F I V E     Y E A R S      L A T E R

The sun filtered through the lace curtains of a quaint little shop nestled on a quiet street corner. The scent of warm cinnamon rolls and freshly baked muffins mingled with the soft fragrance of roses and lavender. Outside, the wooden sign swung gently in the breeze:

“Bloom & Crumb – Flowers. Coffee. Healing.”

Inside, the space was a dream of calm colors pastels, whites, and warm wood tones. A soft melody played in the background as delicate fingers tied a pale pink ribbon around a bouquet of peonies.

The girl stood behind the counter, apron dusted in flour, her hair in a messy bun, a tiny smear of cream near her cheek. She moved with purpose, grace… and silence.

Her eyes, once bright with mischief and laughter, now held stories they didn’t speak aloud.

Arvi.

She had built this place from the ashes of pain, piece by piece. A flower for every loss. A cupcake for every scar. A shelf in the corner held handmade cards with quiet affirmations:

“You survived.”

“Healing is not linear.”

“Even shattered hearts can bloom again.”

Customers came in often some for pastries, some for petals, some for peace.

And Arvi gave it all quietly.

She didn’t talk much about the past. But sometimes, when she watered the daisies or wiped down the glass display, her fingers would linger like she was remembering someone.

Someone who had once looked at her like she was the world.

Someone who had once turned his back.

Just then,

The bell above the door jingled again.

But this time, it wasn’t a customer.

It was a voice.

Tiny. Sweet. Full of life.

“Mumma! Mummaaa!”

Arvi turned around, her eyes softening instantly.

A little girl no older than five ran into the shop, pigtails bouncing, a flower crown slightly crooked on her head, and a vanilla muffin clutched tightly in one hand.

Her other hand reached for Arvi’s apron, tugging it with urgency.

“Mumma, look! I made a butterfly from frosting! See? See?”

Arvi knelt down, wiping her hands on a towel, and smiled a full, real smile.

She brushed a crumb off the girl’s chin and kissed her forehead.

“You did, huh? Let me see, Miss Artist.”

The little one beamed, holding out the lumpy but adorable creation. It was barely a butterfly, more like a blob with wings, but Arvi looked at it like it was art worthy of a museum.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, voice catching slightly.

The little girl giggled, wrapping her arms around Arvi’s neck.

“You’re the bestest Mumma ever.”

Arvi held her tight for a moment, breathing her in, grounding herself.

Because this this warmth, this tiny heartbeat, this innocent love was her anchor.

Her reason.

Her second chance.

She rose, lifting her baby into her hip. Behind them, the bakery hummed with life, the flowers danced in soft air, and the world outside went on.

But inside Bloom & Crumb, time paused.

Because broken hearts can bloom again.

And from the ashes of loss… sometimes, love is born a new.

The evening breeze followed us as I unlocked the door to our cozy little apartment above the bakery. My baby skipped ahead of me, her schoolbag bouncing on her back, still humming the jingle from the cartoon she’d been watching earlier.

I closed the door behind us, flipping on the warm lights that bathed our small living room in a soft golden glow. The scent of lavender and vanilla our usual hung in the air.

"Shoes off, baby," I reminded gently as I slipped off my flats.

She kicked them off with a dramatic sigh, arms flopping to her sides.

"Mummaaa, my legs are soooo tired."

I stifled a smile, brushing her hair away from her face. "You’ve been running around the bakery for the last hour. That’s why.”

She stuck her tongue out playfully.

I crouched down to her level, cupping her face. “Go freshen up now. I’ll heat the dinner, and then we’re going straight to bed. Big day tomorrow school starts early.”

She pouted again but nodded. “Okayyy, but can I wear my pink pajamas tonight?”

"Of course, but only if I see a squeaky clean face in five minutes."

"Done mumaa!" she yelled before rushing off into the bathroom, her little feet thumping against the floorboards.

I stood there for a moment, watching the space around me. The bookshelf filled with bedtime stories. The handmade crayon drawings on the fridge. The tiny slippers near the door.

This place these walls they weren’t big or fancy.

But they held our whole world.

I turned to the kitchen, opened the lid of the casserole, and the scent of warm dal and rice wafted out.

“Dinner in ten minutes!” I called.

“Okayyy, Mumma!” she shouted from the bathroom, her voice echoing back with the sound of water running.

And in that moment, despite everything I’d lost, I realized something.

I had gained something far more precious.

I tucked the blanket gently under her chin, brushing back the silky strands of hair from her forehead. Her tiny fingers were curled into the corner of her pillow, her breathing soft and even deep in the kind of sleep only children are blessed with.

“Good night, my baby,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

I sat at the edge of the bed, the soft glow of the night lamp lighting her little face, and slowly… the past crept in. Like a wave I thought I had long outrun.

Flashbacks

Five years ago, I left everything.

The Oberoi Mansion. The people I thought were my own.

Rayaan.

I had nothing not even a change of clothes. Just guilt, and the unbearable weight of Vanisha’s last words.

I wandered for hours… and then, I found myself on a bridge.

The river below was merciless. The night was cold. My hands trembled as I stood there, looking down.

And I thought maybe this was justice.

Maybe the world would be better without me.

