Diya

लग जा गले कि फिर ये हसीं रात हो न हो

शायद फिर इस जनम में मुलाक़ात हो न हो

लग जा गले कि फिर ये हसीं रात हो न हो

शायद फिर इस जनम में मुलाक़ात हो न हो

लग जा गले...

I darted around, tidying up and preparing for the long evening ahead. Yet, I couldn't shake off the strange sensation that someone was watching me.

"Pata nahi, par aaj itna ajeeb kyu lag raha hai," I muttered aloud, forcing a smile to distract myself. To break the silence, I began humming softly, letting the melody soothe my nerves.

(I don't know why but I am feeling strange, today!)

हमको मिली हैं आज ये घड़ियाँ नसीब से

जी-भर के देख लीजिए हमको क़रीब से ...

The hauntingly beautiful song filled the air, its lyrics resonating with the quiet corners of my heart. I swayed lightly to the rhythm, trying to shake off the strange unease.

फिर आपके नसीब में ये बात हो न हो

शायद फिर इस जनम में मुलाक़ात हो न हो

लग जा गले...

As I sang, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. It was almost tangible, like a pair of unseen eyes following my every move. I paused, scanning the room, my gaze darting to the window. The street below was empty, the mansion across the road silent.

"What's wrong with me?" I asked aloud, my voice breaking the eerie quiet. Shaking my head, I tried to laugh it off and returned to my song, determined not to let my mood falter.

The words spilled out, and I let the music wrap around me like a comforting hug. As I finished the verse, my eyes landed on the teddy bear Laksh had gifted me.

"Oh, how cute babies are," I whispered, picking up the plush toy. Its soft fur brushed against my skin as I held it close, pecking its head lightly. "You know what, Chiku? Main aaj bahut khush hoon!"

(I am so happy today.)

I brushed my nose playfully against the teddy bear's face, smiling at my own silliness. Its glassy eyes seemed to stare back at me, unblinking.

I turned back to my tasks, humming the next lines of the song, my voice filling the small space.

फिर आपके नसीब में ये बात हो न हो

शायद फिर इस जनम में मुलाक़ात हो न हो

लग जा गले...

The sensation returned a sudden, creeping awareness that made my breath hitch. My eyes flickered to the window again. The golden sky outside seemed calm, and yet, it felt like someone had just stepped back into the shadows.

"Hey, Chiku," I said nervously, picking up the bear once more. Holding it tightly, I whispered, "You know the strange thing? I live on the third floor, so how is it possible for someone to watch me through the window?"

"Chiku, aap toh kuchh bolte hi nahi ho?" I asked, squishing his soft, round ears between my fingers, a playful grin tugging at my lips.

(Chiku, you never speak anything.)

An idea sparked, and I hugged the bear close. "Chalo, aaj aapko mere saath baking karna sikhati hoon." With that, I carried him into the kitchen, setting him carefully on the counter, where he could watch me work.

(Let's go, I will teach you how to bake today.)

The kitchen always felt like home. It was my little sanctuary where the worries of the world seemed to melt away. I tied my apron snugly, lined up the freshly bought ingredients, and allowed the comforting rhythm of baking to take over.

The hum of the hand mixer filled the room, blending effortlessly with the soft clinking of bowls and measuring cups. Flour puffed gently into the air as I worked, a faint cloud of sweetness that smelled like comfort.

"Vanilla sponge or chocolate? Hmm..." I tapped my chin, gazing at the ingredients spread before me. "Both! Why not?" I decided aloud. My customers deserved the best, after all.

Just as I reached for the jar of flour, it happened again that inexplicable sensation, like someone was standing just behind me, watching intently.

I froze, my hand hovering in mid-air, a faint shiver crawling up my spine.

"Bas kar, Diya," I whispered to myself, shaking my head. "You're imagining things." (Stop it, Diya.)

The mixer sputtered to a halt with a sudden, eerie silence that seemed louder than its hum had been. The stillness pressed in on me, amplifying my heartbeat in my ears. I hesitated before turning back to my work, forcing a small, nervous laugh.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered firmly, grabbing the jar of flour and pouring it into the bowl. "Nobody's watching. Nobody can watch. Main teesre floor pe hoon." My voice wavered slightly as I spoke, but I ignored it.

(I live on the third floor.)

Almost instinctively, I began humming, trying to fill the silence with something familiar.

जी-भर के देख लीजिए हमको क़रीब से ...

The soft melody escaped my lips, shaky at first but gradually steadier.

As I continued singing, I glanced at the kitchen window. And for just a fleeting moment, I thought I saw it, but it was just my own reflection stared back at me, faintly distorted by the glass.

I spun around so quickly that my breath caught in my throat. My eyes scanned the dimly lit room, darting to every corner, every crevice.

"Tum bhi pagal hi ho, Diya," I muttered to myself, letting out a half-hearted laugh as I glanced at the window again. "Khud ke hi reflection se dar rahi ho."

(You are stupid, Diya. Scared of your own refelction.)

"Yeh sab bas mera waham hai," I said aloud, this time more firmly, as though the empty room needed convincing too.

(It is all just my imagination.)

I turned to Chiku, his stitched smile as unwavering as ever. "Ye dekho, Chiku. Thodi der mein mere saare cakes ban ke ready ho jayenge. Tab tak main khana bana leti hoon."

(See, Chiku. In sometime our tasty cakes will be ready. I will cook till then.)

I picked him up briefly, gave his squishy paw a quick squeeze, and placed him back on the table. He looked oddly content, as if he agreed with my plan.

