The next morning dawned bright and full of promise. Apoorva woke up with renewed energy, quickly reviewing her schedule while sipping a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Though the household had help, she made sure to spend a few precious moments helping Roohi pack her school bag along with her mother, Veena.
Roohi and her granny exchanged mischievous glances, whispering playful jokes about how Apoorva was always so serious and always in a hurry, making her chuckle despite herself. Together, they prepared a simple breakfast—steaming idlis with coconut chutney and fresh apple slices—sharing a brief chat full of laughter.
Even amidst her demanding role as a high-ranking officer, these small morning rituals grounded her, reminding her of what truly mattered.
The day moved forward with meetings and responsibilities, but beneath it all, anticipation bubbled quietly. As evening approached, she found herself counting the hours, just as eager as Roohi to share the stories that night, ready to open that worn book once more and step into a world of courage and wonder together.
After dinner, with the soft glow of candlelight flickering gently and the familiar sound of their evening prayer filling the room, a peaceful calm settled over the house. Mother and daughter prepared for their new ritual. Roohi snuggled close, eyes shining with eager anticipation, while her mother carefully opened the worn book. As the first words flowed softly into the quiet night, the world around them seemed to melt away, and together they were drawn deep into the stories.
"It was winter," her mother began, her voice calm and steady, "but not the kind that bites with frost or howls with harsh winds. Instead, the mornings were wrapped in a soft, silvery mist, as if the earth itself was wrapped in a gentle shawl. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp soil and wood smoke from nearby hearths. In a small, humble house nested at the edge of the town, a young couple waited with quiet hope. Three long years had passed since their marriage, years filled with prayers whispered under the night sky, longing for the day their family would grow. That morning, the world felt hushed, expectant—as if nature itself was holding its breath. And then, breaking through the silence, came the first cry of their baby girl. It was a sound that filled their house with warmth, lighting up the cold winter dawn. Though their home was simple, and life promised to be full of challenges, the arrival of this child was a new beginning—a gift of hope, patience, and endless possibility."
With this bright start, Roohi's eyes widened with excitement. "Is she the princess of our story, Mama?" she asked eagerly. Her mother nodded and smiled softly. "Yes, she is the princess of this tale. Brave, strong, and full of hope." Roohi's imagination soared as she leaned in closer, ready to follow the princess through every twist and turn, feeling a special connection to the girl whose journey was just beginning.
When night finally fell the next day and the house grew quiet, Roohi climbed into bed, clutching her favorite doll. Her mom sat beside her, the old book open in her hands. As she began to read, the familiar comfort of the story wrapped around them once again, weaving courage and hope into the night air—a gentle reminder that every day was another page in their own unfolding tale.
Her mother's voice softened as she continued. "The house was warm that day, sunlight spilling across the bed where the baby lay, her tiny hands curling and uncurling like little starfish. Everyone in the family panicked when they saw the two-day-old baby's tiny nails scratching her own face. The mother gasped, clutching her chest, No one dared to move—she was too delicate, too fragile.
Before anyone could answer, her father quietly stood, his jaw firm but his eyes soft on his daughter. Without a word, he stepped out. Minutes felt like hours as the family waited. When he returned, he held a small packet in his hand—a new, sharp blade he had just bought.
The mother's breath hitched. 'You… you're not going to use that on her? She's so fragile… what if your hand shakes?'
He knelt beside the crib, his voice steady, carrying both love and conviction. 'Do you really think these hands—these hands that held her the moment she came into this world—would ever fail her? Do you think I don't know how to protect my princess?'
Carefully, he picked up her tiny fingers, impossibly gentle, like cradling a dream. With the other hand, he trimmed each nail, slow and precise. Not a scratch. Not even a tremor. His touch was unshakable, his love unmeasurable.
When the last nail fell away, he placed a soft kiss on her hand, his voice breaking as he whispered, 'She is my whole world. Every scratch she gives herself feels like it's tearing me apart. I can't bear to see her in pain—not even for a heartbeat.'
He tucked her little hand back into the blanket, his eyes glistening now, and added, almost like a vow, 'I went out and bought this blade not to cut her nails, but to carve my promise—she will never face pain alone, not while I breathe. I'll keep her safe. Always.'
The room was silent, except for the tiny sigh of the baby, who curled her fingers around his thumb—as if sealing his promise forever."
Around him, whispers carried the old weight of tradition—some sighed that a daughter meant worry, responsibility, a burden too heavy for any father's shoulders. But he only smiled, his eyes fixed on her delicate face. To him, she was no burden at all, but the very blessing he had prayed for.
In that moment, he felt heaven itself had chosen him for this gift. 'Let the world measure a father's worth in sons,' he thought, brushing his finger gently against hers, 'but my daughter is the crown that fills my life with riches no throne could offer.'"
Roohi listened, eyes wide, and sparkled as she looked up at her mother. "Mama, that little baby must have been so special to her father. Not everyone loves their daughter like that, right?"
Her mom smiled warmly. "Yes, Roohi, not everyone. But her dad saw something precious in her from the very beginning—a treasure that was worth every worry and every careful moment."
Roohi nodded thoughtfully. "I think that baby was the luckiest girl in the world. To have a daddy who's brave and so full of love, just like you are to me. And that's a fairy tale, but you are real!"
Her mother's heart swelled, and she gently pulled Roohi closer. "And you, my little princess, are even more special for me." As she said this, her eyes shimmered with emotion, and a single tear quietly slipped down her cheek.
Sunday morning dawned clear and bright, the soft sunlight filtering through the curtains as the family prepared for the day. The air buzzed with a quiet excitement - Sunday was special, a day to step away from routine & come together, Dressed in their best, mother, daughter and granny made their way to their sacred place, the familiar bells lingering gently in welcome.
Inside, the cool, sacred space, the soft hum of prayers and hymns wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. Roohi sat between her mother and granny, her small hands folded reverently, eyes wide as the choir's voices soared. The sermon spoke of hope, courage and the strength found in faith - words that seemed to echo she stories waiting to be told at home.
After the service, laughter and chatter filled the air as they stepped into the warmth of the day. They strolled through the nearby park, Roohi skipping ahead with youthful energy, her granny's gentle hands holding the basket of home made snacks, while her mom watched on with a smile that softened the weariness of the past week.
They paused by the pond where ducks floated lazily, and Roohi excitedly pointed out a family of ducklings, her joy infectious. For a moment, time seemed to slow wrapped in the simple happiness of shared moments - the kind that stitched their lives together, quietly preparing them for the new chapters of their life.
Yet, even here in the sunshine, Apoorva's mind was split between the moment and the weight of an annual tradition she knew Roohi dislikes. The warm air, the gentle hum of life around them, Roohi's laughter - all of it should have been enough to anchor her in the moment. But the next day was Roohi's birthday, she would turn six. And birthdays in their family, always meant the "Visit".