I climbed up onto the edge.

I was ready.

But then a voice sharp, terrified cut through the silence.

“Arvi?! What are you doing?! Get down!”

I turned.

It was Rahul.

He worked in Oberoi Industries. A junior. We  knew each other,he had found me. He rushed forward, pulling me down before I could even resist.

I broke down in his arms. All the grief, the guilt, the shame I collapsed under it.

“I have nothing left,” I remember whispering.

But he didn’t let go. He held me until sunrise.

Rahul brought me to Shimla. He had an old apartment there small, quiet, safe. He didn’t ask for anything in return. Just told me to breathe again. Just told me to survive.

Four days later, I found out I was pregnant.

I laughed. I cried. I screamed.

How could life be growing inside me when I was barely alive myself?

The doctor had been blunt,

“Her uterus is too weak. There are severe complications. She might not carry full term.”

Rahul had asked quietly, “Is there a chance to save the baby?”

“Maybe. But it’s slim. And even slimmer for her.”

I should’ve been terrified.

But something inside me shifted.

I wasn’t ready to give up not again.

I fought. For months, I survived on water and soup. Anything solid, I’d throw up. I was bedridden. Admitted for six straight months. Rahul never left my side. He worked during the day, brought flowers and comic books at night. He reminded me life could be soft again.

And on the delivery day, the nightmare returned.

The doctor had told rahul,

“We can save only one. The baby or the mother.”

Rahul, eyes filled with tears, looked at me through the glass window and said, “Save Arvi.”

But fate… for once, was kind.

We both survived.

And when I held her my daughter my ray of hope my Vani, in my arms, I knew what her name would be.

Vanisha.

My second chance.

My redemption.

My light.

Rahul cried too that day. He became her godfather her protector.

I told him I wanted to work. To stand on my feet again. He helped me find a job at a small company I saved every rupee. Every spare minute. Opened my own little bakery & flower shop a year later. Enrolled Vani in a school. Bought our apartment with slow, hard earned joy.

And now, here we are.

In a quiet home.

With warmth.

With laughter.

With peace.

Vani stirred a little in her sleep, hugging her stuffed unicorn closer. I gently dimmed the light and stood up, heart full.

I survived the storm.

And now I live for the sunshine that calls me Mumma.

Maa was the only one who brought me into that house, into that family. The only one who smiled like a mother when I had no one.

And yet, she was the same one who told me to leave…

Flash back ends

Vani was fast asleep, curled up like a little ball, her soft breathing filling the quiet room. I sat beside her, brushing her hair back gently, my heart heavy.

If I had known what Vanisha was trying to do… I would’ve never let her do it. Never. I should’ve seen the signs, should’ve stopped her. But I didn’t. I failed her.

It was supposed to be a wedding. The house decorated, filled with music and light Nia and Vivaan’s wedding day.

It was supposed to be laughter and love.

But instead

It turned into her funeral.

One moment she was smiling beside me, and the next gone.

I still remember her laugh, her smile, her warm hugs. Sometimes, I imagine her voice calling my name like she used to. I miss her. Every day.

Sometimes Vani looked up at me and asked, “Mumma, where’s my Dad?”

I smiled. Lied. Told her, “You’ll meet him one day.”

But deep down… I hope she never does.

He doesn’t deserve to meet her. To know her. To see the light that came into my life when everything else was dark.

Vani is my everything. My hope. My strength.

I kissed her forehead, tucked the blanket around her tighter, and whispered, “I’ll protect you, always.”

Even if that means hiding the truth.

That day when I walked out of the Oberoi Mansion blood on my hands, grief in my chest, and silence trailing behind me. No one stopped me. No one said a word.

But what broke me the most… was him.

Rayaan.

He didn’t stop me.

Not once.

He just stood there, fists clenched, eyes burning, and let me leave like I was nothing. After everything we had been through… he let me go without a single word.

Not a “why,” not a “wait,” not even a “goodbye.”

And that silence God it still haunts me more than any slap, any accusation, any scream that echoed in that mansion that day.

Sometimes I wonder… did he ever regret it?

Or was I always that easy to discard?

But then I look at Vani… my baby girl, my whole world. And I know, no matter how he left me this little light was worth every tear, every wound.

Still… the ache lingers.

Because he let me walk away when I was already broken.

And I’ve been stitching myself back together ever since.

He didn’t even see her.

He never saw our daughter or I should say my daughter.

He doesn’t know how tiny she was when she was born how fragile, how quiet, how she fought with every breath just to stay.

He never saw me lying in that hospital bed for months, surviving only on water and soup, because I couldn’t keep food down. He didn’t see the needles, the panic, the silent prayers every night.

He wasn’t there when the doctor said only one of us might survive.

And he wasn’t there when, by some miracle, we both did.

He doesn’t know how her fingers first curled around mine. How her first cry felt like the first sound of life in my dead heart.

He doesn’t know her laughter.

Or how she says “Muma” with that sweet little pout.

He doesn’t know our daughter at all.

And maybe… maybe I don’t want him to.

Because he let me go when I needed him the most. He turned his back, not just on me, but on the life we created together.

And now… this little life? She’s mine.

All mine.

A/N

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