Yahi doobe din mere,

Yahi hote hai savere,

Yahi marna aur jeena,

Yahi mandir aur madeena...

Teri galiyan, galiyan teri galiyan,

Mujhko bhaave, galiyan teri galiyan.

✿✿✿✿✿

1.3k votes for next update.

✿✿✿✿✿

ABHISAR

It has been a month since Maa left us.

I still remember the moment when Nupur told me, my world shattering in a quiet, merciless instant.

She wasn’t my birth mother, no, but she was the one who raised me, the one who cared for me after my real mother passed away. Although we never talked, but still. We were talking since last few days before her birth. I wish I could have more of those moments.

I never felt that she was any less of a mother. She was the only mother I knew. And when she left this world, I felt like a part of me left with her.

Grief is a strange thing.

It doesn’t hit you all at once. It trickles in, like water slipping through cracks in the wall, slowly filling your heart with sorrow until it overwhelms you.

That first week, I didn’t know how to carry the weight of it. Every morning, I woke up with the dull ache in my chest, reminding me that she was gone.

Yet, I wasn’t grieving for myself as much as I was for Abhigyan Bhaiya.

Bhaiya—he’s always been stronger than me. But when Maa passed, it was as if someone had pulled the ground from beneath his feet.

The man who was my anchor suddenly became lost, and I didn’t know how to help him. I could see it in his eyes, the deep pain, the kind that leaves scars on a man’s soul.

I watched him break, and in those moments, I pushed my own grief aside. Because I knew if I didn’t, we both would drown in it.

But slowly, we healed.

Both of us.

Bit by bit, day by day.

The ache didn’t go away completely, but it softened, became easier to bear. And as much as I like to think we healed on our own, I know that’s not the truth.

Behind our healing were our wives—Nupur and Priya Bhabhi—standing like pillars of strength, holding us together when we could barely hold ourselves.

Nupur, she was my silent support.

She didn’t force me to talk, didn’t push me to grieve in any particular way. She just…stood by me. In the quiet moments, when the grief became too much, she was there. Sometimes, it was something as simple as the way she’d place her hand on my shoulder, not saying a word but letting me know that she was there, that I wasn’t alone.

I remember one night, a few weeks after Maa passed.

I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and went outside to sit by the courtyard. The village was silent, the only sound being the distant chirping of crickets. I sat there, staring at the stars, lost in my thoughts.

After a while, I heard the soft sound of footsteps behind me. Nupur came and sat down beside me, not asking any questions, not saying anything.

She just sat there, her presence was a quiet reminder that even in my grief, I wasn’t alone.

Moments like these that helped me heal. Not the grand gestures, not the words of comfort from others, but the small, silent moments where Nupur simply…was.

She never tried to take my pain away. She never pretended to understand fully what I was going through. But she was always there, patiently waiting for me to find my way back to her.

I wasn’t the only one she supported. I could see how she quietly worried about Bhaiya and Bhabhi too.

She knew how close we were, how much their pain affected me.

And then there was Bhabhi, who had her own grief to manage but still stood by Bhaiya through it all.

She and Nupur, they were the invisible thread that kept our family together during this time. They gave us the space to mourn, but they never let us fall too far into the darkness.

Bhaiya… he’s better now.

We both are.

It wasn’t easy, and there are still days when I catch him looking off into the distance, lost in thought. But I see him smile now, a real smile, not the hollow one he forced himself to wear in those early days. Bhabhi, in her quiet way, helped him heal just like Nupur did for me.

They didn’t ask for gratitude, didn’t expect us to notice their sacrifices.

But I did. I noticed everything.

I noticed the way Nupur kept the house running smoothly, even when I was too distracted to care. How she handled all the little things—making sure I ate, that I rested, that I didn’t lose myself in my work.

She never complained, never asked for anything in return. She just gave, silently, constantly. She took care of me in ways I didn’t even realize I needed at the time.

It was in the way she would sit beside me during meals, her hand brushing against mine every now and then, grounding me in the present.

