The evening is calm, and the only sound in the room is the soft, steady melody of Aarti's veena. I sit at the edge of the bed, watching her fingers move with grace and precision over the strings. It’s something I’ve come to appreciate - the way she loses herself in her music, as if the world around her disappears. It’s not just music; it’s a part of her, a reflection of everything she holds within.
As she plays, I can see the peace settle on her face. It’s as though with each note, she sheds a bit of the weight she’s been carrying. I’ve never asked her about her connection to the veena, but tonight, I don’t need to. I can see it in the way she holds it, the way she plays - it’s a part of her soul, something only she understands fully.
When she finishes, the silence that follows feels different. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable - it’s simply... understood. I wait a moment before speaking, my voice soft but sincere.
"Aarti, tumhara ye veena sach mein tumhari pehchaan hai. Tumhara apna hai, aur isme jo shanti hai, wo tumhari apni hai."
(Aarti, this veena truly represents who you are. It’s your own, and the peace in it is yours.)
She looks up, meeting my eyes for a brief moment. There’s a small, unsure smile on her face. I’ve never seen her so open, so vulnerable. It’s almost like she’s allowing herself to be seen for the first time.
"Aap... aap sach keh rahe ho?"
(Are you... really saying that?)
I nod, trying to express my sincerity. "Haan, main puri tarah samajh sakta hoon. Tumhara music tumhara hissa hai, Aarti. Aur main chahata hoon ki tum isse apna rakhna."
(Yes, I truly understand. Your music is a part of you, Aarti. And I want you to keep it for yourself.)
She takes a deep breath, as though a weight has been lifted. I know she’s been carrying her own doubts, wondering if I understood the importance of her music. Now, I see a flicker of something in her eyes - relief, perhaps? Or maybe trust?
"Raghav ji, jab main veena bajati hoon, toh mujhe lagta hai jaise main apne asli aap se mil rahi hoon. Par kabhi kabhi lagta hai ki... duniya mujhe samajhti nahi hai."
(Raghav ji, when I play the veena, I feel like I’m meeting my true self. But sometimes it feels like... the world doesn’t understand me.)
I feel a pang of empathy for her. The world can be harsh, especially when it doesn’t understand the quiet dreams of those who don’t conform to its expectations. I reach for her hand, gently holding it in mine.
"Main tumse bilkul alag nahi hoon, Jaan. Tum jo chahati ho, wo tumhara haq hai. Aur main har kadam tumhare saath hoon."
(I’m not so different from you, Jaan. What you want, that’s your right. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.)
She looks at me with gratitude in her eyes, but there’s still hesitation, like she’s unsure if she truly deserves this kind of understanding, this kind of support.
"Raghav ji," she begins, her voice almost a whisper, "kya tum soch rahe ho ki main kabhi apne sapno ko poora kar paungi? Ya phir... kya main kabhi unhe chhod dungi?"
(Raghav ji, do you think I’ll ever be able to fulfill my dreams? Or... will I have to let them go?)
Her words strike me deeply. I know how much her music means to her, how much she’s struggled to find space for herself amidst everything else. I squeeze her hand tighter, looking into her eyes.
(Absolutely not, Aarti. Your dreams are yours, and no one can take them away from you.)
She blinks, as if she’s hearing the words for the first time, and for a moment, I see something in her eyes - a glimmer of hope, something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time.
"Raghav ji," she says softly, "aap ke saath, sab kuch thoda sa asaan lagta hai. Jaise... jaise kisi ne meri zindagi ka ek hissa samajh liya ho."
(Raghav ji, with you, everything feels a little easier. Like... like someone has finally understood a part of my life.)
I smile, my heart warming at her words. "Main hamesha tumhare saath hoon, Aarti. Tumhare har sapne, har jazbaat ka hissa banne ki koshish karunga."
(I’ll always be with you, Aarti. I’ll try to be a part of every dream, every feeling of yours.)
The words hang in the air between us, and for a brief moment, I feel a deep sense of connection. This, right here, is what it means to be truly seen - not just for the roles we play, but for the people we are beneath everything else.
The silence that follows is comfortable, easy. Aarti leans her head against my shoulder, and I let the quiet moments pass by. There’s nothing left to say. We’ve already said enough.
As we lie down to sleep, I can feel the weight of the day lift off both our shoulders. Tomorrow will come with its challenges, but tonight, for now, we have each other and that, I realize, is enough.
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