My (fake) Wedding

LET THE FESTIVITIES BEGIN

The day was absolutely perfect, rainy but peaceful. The heaters warming up the mansion while a simple indoor swing sparkled with all of its decorations near one of the many windows. Annika sat with her hand caressing her heavily pregnant belly as she watched Shivansh play with clays, pounding and pushing at them until they were flat.

"Do you need any help?" she asked when he seemed unsatisfied with his work.

"No," Ansh answered cheerfully, bitting his lips as he continued.

So independent, Annika thought to herself. He was his own little person and growing up to be so much like his father.

As soon as the clay had the consistency of a cheap piece of paper, Ansh rolled it up, stretching and pulling at it until he had a square with tendrils of clay trailing down the sides. Evidently, this had been exactly what he had intended. He kept it tenderly to a side so that he wouldn't have to worry about marring his work with finger indents.

Annika watched as her son painted his masterpiece, covering it in all the colors available until it was muddy brown with green and purple blotches.She gestured for a maid to clear a puddle on the table, reckoning she was lucky that the paint only worked on the clay or else both the table and Ansh would be in need of a wash by now.

"Done," Ansh proclaimed proudly, moving over to her and holding out the clump. "Tell me about it."

Taking the sad little box from him, Annika held it in her palm, studying it. " Now, let us see.The shape represents the artist inner longing for freedom while the colors speak of his inner conflict. He longs for adventure and excitement but also enjoys the comfort of home, such as drinking hot chocolate while mummy reads him The Adventures of Dog man."

Rolling his eyes, Ansh laughed "You are being silly, mummy. Tell me what you really think."

"I love it," she tells him. In truth, Ansh could have handed her dirt and she would have called it masterpiece.

The little boy grins up at her, taking back the sculpture and tapping at it with the roller, rendering it pliable once more. As he works at the clay with his small hands contently, Annika closes her eyes and curls up under her cashmere blanket in need of rest. Taking care of her rambunctious four year old was starting to get difficult at seven months pregnant, but the thought of missing precious time with him was unimaginable for her. Annika would never be one of those women that handed her children over to nannies, tired or not.

"Daddy!" Ansh suddenly shouts, forcing Annika to open her eyes and turn towards the entryway of the hall where Shivaay was currently being tackled by their son.

Annika gazes at father and son with pure love as Shivaay takes Ansh in his arms, launching him high into the air and catching him with ease. Their baby boy howling with laughter and begging for more to which Shivaay obliges one more time before he looks to her.

"Mrs. Oberoi," he greets her, placing Ansh back on his feet and walking to where she sits, their child's attention back on his art in a flash.

"Mr. Oberoi," she grins as he bends down to kiss her.

"Yuck!" Ansh wrinkles his nose at their show of affection. "No smooches when I'm in the room."

Annika giggles when Shivaay pulls away to glare at his mini-me.

S: "I'll remember that when you want to smooch someone."

Ansh makes a face and turns back to what he was doing, not at all interested in the idea of kisses when there was too many toys to play with and so many adventures to have in this world.