The morning sun bathed the city skyline in shades of gold, as Naira took a sip of her ginger chai sitting in the small balcony of her second-floor flat. She glanced at the clock. It was 7:45. Kiaan would wake up soon, groggy and dragging his feet to the kitchen table, asking for breakfast.

These last seven years her fifteen-year-old son had grown so much. Seven years since her husband passed on. Seven years of learning how to be both mother and father, cheerleader and disciplinarian, provider and protector. Seven years of her heart and attention directed only towards Kiaan.

And now, there was Ranvir.

She’d met him at the library three months ago while struggling to reach for a cookbook on the highest shelf when he’d walked up and handed it to her with a kind smile. “Great choice,” he’d said. “I’m a sucker for good biryani recipes.”

She didn’t even know why she’d laughed at that—maybe because it had been so long since someone had spoken to her as Naira, and not just as ‘Kiaan’s mom’. Their conversations had started innocently enough but somewhere along the way, she had felt a spark.

Ranvir was warm, funny, and thoughtful in a way that made her forget, even for a moment, the years of loneliness she’d learned to live with. He gently wove himself into her world, and now her heart felt alive in ways she didn’t think were possible anymore.

Didn’t Kiaan need to know?

She stared at the steaming chai, her chest tightening at the thought of telling him. How would he react? Would he feel betrayed? Would he think she was trying to replace his father?

The sound of shuffling feet broke her reverie. Kiaan emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes. “Morning, Ma,” he mumbled, sitting at the table.

“Good morning,” she said.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind they’d grown used to. She watched him dunk a biscuit into his tea, the same way his father used to. Her throat tightened.

“Kiaan,” she began, her voice unsteady.

“Hmm?” he said, still focused on his tea.

“There’s… something I need to tell you.” She hesitated, her hands fidgeting. “I’ve been seeing someone. His name is Ranvir.”

Kiaan froze mid-dunk, looking up at her. The next few seconds stretched into silence.

She rushed to explain. “It’s not that I’m trying to forget your father. He was the love of my life and I’ll always hold him close to my heart. But… I’ve met Ranvir… and he makes me happy. I didn’t want to hide this from you, but I also didn’t know how to tell you.”

Kiaan stared at her for a moment longer, then set the biscuit down. “Does he make good biryani?” he asked, his tone casual.

Naira blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You always talk about Dad’s biryani being the best,” he said, shrugging. “If Ranvir’s serious, he’d better live up to that.”

A laugh bubbled out of Naira, tears stinging her eyes. “Kiaan—”

“Ma,” Kiaan interrupted, his voice softer now. “I just want you to be happy. If Ranvir makes you happy, then… it's okay. Really.”

The tightness in her chest finally eased. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Kiaan shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Just… don’t make me call him ‘Dad’ or anything, okay? That’s weird.”

Naira laughed again, “deal.”

As Kiaan returned to his tea, Naira felt the sun’s warmth on her face. For the first time in years, she wasn’t just surviving, she was thriving.