Secrets Hidden In Time (Time #1)

84 | The Man With Grey Eyes

The elderly woman sits on the visiting chair. "How are you?"

"Perfectly fine." Hinduja smiles.

Manasvini chuckles, shaking her head, as her eyes take in the younger woman's injured form. "Doesn't seem so."

Hinduja joins her. "When did you land here?" She asks.

"On the night of May 31 itself." Manasvini replies.

As she leans in to kiss the younger woman on her forehead one last time, Hinduja hears her wishing softly, "Belated Happy Birthday, bachha."

"I am so sorry you had to go through all that while it was your birthday." She adds in a voice just as gentle as before.

The Dogra matriarch has the same smile from before intact on her visage as she meets her mother-in-law's eyes. "It's all in the history, and it's okay now."

Manasvini nods and turns around to look at Shubhankar just as the latter passes her something rapped in a cutesy white gift paper.

"Here," Manasvini keeps it on stand nearby. "I know we are almost six days late, but we just felt like bringing something for you."

"Thank you." Replies the matriarch, as Manasvini stands up, her palm still on the former's forehead.

"Anirudh was crying." She says, "I'll go and play with him."

Even though the she did give a reason, the Dogra matriarch deduces that the older woman is in fact giving her husband some time to talk with her. So, she nods as the Manasvini walks out of the room.

Shubhankar Dogra is a recluse. He is a man so private about his emotions and what he feels from time to time, that it's almost impossible to understand him even after spending years in his vicinity. Yet, there's something about him. And that 'something' calms down people without even making an active effort. It makes you curve into a ball of mushy softness craving for some care.

And this 'phenomenon' effects her too.

She looks on as he walks closer to her, settling down on the visiting chair.

Passing her a sylphlike smile, he places his palm on her head as the dial of his Patek Philippe watch coruscates under the round ceiling lights.

"Papa." She murmurs softly, faintly leaning in.

The elderly man strokes the crown of her head. His gaze roams over all the bandages wrapped around different parts of her body, eventually resting on her bruised left eye. He lets out a quiet sigh.

His eyes seem soft and crestfallen, yet relieved. All at the same time. Yet, without a single word escaping his mouth, he just remains there, silent and motionless, his hand gently caressing her head, almost patting her to sleep.

"Sleep" That's all she hears him say, as he picks up her birthday present from the stand and unwraps it fold by fold.

A folded off-white fabric with delicate white petals having vibrant reddish-orange centers graces her visual senses. The petals are 4 to 8 in eight in number, arranged in a pinwheel pattern, with a central tube.

The flowers feel familiar to her and she almost feels as if she has their name sitting on her tongue but her memory doesn't exactly supports her in identifying them.

As the elderly man slowly unfolds the long piece of off-white fabric to reveal what looks like a stole with deep burgundy hued borders and the white flowers with reddish-orange centers, his lips curl up gingerly as a thin layer of sheen coats his eyes. "No one deserves this more than you."