Season 4 – Chapter 5: “Love That Remembers”

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The early morning sun spilled through the long glass windows of the Mehta-Sinha estate, washing the floors in a warm golden hue. In the heart of the living room sat Amma — Ayaan's childhood nanny — wrapped in her favorite hand-knit shawl, her silver hair tied into a neat braid, her wrinkled fingers gently stroking the soft fabric of Arisha’s doll.

She had been part of the Mehta household longer than some of the furniture. A pillar of strength during Aarav’s loneliest days, Amma had taken care of Ayaan like her own blood. For Ayaan, she was more than a nanny — she was the woman who’d taught him his first prayers, wiped his tears when he scraped his knees, and proudly told strangers, “That one? He’ll be a doctor like his father.”

But time, even in the most loving homes, moves on.

These days, Amma’s steps had grown slower. Her breath a little shorter. And though she never complained, her gaze would linger a few seconds longer on the family portraits, her voice a touch more nostalgic.

That morning, as the aroma of fresh parathas filled the air, the family gathered to say goodbye.

Amma was going with Meenakshi Kapoor to their ancestral village — for fresh air, slower mornings, and maybe to walk barefoot on the old soil before her bones gave up entirely.

Isha, radiant despite the weight of the twins growing inside her, kneeled beside Amma’s chair and touched her lap.

“Amma,” she whispered, “I don’t know how this house will feel without your evening aartis and your complaints about the maids forgetting to dust the Krishna idol.”

Amma smiled softly. “You’ll manage. You’ve grown into a fine woman, Isha bitiya. Just like your mother — stubborn, fierce, and full of love.”

From the corner, Isha’s mother — Meera Kapoor — blinked away tears. Her gaze fell on Aarav, who was silently adjusting Amma’s shawl like a son would. Her heart warmed at the sight.

Since Isha’s father had passed, Aarav had become the quiet strength behind Meera’s grief. He made sure the Kapoor family never felt distant. Grocery deliveries, temple donations in his father-in-law’s name, calling Meera "Maa" without a pause — she could never forget it.

“Aarav beta,” Meera said softly, walking over, “Thank you… for everything. You’ve given me a son, not a son-in-law.”

Aarav looked up, his eyes tired but kind. “No, Maa. Thank you for giving me Isha. You trusted me with her — I’ll never forget that.”

From behind, Ayaan entered the room with a shawl draped over his arm. His eyes fell on Amma, and something in his heart tightened.

“Amma, I packed your sugar-free sweets in the bag,” he said, kneeling beside her. “Don’t bribe the temple kids with them. You always end up eating half.”

Amma chuckled, brushing his hair. “Even now you talk like a doctor. But you’re still my chhota sa Ayaan.”

Riya came forward and placed Amma’s medicines in Meenakshi’s purse. “Make sure she takes them on time,” she warned.

Meenakshi raised a brow. “Please. I can handle one Amma. It’s your twins who are giving me blood pressure from the womb.”

Everyone laughed. Even Amma.

Then the laughter faded.

Amma turned toward Ayaan, her tone suddenly serious.

“Before I go,” she said quietly, “make me a promise.”

Ayaan blinked. “Anything.”

“Don’t let my eyes close forever until I see the faces of your little ones — all four.”

A silent pause.

The gravity of her wish settled over everyone. Arisha walked up and hugged Amma’s knee. Ishaan sat beside her foot.

Aarav placed a hand on Amma’s shoulder. “You’ll be back before their first cries, Amma. That’s a promise.”

Meenakshi checked her watch dramatically. “If you keep stalling like this, we’ll miss the train and have to take a camel. Not ideal for old hips.”

Ayaan helped Amma into her wheelchair. The family walked her to the car.

As she was lifted in, Amma looked back at the house — her home, her temple, her chaos.

“I’ll be back,” she said softly. “Don’t let the babies come without my lullabies.”

Isha, eyes glassy, smiled. “They’ll wait for you. We all will.”

Meenakshi rolled down the window and added, “Tell the twins to keep the womb party going. Amma’s on her way!”

With that, the car rolled out of the driveway, carrying stories, blessings, and a promise made under morning light.

Back inside, the house felt a little quieter. But the love remained — echoing in Amma’s favorite chair, the fading scent of jasmine oil, and the hearts that waited for her return.

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