It was in the way she would wake up early, making sure my tea was ready before I left for the work. And it was in the way she would listen—really listen—when I finally found the words to talk about what I was feeling.

I think back to that first week after Maa passed, how I felt like I was walking through a fog, unable to see clearly, unable to think clearly.

And then I think about now. The fog has lifted, and while the pain still lingers, it’s manageable. I’m stronger now because Nupur was strong for me when I couldn’t be.

A month has passed, and though life is slowly returning to normal, I know it will never be exactly the same.

But that’s okay.

I’ve learned that grief isn’t something you get over. It’s something you learn to carry. And with Nupur by my side, I know I can carry it.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments, I catch myself watching her, wondering if she knows just how much she’s done for me. I don’t always have the words to thank her, but I hope she feels it in the way I hold her at night, the way I smile at her across the room. She’s been my rock, my quiet strength, and I’m forever grateful for her.

Life moves on, as it always does. But I will never forget how, in my darkest days, my wife stood by me, silently, patiently, helping me find my way back to the light.

I paused, glancing towards the doorway where Nupur stood, her hands folded in front of her, a soft smile on her lips.

I walked over to her, taking her hand in mine and pressing it gently.

“Aap soyi nahi abhi tak?”

She shook her head, “Aapki hi raah dekh rahe the.. Aapke bina kaise so jate hum?”

["You haven't slept yet?"

"I was waiting for you... How could I sleep without you?"]

I smiled. She has always been like this. Always.

“Khana nikaliye. Hum aate hai, kapde badal kar aur hath muu dho kar.”

["Get the food out. I'll be back after changing my clothes and washing my hands and face."]

She nodded her head and walked towards the kitchen. I guess Bhaiya and Bhabhi are already asleep because I would have spotted them in the aangan itself if they would have been awake.

I quickly freshened up and changed my clothes.

When I returned back to the aangan, my dinner was already served. I took my seat on the floor and Nupur sat infront of me.

“Aapne bhi nahi khaya hoga na.”

["You haven't eaten either, have you?"]

She shook her head lightly.

I clicked my tongue, and pulled her close, only to make her sit on my lap.

“Kitni baar kaha hai humne bhuka mat Raha kijiye der tak, Nupur. Aap samajhti kyu nahi hai.”

["How many times have I told you not to stay hungry for so long, Nupur? Why don't you understand?"]

She looked straight into my eyes and replied,

“Bhuka? Hume bhuk nahi thi, Abhisar.”

“Aap humesha yahi kehti hain.”

["Hungry? I wasn't hungry, Abhisar."

"You always say that."]

I tore a bite of chapati and fed her first because I know she must be tired of doing all the work and she must be hungry too. She is just not accepting it.

Then I ate myself.

“Ek baat kahe aapse?”

I nodded my head as consent.

“Gussaenge toh nahi na?”

["You won't get angry, right?"]

I shook my head, slowly.

“Chhithi aayi thi aaj...Maa..ke ghar se.”

["A letter came today...from my parents' home."]

I frowned.

“Aapke mayke se?”

She gave me a nod. Wow. Just wow.

“Kya?”

She bit her bottom lip, probably in doubt whether she should say it or not.

I fed her another bite. She chewed the food first, then spoke in a low voice,

“Teej ka tyohar hai. Maa ..bhabhi...sab chahte hai hum...apni pehli Teej manane apne ...mayeke jaye.”

["It's the Teej festival. Maa...Bhabhi...everyone wants me to visit my maternal home to celebrate my first Teej."]

I just hummed, because there was no point of saying anything. If she is telling me this, means she has probably made up the mind to visit her mayeka this Teej, otherwise she would have denied directly.

I ate rest of my food silently and fed her too. When we were done, she got off my lap and I walked to wash my hands.

I walked straight away inside our bedroom and my eyes fell on the boxes of gifts kept on the table, and a letter beside it.

Deep breathes, Abhisar.