The smell of simmering spices filled the kitchen as I prepared food. I plated the food carefully, and served it to maa. It was one of my favorite parts of the day. Her tired but grateful smile had a way of making me forget the little stresses of life.

I helped her take her medicines, tucked a blanket around her legs, and promised, "Kal doctor ke paas chalenge, Maa. Sab theek ho jayega." She nodded, giving me a faint smile before turning her attention to the television.

(Tomorrow will go to the doctor and then everything will be fine.)

I returned to the kitchen, humming softly, and began washing the dishes.

The cakes in the oven would be ready soon, and I mentally planned the decorations I would use.

Suddenly, a loud clatter broke the monotony of my thoughts. The vessel in my hand slipped and crashed to the floor with a resounding bang. I jumped, my heart hammering in my chest.

"Arrey!" I exclaimed, my eyes darting around.

Out of nowhere, a sleek black cat leaped from behind me and landed gracefully on the counter. Its luminous green eyes stared back at me, unblinking, with something dangling from its mouth.

"Hey bhagwan!" I gasped, clutching my chest. "Ye billi toh mujhe heart attack hi dilwa deti!" My voice trembled slightly as I grabbed a dishcloth to shoo the cat away. "Bhag jao yaha se! Shoo!"

(Oh, God this cat would have given me heart attack.)

The cat, unfazed by my protests, tilted its head, dropped the mysterious object from its mouth, and leaped off the counter with a swift, fluid motion.

I exhaled sharply, my pulse finally beginning to slow. My gaze fell on Chiku, who had toppled over in the commotion and was now lying face-down on the table.

"Sorry, Chiku," I said, picking him up and brushing imaginary dust off his tiny stitched body. "Tum toh bilkul shant baithe the, aur is billi ne drama kar diya!"

(You were all quite but this cat made all this fuzz.)

I placed him back in his usual spot, adjusting him until his soft smile faced me directly again. "Theek ho na? Thank God tumhare saath kuch nahi hua."

(Are you okay? Thank God, nothing happened to you.)

Shaking my head, I turned back to clean up the mess, muttering under my breath. "Ab yeh billi kahan se aa gayi? Aaj ka din hi ajeeb hai."

(Don't know, where this cat came from? Today is really strange.))

Tidying up the kitchen, I carried myself to the living room, where Maa had already dozed off on the divan. Gently, I pulled a warm sheet over her and tucked it around her shoulders.

"Sab theek ho jayega, Maa," I whispered softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "Ek achha doctor mil jayega, aur phir aap bilkul theek ho jayengi."

(Everything will be alright maa, once we get the good doctor.)

"Aaj toh mujhe bahut saare kaam karne hain," I murmured, talking to the empty air. (I have so much work to do today.)

But something didn't feel right. It was like a little piece of my day was missing. Oh, how could I forget? My cute little bunny, Laksh.

It had been a little quiet today, too quiet. Speaking of him, he hadn't shown up yet. That thought made my heart sink just a little.

As if my thoughts summoned him, I suddenly heard the sound of giggles those sweet, contagious giggles that never failed to light up my day.

I turned to see him standing at the door, clutching his little blue plushie tightly. His smile faltered as he saw me, and that giggle melted into an uncertain pout.

"Arey, mere pyare Laksh ji, kahaan the aap? I was missing you a lot, you know?" I said, walking over to him with a warm smile.

(Oh, my dear Laksh, where were you?)

But something was off. He wasn't his usual cheerful self. His little face crumpled into an expression that was half-pout, half-heartbreak, and it tugged at my heart instantly.

"Hey, Laksh babu! What happened? Why do you look so sad?" I knelt down in front of him, brushing the curls away from his forehead.

Laksh rubbed his eyes with his tiny fists, his voice trembling. "I saw a video..."

"A video? What kind of video?" I asked, tilting my head.

"On TikTok..." he whispered. "Kids... they were dancing with their moms..." His voice cracked as he sniffled, his lip quivering. "Where's my mom?"

That one question hit me like a sharp pang in the chest. My heart squeezed painfully as I watched him struggle to hold back his tears.

"Laksh..." I said softly.

"I don't even remember what she looks like," he said.

Before I could say anything, he let the plushie slip from his hand and took a shaky step forward, wrapping his small arms tightly around me.

"And... and my papa scolded me today," he mumbled into my shoulder, sniffling loudly. "He never does that. Why was he mad at me?"

"Oh, Laksh," I said, holding him close, gently patting his back. "Don't cry, baby. Maybe Papa just had a bad day. That's all."

He pulled back just slightly, looking up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. "So... people yell at others when they have bad days?"

"Umm... not exactly like that," I explained, brushing his tears away. "But you know, sometimes when we're too busy or tired, we might get a little angry. Like, imagine if you're doing something important, and Chiku keeps bothering you. What would you do?"

Laksh tilted his head, thinking hard. Then he nodded as if he understood. "I guess... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been angyy at Papa."

"Hmm, exactly!" I said, pulling him into another warm hug.

He rested his head on my shoulder, his tiny body trembling slightly as he whispered, "But... I don't have anyone to dance with."

That quiet confession broke my heart all over again. I gently cupped his face, wiping away his tears with my thumbs.

"So what?" I said with a bright smile. "You have me, don't you? I'll be your dance partner!"

Laksh blinked up at me, his sadness melting into confusion. "You will? "You'll really dance with me? Like a mom does?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his innocent question. "Something like that."

"Really?" he asked, his eyes lighting up with the tiniest spark of hope.

"Really, really!" I said, holding out my pinky. "Promise?"

Laksh's little finger instantly wrapped around mine. "Promise."