MEET THE SRIVASTAVA's👨👩👦👦
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the Srivastavas, a family that stands as a shining testament to the embodiment of nobility and regal stature. In their presence, you will find a blend of prestige, opul...
He leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "I am not afraid of finding a good man for her. I am afraid of waking up one day and not seeing her laughter in this house. Of returning home and not finding her waiting with a cup of tea. Of walking past her room and seeing it empty."
Silence stretched between the two old friends, heavy yet understood.
"But I know," Ishwarlal finally said, composing himself, "that time will come soon. And when it does, I will let her go with a smile... because her happiness will always mean more to me than my own."
Kantilal patted his friend's shoulder, understanding the depth of his words. "She is lucky to have a father like you, Ishwar."
Ishwarlal smiled, but deep within, the ache remained. A father's love was boundless, and so was the pain of letting go.
After a brief conversationKantilal leaves, and suddenly Ishwarlal realizes that he is forgetting something.
Mahalaxmi stood before Ishwarlal, her presence commanding yet graceful, like a storm brewing beneath the calm surface of a river. She draped herself in a stunning saree—a deep midnight blue, kissed by silver motifs that shimmered under the dim light, speaking of understated elegance. The fabric clung to her form, the pleats cascading like silken waves, pooling at her feet with effortless grace.
The silver jewelry adorning her neck was bold yet intricate—one piece sitting high against her collarbone, while another longer necklace dipped towards her chest, cradling a stone of cool aquamarine. Her wrists bore a faint dusting of henna, and a small, delicate blue floral tattoo peeked from her hand, standing out against her smooth skin.
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The moment Mahalaxmi stepped into the room, her presence was like a gust of wind stirring fallen leaves—subtle, yet undeniable. But this time, it carried a storm. Her dark eyes flared with frustration as she crossed her arms over her chest, the soft rustle of her saree the only sound filling the space.
"Papa, have you forgotten your medicine again?" Her voice was edged with exasperation, her brows knitted together in a deep frown. She stood before him, unyielding, her posture mirroring the authority she had inherited from her father.
Ishwarlal looked up, startled at first, but then a sheepish smile played on his lips. "Sorry, beta," he said, running a hand over his forehead. "It just slipped my mind."
Mahalaxmi let out a sigh, shaking her head as she sat down beside him. There was no amusement in her voice when she spoke again, only a quiet concern laced with fondness. "You can't neglect your health, Papa. These medicines are essential for you."
Ishwarlal exhaled, leaning back slightly. "I know, Maha. I'll make sure to remember next time."
Without another word, she reached into the small wooden box on the table, pulling out the medicine strips and a glass of water. With practiced ease, she handed them to him, her eyes watching him intently, as if daring him to argue. He didn't. He simply took the medicine and swallowed it, casting her a grateful glance.
