Arnam and Madhavi yearned to be parents. Each whispered prayer and silent tear held the hope that the Almighty would answer their prayers sooner or later. But year after year passed in heartache until finally, after fifteen years, a baby girl was born. They named her Anavi — one who is kind-hearted. Gratitude overflowed as they held their little bundle of joy.

Days turned into months and years. It was Anvi's second birthday. Madhavi was getting ready for the party when suddenly she collapsed.

Hospital beds and the beeping of machines soon became their world. Madhavi was diagnosed with a heart condition, and within days, she passed away, leaving behind a silence that swallowed Arnam.

“A child needs a mother,” everyone suggested he remarry.

But Arnam firmly replied, “I will be both.”

And he was. He braided Anavi’s hair, learned to cook, drove her to school, helped with her studies, and stood by her whenever she needed him.

Years went by. College, job, marriage - each step brought pride and pain for Arnam.

Months later, when Arnam fell ill, Anavi insisted he move in with her and her husband. He agreed, sold his home, packed his memories, and followed her.

Everything went well for a couple of months until one Sunday afternoon.

Anavi stood by the dining table, arms crossed, “Dad, I have found a good old-age home for you.”

The spoon Arnam was holding fell to the ground. He looked into her cold eyes.

“Anavi... why would you say that? I did my best for you. After your mother died, I never let you feel her absence. Have you forgotten everything? Don’t you remember what your name means? It means being kind to people, and here you are- throwing me out?” He said, voice heavy with grief.”

“Yes, you did your duty, but don’t expect me to do the same. You are leaving tomorrow morning.” She said, her voice firm.

“I sold my house because you promised to take care of me. Don’t you have a corner for me in this house?” Arnam whispered.

“Please, Dad. Don’t make this harder. It’s final.” She said sharply.

Arnam didn't eat that night. The next morning, he quietly left with his blue bag and the frame holding their only family photograph—baby Anvi in Arnam's lap, with Madhavi smiling warmly.

At the old age home, Arnam did not talk much and responded when spoken to.

Anavi never came to see him.

One morning, a caretaker noticed the door to Arnam’s room was ajar, and Arnam was lying on the ground, the silver frame pressed to his chest. He was dead. Beside him lay his phone, the screen glowing with an unsent message.

“The two most important people in my life—one succumbed to time, the other left when I needed her the most.

Though the death was a natural one, the soul had endured great pain. The sting of abandonment had seeped deep.