She knew that the hardships of these past years, and their coldness towards Anaya before, must have hurt her deeply.
Words were empty now. Nothing could undo the damage done, but perhaps actions could. If she could show Anaya that things were changing, that she was no longer just a distant figure in her life, it might be a start.
Seema Verma held back her own emotions, the sharp sting of regret burning in her chest as her eyes filled with tears. She forced a smile, a fragile expression that didn't quite reach her eyes, and said, "Anaya, you said you don't like the clothes Rani left behind, so I'll take them away. Don't worry, I'll make you some new clothes in a few days."
The clothes that Rani had left behind—all meticulously handmade by Seema Verma—covered the full spectrum of seasons. A complete wardrobe, one that should've been full of care.
But now, as she sorted through them, Seema Verma felt something else: a quiet betrayal. Except for the outfit Rani wore when she left, she had taken nothing else with her, everything else had been abandoned by her.
It confirmed Anaya's earlier words—that Rani had left these clothes behind, partly to hurt Anaya and partly because she thought they didn't match her new city life.
Touching the fabric, Seema Verma saw the layers of hidden resentment she hadn't been able to recognize before. Rani, her adopted daughter, had never truly seen this family for what it was and had never respected the simple life they led. What had seemed like kindness had only been a mask.
Seema Verma decided that she would not allow these clothes to remain, to be a constant reminder of something false. Instead, she would exchange them for fabric, using the material to create new clothes for Anaya—clothes that would be as humble but full of the love and care she had long since neglected.
She was sure the villagers would be willing to swap.
"Ah, okay. That's good," Anaya murmured, nodding dazedly.
Seema Verma could tell that Anaya didn't fully understand the change in her behaviour, and perhaps she didn't either. Honestly, she found Seema Verma's change of heart strange. After all, in the original narrative, this moment was supposed to be one of conflict. Wasn't Seema Verma supposed to force Anaya into wearing Rani's clothes, belittling her if she refused? Instead, she was promising new clothes, something that had never happened before.
Anaya Deshmukh couldn't quite make sense of it, but if things were going this way, it was a good thing, right?
Seema Verma caught the subtle shift in Anaya's expression—the way her eyes brightened slightly at the promise of something new. It was enough to stir something in her chest, a hope that maybe, just maybe, she could still make things better.
After taking the clothes outside, Seema Verma returned with a measuring tape in hand. It was time to take Anaya's measurements.
"Let me measure you, so I can make your clothes properly."
"Oh, okay," Anaya said, getting up from the bed. She felt the same strength returning to her body, the energy coming back after the satisfying meal and comforting bowl of chicken soup. It was true, food had a way of filling not just the stomach but the heart as well.
"Stand still and stretch your arms," Seema Verma instructed, her voice soft but steady.
"Alright."
As Seema Verma began to measure her, her fingers brushed against Anaya's bony frame, and for the first time, she truly understood how much her daughter had suffered. The sharpness of her bones under the thin fabric was impossible to ignore. This was not the body of someone who had lived in comfort.
Seema Verma's heart twisted. How could anyone have thought Anaya had lived a privileged life in the city? Her body told a different story—one of hunger, deprivation, and pain.
Why had they all ignored it for so long? Why had they listened to Rani's words, to her false portrayals, without truly seeing Anaya for who she was?
Once again, Seema Verma felt a wave of guilt, and deep within, a surge of regret. She was her mother, but how had she allowed this to happen? How had she failed her daughter so utterly?
Determined, Seema Verma swore that from now on, she would do everything she could to make things right. She would cook more, make more meals, and if possible, ask her husband to find milk powder to help Anaya's frail body recover.
She quickly finished measuring Anaya's body, trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes. She didn't want her daughter to see her weakness. She couldn't bear it. She left in a hurry.
As Seema Verma left, Anaya watched her go, sensing something unspoken between them, a shift she couldn't yet put into words. It was like the air had changed, thick with unsaid things. Had she just heard a sob, so faint it could've been a trick of the wind? Perhaps it was nothing, but the heaviness in her chest told her otherwise.
After leaving Anaya's room, Seema Verma retreated to her own, her emotions overtaking her once more. She cried for the years of mistakes, for the pain she had caused her daughter. It took a long while to calm down, to gather her strength again. Only then did she pick up Rani's clothes and head out to exchange them for fabric.
Meanwhile, Rajesh Deshmukh, still feeling the warmth of the moment, hurried to the youth commune, a bowl of hot chicken soup in his hands.
He didn't want anyone to see him, not because he was ashamed, but because he wanted to keep this simple gesture of kindness between him and Sunita Reddy. Her shyness made him admire her more. She wasn't like the others—she cared about her reputation and held onto her dignity.
Rajesh Deshmukh tucked the soup carefully in his clothes, making sure the smell didn't leak out. He knew she didn't want others to know about their budding relationship yet.
As he approached the commune, he hid the soup behind a tree, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby. Then, he called out, "Sunita, Sunita…"
It was lunchtime, and the commune was lively, with the youth gathered together.
Soon, Sunita appeared. Her ponytail was tied high, and her presence was striking. There was a gleam in her eyes, sharp and observant, but it was her smile—warm, inviting—that caught Rajesh Deshmukh's attention.
As he saw her, his heart skipped a beat, and he hurried over, his cheeks flushed with shyness. His words came out in a stammer, a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
"Sun… Sunita Reddy, you're here…"
"Mm, hello, Rajesh," she greeted him, her voice steady, but her eyes betraying a flicker of warmth. She didn't draw too close, keeping a respectful distance, before looking around to make sure no one was watching. Then, she led him away, subtly pulling him toward a quieter spot.
"By the way, Rajesh, it's lunchtime. Have you eaten yet?" she asked, smiling as if she truly cared.
"I… I've eaten. I'm full," Rajesh replied quickly, though the truth was, he had skipped lunch to bring her the soup. Still, hearing her ask made his heart swell with affection.
Sunita was concerned about him.
" By the way, I brought you some chicken soup, and chicken legs too," he said, leading her to the spot where he had hidden the meal.
When Sunita heard the words "chicken soup" and "chicken legs," her eyes lit up, and she couldn't help but swallow hard.
When she saw the steaming bowl of chicken soup with a chicken leg in it, the delicious aroma wafting through the air, her eyes were glued to it.
Having tasted other food Rajesh had brought, she knew his mother Seema Verma was a fantastic cook—her dishes were even better than those from fancy state-run restaurants.
And now, this was chicken soup and chicken legs!
Since coming to the countryside, Sunita hasn't had much meat. Often, she was lucky if she could fill her stomach at all. There were nights when she went to bed with hunger gnawing at her.
The hunger was unbearable.
But now, in front of her, there was a chicken leg—real meat.
She could almost feel the warmth of the soup and the satisfaction it would bring once it entered her stomach.
But it was more than that. It was the kindness behind the gesture, the care he had shown her, which made the food taste even better.
However…
Sunita hesitated for a moment before asking, "Rajesh, this is chicken soup and chicken legs—do you have enough to eat yourself? Why are you giving it to me?"
"I've eaten already, really. Sunita, I specifically saved this for you. Don't be shy—take it! This is for you," Rajesh insisted, pushing the bowl into her hands. "You've been working so hard, and you're so thin. You need to take care of yourself."
Sunita looked down at the steaming bowl of soup, and despite her initial hesitation, the hunger in her stomach won out. She took the bowl, her fingers brushing his hand in a silent acknowledgement of the bond they were beginning to share.
(End of Chapter)