Return of the Mountain Man

Hiii.

I’m the one they forgot to invite to the wedding.
Though technically—I was already there.

The tiny rebel, currently floating, curled like a Cashew… and clearly, ruining lives before even learning to blink properly.

But, no one knows that yet. Not even Mumma.

Also… I think I inherited Papa’s sarcasm. Sorry, Not Sorry.

You can call me Papa’s Baby.
Because I Am. In Every Way.

I hate loud noises. I already have trust issues, I mean, I trust them easily. And… I love terrible jokes.

Like the one Mumma was living—
A Wedding Without Papa.

You know? I’m 13 weeks old, chilling in Mumma’s tummy. Tucked beneath her heartbeat. Kicking quietly.

Just existing. Growing. Listening.
Not that anyone asked me if this wedding should’ve happened.

But since you’re curious…

It was loud. There were too many flowers.
Mumma was smiling too much. Her heartbeat danced with shy excitement as she adjusted her bridal bangles.

I think, she was happy. Her breath was light, her voice soft, her heart… Steady.

She looked beautiful, though.
Bangles. Mehendi. That nervous smile she does when everyone is watching.

But me?
I was not feeling it.

Especially when he spoke. The groom.
ABHIMANYU.

I don’t know what it was—his voice, maybe.

His voice doesn’t feel like home.
It never has.

It didn’t feel like lullabies. Or thunderstorms. Or warmth.
It didn’t feel like Papa.
Not Even Close.

Every time he talks to Mumma, something cold wraps around my tiny fists...my tiny heartbeat stuttered.

“That’s not home,” I thought.
“That’s not Papa.”

He was noise.
Not anchor.
Not heartbeat.

Definitely Not Papa.

Still... Mumma said YES to him.
Maybe because She Wanted Peace.
Maybe because she Believed Papa Was Never Coming Back.
Because everyone said He Was Gone. Dead. Lost.

But then—
PAPA CAME.

No one expected it.
Not even Mumma.

“You replaced me this fast, Akshara?”

The voice that made the world freeze.

My Papa.

He wasn’t yelling. But he might as well have.
Because the pain in his words slammed through Mumma’s body—and straight into mine.

“You didn’t wait for me. You buried me before I died.”

"You moved on.
So quickly. With him?”

Mumma went still.
Then everything blurred.
Her breath caught. She stumbled.

And We Fell.

Doctors. Chaos.
Something cold pressed to her skin.
Machines. Panic. Silence.

Then someone gasped—

“She’s… pregnant.”

BOOM.

That’s when the world found out about me.
Not through lullabies. Not in love.
Through Shock. Accusations. Fear.

Papa didn’t visit.
Didn’t touch Mumma’s hand.
Didn’t whisper to me.

But He Cared, He Felt Me.

Because three days later, he sent her a Gift.

CUSTODY PAPERS.
For me.

With a lawyer’s seal, a cold signature, and the headline:

“Petitioner: Abhinav Sharma
Subject: Prenatal Custody – Unborn Minor”

That’s me.

Legal documents before I even have eyebrows.

I heard Mumma cry.
She clutched those papers like they could change something.
Like They Were Proof Of His Hatred.

She held her tummy and whispered my name.
Her voice cracked. Her tears soaked the pillow.

“I hurt him... He hates me...and now I’ll lose you too.”

But I know something she doesn’t.
I heard him at night…
Leaving voicemails on Bui’s phone—

“Is she eating?”
“No pineapple. Low salt.”
“Make sure she sleeps on her left side.”

And sometimes—

“Tell my baby... I’ll be there. Even if I hate her mother.”

He sents instructions.

Lists. Rules.
Like he was protecting me without saying a single word to her.

He doesn’t trust Mumma anymore.
He doesn’t trust anyone.

But somehow, He Trusts Me.

And I Trust Him Too.

Because even without touching me…
Even without knowing I existed…

He came back.

He stayed.

For me.

He talks to me too, sometimes.

To my blurry photo obviously.

Says he’ll protect me no matter what.
Says he’ll never forgive Mumma.
But… still calls me His Jaan.

I think… he still loves Mumma. A little. Quietly. In the spaces he won’t let her reach.

They don’t talk to each other.
But they talk to me.

So I listen.
I remember.

And Mumma? She talks to me too.
Tell me stories.
Sings. Apologizes.

She says, “Your Papa was my best friend…”

Was.
Past tense.

Now the world has turned into WAR.

Sides. Lawyers. Appointments. Therapists.
People whisper like I’m a scandal.

They forgot I was listening.
While they threw blame like fireballs, while Mumma wept and Papa turned to stone—

I kept growing in the middle of their wreckage.

And one day, when I arrive in this world, eyes wide and heart full of questions…

I’ll ask them one thing:

“Why did you both fight so hard… when all I ever wanted… was both of you?”

Until then, I’m here.
Listening.
Waiting.

Growing quietly in the space where love used to live.

****

So, A New Story ... Another silly thought crept into my mind, cause "The Cheap Fairy Tale Wedding AKA Circus 2.0" is being re-uploaded on YouTube. 🤡

And My Stomach Churned again seeing that hypocrisy... & Decided to write a short story about it...😏😈

I'll update frequently from June 2025. Stay Tuned & Share your thoughts and ideas!💡