Her hand rested on the tray.
“My son loves your daughter. I am here to ask, with full regard for your family, for Meera’s hand in marriage.”
Gauri’s eyes turned to Devendra. He did not answer at once. His attention rested on the tray. After a moment, he leaned forward and moved it aside with both hands, careful, respectful.
“Thakurain Sa,” his voice remained even. “For forty years, I have served your family with loyalty and pride.”
Sarita inclined her head.
“In all that time, I have never refused a request from an Anand.” His hands came together. “But today, I cannot accept this on Meera’s behalf.”
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I asked my daughter what she wants. She has not given her answer. Before anything moves forward, Meera will speak for herself.”
It wasn’t defiance or rejection. Only a father placing his daughter at the center.
Sarita held his gaze. “I respect that.”
The tension in his shoulders eased.
“May I speak with her?” Sarita asked. “Not to pressure her. Only as a mother.”
Devendra looked at Gauri. She gave a small nod.
“She is in her room.” He rose and walked down the hallway, knocking once.
Naina shifted beside Sarita, restless, silent. Gauri watched without comment.
Devendra returned. “She will see you.”
Sarita stood, nodding. She followed him down the corridor. The tray remained where it was.
???
Meera sat on the edge of her bed.
She had changed into dry clothes. Her hands kept returning to her temple, her cheek, her neck, tracing the memory of him. Heat lingered there, familiar, unsettling, making her breath catch each time she remembered that moment.
The door opened. She straightened at once, rising from habit.
“Please.” Sarita closed the door behind her. “Sit.”
Meera obeyed, her fingers already reaching for her dupatta, twisting the fabric as if it could anchor her.
Sarita didn’t take the chair.
She crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed. Close enough to reach. Not enough to overwhelm. Her hand rested on Meera’s head, warm, reassuring, a touch that carried a mother’s affection.
“Are you alright?”
Meera nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded again.
Sarita smiled warmly. Her hand moved, smoothing Meera’s hair. “That is the only honest answer.”
Meera exhaled. Her eyes dropped to her hands.
“I want to tell you something first.” Sarita waited until Meera looked up. “Whatever you choose, you have my love. It does not depend on this. It did not begin today, and it will not change tomorrow. I tell you this so that nothing I say next feels heavy. It is only a mother speaking.”
The tightness in Meera’s chest eased, just a little.
