise her that I would never leave her side again.
Ira cradled Iraaj against her chest as though she was afraid he might disappear if she let go. Her lips brushed his hair again and again, her eyes glistening with awe.
"I can't believe how much he's grown," she whispered, voice fragile but filled with wonder. "Mom, look at him... his cheeks, his little hands. I missed so much."
I stood by the bed, watching silently, my throat tightening. I had imagined this moment countless times, but nothing prepared me for the way she looked at our son as if every ache in her body was soothed just by holding him.
"He has your eyes, Ira," I finally said softly. "The same spark. And when he laughs..." I couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips, "...he has your whole face."
Her gaze flickered to mine, and for the first time, she smiled at me properly. It was small, faint, but it reached her eyes. "No... he has your eyes. And those dimples... exactly like you." She tickled his chin gently, and Iraaj let out a bubbly giggle, burying his face into her shoulder.
The sound lit up her face. She kissed his temple, whispering as though speaking to herself, "I prayed he would carry a part of you. That way, even if I wasn't here, I'd still see you in him every day."
My chest clenched. She didn't know how many nights I had thought the same. "He does more than resemble us, Ira. He's... he's a piece of both of us. Sometimes he frowns like me, but the way he holds on to people, the way he refuses to let go that's all you."
Her eyes grew glassy, and she pressed her cheek to their son's soft hair. "Does he... does he know me?" Her voice trembled. "Have you shown him my pictures? Told him about me?"
I drew in a deep breath. "Every day. I showed him your photographs, your letters. I told him everything about you. I didn't let him forget, Ira. Not for a moment."
Her fingers stilled as she stroked Iraaj's back, and her tears slipped silently down her face. "Thank you," she whispered, kissing the boy's head. "Thank you for keeping me alive for him."
Iraaj lifted his tiny hand and patted her chin, as though sensing her sadness. She laughed softly through her tears, hugging him tighter. "He's so warm," she murmured, almost in disbelief. "So real. I dreamt of this moment, Prashant... of just holding him, hearing his laughter. I thought I'd never get it."
I moved closer, my voice hushed. "Now you have it. And he has you."
Her smile quivered, fragile but radiant. She looked at Iraaj again, her whole being pouring into the way she held him. "He's everything, isn't he?"
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. "Everything."
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Chapter 53
PRASHANT
The days that followed were a blur of quiet miracles. Ira’s recovery, though painfully slow, was steady enough to keep hope alive. Each time I stepped into her hospital room and saw her sitting upright, a faint smile tugging at her lips, or her eyes softening as she watched Iraaj zoom his toy cars across the sheets, my chest swelled with a gratitude I could never put into words.
But beneath that fragile joy, I could feel a shadow lurking, something she was holding back. I had known Ira too closely, too deeply, to mistake that look in her eyes for fatigue. It wasn’t just tiredness; it was distance. A secret. A wall she had built between us.
