Page 118 of Mrs. Pandey
For a while, I let myself believe it would be enough. That my love, my presence, would fill the void, that I could be both mother and father if I had to. But children know. They always know.
By evening, his laughter began to falter. His little eyes, wide and searching, kept darting toward the doorway as though expecting someone to walk through it. Every time footsteps echoed outside, his head jerked up, his lips parting with hope. When the door stayed shut, his shoulders slumped, and the hope faded.
“Pa...pa?” he mumbled once, so soft I almost wished I hadn’t heard it. God, he was missing Prashant. I wondered how many times he called Prashant papa and how Prashant must have been feeling.
I kissed his forehead, pulling him close. “Papa’s not here, sweetheart. Mama’s here.”
But my words didn’t comfort him. By nightfall, his restlessness had hardened into tears. He cried and cried, his small body trembling in my arms, his cheeks wet against my chest. I tried everything, his favorite toy, the lullabies he loved, warm milk, gentle rocking, even stepping out into the cool night air with him pressed against me. Nothing worked.
His cries only grew hoarser, his little fists clenching my top, his eyes refusing to close. My own exhaustion set in, but panic pressed harder than sleep.
Finally, with trembling hands, I dialed. “Ma…” My voice broke as soon as she answered. “He won’t stop crying. He keeps calling for Prashant. I don’t know what to do.”
Her voice, steady, carried the weight of experience. She told me to stay calm, to try certain remedies, and to call Kavya if needed. And I did. Kavya rushed over, her presence warm and reassuring, but even she couldn’t quiet his storm.
Then the heat came. Subtle at first, then burn. When I touched his forehead, the warmth scorched my palm. Fear roared through me.
“He’s burning,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Oh God, he’s burning.”
Without another thought, I scooped him up and rushed to the hospital. The ride was a blur of red lights and prayers, my heart pounding with every ragged cry that escaped him.
At the hospital, doctors examined him, assured me the fever was from exhaustion, from over-crying, that he needed rest, fluids, and comfort. They gave him medicine, and slowly, mercifully, his cries weakened. His little body softened against me, his lashes damp as he finally drifted into sleep.
I sat there by his bed, still clutching his tiny hand, afraid to let go. My heart refused to be quiet, even when his did. I kept watching him, guilt gnawing me raw. Was this my doing? Had I been selfish, tearing him from the comfort he knew, from the father he loved so fiercely?
The door creaked then, and I looked up.
Prashant stood there. His face was pale, drawn, but his eyes went straight to Iraaj. For a moment, the weight between us, the anger, the silence, all of it dissolved. There was only him, a father aching for his son.
He stepped forward, his voice breaking. “How is he?”
I swallowed hard, brushing my fingers across our son’s soft hair. “He’s… resting now. Fever is under control.”
Prashant exhaled shakily, his hand twitching as though fighting the urge to reach for him. F
And in that fragile moment, under the sterile lights of the hospital, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cling to my resolve or let it shatter completely.
________
Chapter 56
IRA
Prashant stayed with me until Iraaj stirred awake, and my God I could not read the storm in his little eyes when they fell upon his father. Without hesitation, he gripped Prashant’s shirt in his tiny fists and buried his head into his chest, clinging as if he were afraid to lose him again.
Prashant’s hand immediately cupped the back of his son’s head, the other rubbing gentle circles across his small back. His voice was a low murmur, whispering soothing words only meant for Iraaj’s ears. My chest was constricted at the sight, it was too tender, too beautiful, and too painful all at once. My heart warmed at how effortlessly Prashant slipped into fatherhood, yet a sharp ache gnawed at me as I realized how deeply Iraaj belonged to him.
Within minutes, Iraaj’s small head rested on Prashant’s shoulder, his breathing evening out until he drifted back to sleep. Prashant put him into a soft bed gently before kissing his cheeks.
“He’s the only one who kept me alive,” I whispered, my voice trembling despite myself. My lips quivered as I forced the words out. “I thought he would love me the way I love him. That he would give me the kind of unconditional love I’ve been craving all my life.” I let out a sad, hollow laugh. “But it turns out… he wants you more than he wants me.”
“Ira...”
“No. Please.” I swallowed hard, lifting a hand as though to keep him away. “You don’t owe me justifications anymore.”
I stepped toward my son, brushing a soft kiss onto his warm forehead. My voice cracked as I spoke to Prashant, though I couldn’t bring myself to look into his eyes. “You can keep him at least until you teach him how to live without you.”
I turned to leave, but Prashant’s hand shot out, grasping my wrist firmly. His grip was not gentle, it was desperate, almost harsh.
