The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Yuvika stirred, her eyelids fluttering open slowly, as if emerging from a dream. The weight of the night's grief still lingered in the depths of her heart, but for a brief moment, the world seemed different. She was no longer the same girl who had been lost in sorrow the night before. There was something serene about the way the light touched her face, softening the sharp angles of her features, highlighting the delicate curve of her jaw, and the warmth of her glowing skin.
Her dark hair, usually tangled from sleep, cascaded over her shoulders in gentle waves, framing her face like a silken veil. Her eyes, still slightly puffy from crying, were now bright and clear, with a depth that reflected both her pain and the fragile hope that lingered in her heart. In the soft morning light, she seemed more beautiful than ever—like a flower blooming after the storm, her beauty radiating from within. There was a quiet grace to her, a kind of peaceful strength that had always been there, but now, it felt as though the sorrow had somehow given way to a new lightness in her being.
As Yuvika sat up in bed, her gaze swept across the room, and for a fleeting moment, something caught her eye. There, standing by the window, was her grandmother. She stood exactly as she always had—slightly bent with age, but full of warmth, a soft smile on her lips, and a glimmer of love in her eyes. The sight was so familiar, so comforting, that Yuvika's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she didn't question it, didn't wonder how or why. It felt like every morning she had spent with her grandmother, waking up to see her standing there, ready to begin the day together.
"Good morning, Grandma," Yuvika greeted her cheerfully, her voice light and full of warmth. She didn't realize, not yet, that her grandmother was no longer there. It felt natural, as though everything was as it should be, just like it had always been.
Her grandmother's smile widened at her greeting, and she took a small step forward, as if moving closer to offer her the comfort and reassurance Yuvika so desperately needed. Yuvika, still lost in the familiarity of the moment, climbed out of bed and stretched, feeling the muscles of her body ease with the movement. She moved toward her grandmother, who had already placed a neatly folded outfit on the chair by the window—the same routine they had followed every morning, without fail.
"Thank you, Grandma," Yuvika said brightly, her voice full of gratitude. She picked up the outfit, a soft, pastel-colored dress that her grandmother had chosen for her days ago. It was the dress she loved, one that her grandmother always said would make her look like a "sunshine in the morning." Yuvika slipped into it, the fabric soft against her skin, feeling a small, comforting sense of normalcy wash over her.
With a quick glance at her grandmother, she smiled and twirled in front of the mirror, admiring how the dress fluttered around her. The warmth of her grandmother's love seemed to envelop her, wrapping around her like a blanket.
"Thank you, Grandma," she whispered again, her voice full of affection and peace.
She moved toward the bathroom, her footsteps light, as if the weight of the world had shifted for a moment. Yuvika, still caught in the comforting illusion of her grandmother's presence, continued with her morning routine—brushing her teeth, freshening up, just as she always had. A quiet sense of happiness filled her chest, the kind of joy that comes from the simplicity of a day starting in the way it always had.
In the background, there was nothing but the soft rustling of the morning breeze through the open window, the gentle hum of the house settling into a new day. Yuvika, still unaware of the finality of her loss, smiled softly, as if the world was still whole, as if her grandmother had never truly left. She had no idea that the presence beside her was nothing more than a fleeting, magical echo, a love that had transcended even death. And for just a little while, in the light of that new morning, she felt like everything was going to be okay.
Yuvika moved through her morning with a lightness that was almost surreal, as if the weight of the past few days had somehow been lifted from her shoulders. She hummed a soft tune to herself as she made her way downstairs, her footsteps light and unhurried. The familiar scent of fresh coffee and warm toast filled the air, pulling her closer to the kitchen where she could already hear the sounds of soft chatter.
She approached the table, pulling out a chair, her face still glowing with the soft joy of having seen her grandmother earlier. She felt a pang of guilt for not inviting her grandmother down to join them but brushed it aside. "She must be upstairs," Yuvika thought to herself with a smile. As she reached for a piece of toast, her eyes casually flicked to her father.
The sight of him—his sharp features, his composed demeanor—brought everything rushing back. It hit her like a sudden gust of cold wind. Her smile faltered, her hand froze midair, and her chest tightened. Her grandmother was gone. She wasn't upstairs waiting for her. She wasn't going to come down and join her for breakfast.
The warmth of the room seemed to fade just a little, and everything came rushing back.
Her grandmother.
The memory of the figure standing by her bedside, the soft smile, the way her grandmother had been there, just moments ago—suddenly, it all came crashing down.
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. She placed the toast back on the plate, her appetite suddenly gone. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to brush away the tears that slid down her cheeks. "It must have been a dream," she whispered to herself, though the words offered little comfort.
The image of her grandmother's gentle face—the one she had seen just minutes ago—seemed to fade like mist. The room around her, which had felt so filled with life and love, now felt colder, more distant. The joy she had been feeling vanished in an instant, replaced by a sharp, painful ache.
Across the table, Nikhil noticed the change in her demeanor. He glanced up from his tablet, his brows furrowing slightly as he observed her. She looked… different. There was something about the way her expression shifted, from a fleeting happiness to a deep sorrow, that tugged at his attention. "Yuvika," he started softly, but the words caught in his throat. He wasn't sure what to say. Her grief was still fresh, and he didn't want to pry. Instead, he decided against pressing her and returned to his breakfast, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer.
Soniya, ever the observant one, noticed the tension as well. She glanced at Yuvika, her lips parting as though to speak, but Nikhil's subtle shake of the head stopped her. She resumed sipping her coffee, her expression unreadable.
Yuvika sat in silence, her hands folded in her lap, staring at the plate in front of her but seeing nothing. The memory of her grandmother in her room was so vivid, so real. She could still feel the warmth of her smile, hear the faint rustle of her presence. It wasn't like any dream she had ever had before. Deep down, a part of her wanted to believe it had been more than just her imagination. But how could it be? Her grandmother was gone.
What Yuvika didn't know—what none of them could have known—was that it wasn't an illusion. Her grandmother had returned, not as the woman who had walked this earth, but as a quiet, loving presence. Somewhere, unseen to them all, her spirit lingered in the villa, bound not by obligation, but by love. She wasn't gone. She had simply taken a different form, one that allowed her to watch over Yuvika, to guide her through the pain, and to keep the promise she had made—to never leave her.
As the family continued their breakfast in silence, the air in the room seemed heavier, tinged with something unseen yet deeply felt. Yuvika wiped her tears, trying to compose herself, and silently vowed to carry her grandmother's memory forward, unaware that her grandmother was already there, standing quietly by her side, watching over her as she always had.