❦★Nafrat ka pehla saya ★❦

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It was five in the morning. The house was still wrapped in sleep when a sharp voice broke the silence.

“Abhi tak so rahi hai? Nau mahine ka bacha pal rahi hai ya rani banke aayi hai sasural mein?”

Ammi blinked her eyes open slowly. Her hand instinctively rested on her swollen belly as she tried to sit up.

“Subah ke kaam kis waqt karne ka iraada hai? Tumhare ghar mein bhi sab isi tarah aalsi hote hain kya?”

Dadi stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, her eyes full of disdain.

“Uth jao! Mera toh khoon khaulta hai tum jaise ladkiyon ko dekh ke!”

From the other room, Abbu quietly buttoned up his shirt. He heard every word but chose silence like always.

“Tujh jaisi naalayak nehi chahiye thi mere bete ko… aur woh bhi… ladki paida karne wali!”

Ammi flinched, pressing her lips together. She knew there was no point arguing. Not in this house. Not with her.

Later that afternoon, after lunch, the house had gone quiet. Ammi, feeling a little dizzy, started walking slowly down the stairs.

“Thak gayi kya? Bas khane aur sone ke liye bani ho tum!”

Suddenly—

A hard push.

Her foot missed the next step. Her scream echoed.

“AAAHHHH!”

Thud.

Blood stained the white marble. Abbu came running. Dadi stood still, expressionless.

“Ambulance bulao! Jaldi!”

At the hospital, everything blurred into chaos. Screaming nurses. Flashing lights. Rushed footsteps.

A baby’s weak cry pierced the air.

Haseena was born—early, fragile, and vulnerable. Her body too tiny, her immunity too low. The doctors said she’d need care, protection... luck.

Back home, no one spoke of the fall. Dadi acted like nothing had happened.

“Jo hota hai, ache ke liye hota hai,” she muttered one evening, stirring her tea.

As if nearly killing her own blood was nothing more than bad weather.

A few days later

A week had passed since the hospital rush. Haseena, wrapped in layers of soft cloth, was finally brought home.

The living room was unusually clean. A new cradle stood near the window—plain, nothing fancy, as if it had been bought out of formality, not love.

Veer sat cross-legged on the floor, playing with his toy truck. He looked up as Ammi entered, holding the baby.

“Ammi… yeh wahi baby hai na?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Haan beta,” Ammi smiled faintly. “Tumhari chhoti behen.”

“Ladki hai?” Dadi’s voice came from behind, laced with poison.

Veer stood up, frowning slightly. He was young, but he understood tension.

“Par Ammi ne bola tha na baby ko hurt nahi karna chahiye,” he said innocently.

“Yeh ladkiyaan sirf bojh hoti hain. Dekh lena, yeh bhi kisi kaam ki nahi niklegi,” Dadi muttered and walked off.

Just then, Vansh toddled in, holding half a biscuit.

“Mujhe bhi baby chahiye!” he shouted, reaching toward the bundle.

“Chhoti hai abhi, so rahi hai,” Ammi whispered, kneeling down to let him peek.

Vansh stared at the tiny face, his biscuit crumbs falling on Ammi’s dupatta.

“Yeh meri wali baby hai?” he asked seriously.

Veer laughed. “Teri nahi, hamari sabki baby hai.”

Vansh looked confused for a second, then nodded. “Thik hai, toh main raat ko iske saath soonga.”

Ammi laughed for the first time in days.

In that moment, surrounded by her two little boys, Haseena breathed slowly in her sleep—fragile, but safe. For now.

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~Heaven

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