Peace has a sound.
So does the past.

Some knocks don’t demand to be heard—
they simply arrive.

Read gently.
Something is already on its way.

Welcome to Chapter 93. 💋📖

Months passed.
Not in dramatic leaps—but in small, ordinary victories that went unnoticed unless one was looking closely.

Meenal’s belly began to show a gentle curve that no longer hid behind loose pallus or careful posture. The haveli adjusted around her without announcement—extra cushions placed silently, warm milk arriving before she asked, and footsteps slowing when she passed.

Life continued.

Rajveer woke earlier now—not to patrol the corridors, but to sit beside her as she drank her morning tea from the silver cup that had been his mother's once.

Sometimes in silence. Sometimes with questions he never would have asked before.

“Does it hurt?”
“Are you tired?”
“Should we walk a little today?”

Meenal answered honestly.

Some days, yes.
Some days, no.
Some days she simply smiled.

The haveli breathed—still cautious, but no longer suffocating.

With peace, chaos, and Arun's tiny feet echoed through the halls, a reminder of the life that continued to flow within its walls.

Meenal found comfort in the subtle changes, as life continued to grow and evolve within the haveli and in her.

Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived.

Not stamped from a nearby district.
Not written in hurried ink.

Foreign paper—thicker than local post.
A faint scent of ink and distance.
A weight that had nothing to do with grams.

England.

Meenal sat by the window when Rita placed it beside her. The envelope bore a familiar hand—one she had not seen in years but recognized instantly.

Her fingers stilled.

Rajveer noticed at once.

“Who is it?” he asked, looking up from the ledger in his hand.

Meenal swallowed.

“My mama,” she said quietly, a smile playing on her lips.

Rajveer’s hand paused mid-page on his accounts as he looked at Meenal in surprise. "Your mama—I have never heard you mention her before," he remarked, his curiosity piqued.

“He’s coming,” Meenal added as her eyes shone with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Rajveer looked at her fully now.

“With his family,” she continued. “From England.”

A silence fell.

Not heavy.

But alert.

“How long?” Rajveer asked carefully. "And when?"

“They didn’t say,” Meenal replied. “Only… soon.”

She unfolded the letter slowly, her eyes scanning words filled with politeness, affection, and restraint.

We have been away too long.
Time has softened some wounds.
We wish to see you—properly, this time.

Meenal folded the letter again, pressing it lightly against her belly.

“They want to meet us. All of us," she said softly. "They couldn't visit us for years, not in Didi's marriage or after death or after things took a turn for the worse. But now they want to see us."

Rajveer nodded, understanding the weight of the situation. "But traveling for you in such a condition to your parents' house may not be the best idea."

Meenal's hands lowered to her stomach, where their unborn child was growing. “If… you think it is appropriate,” Meenal said carefully, “may I invite them here instead?” She asked, looking up at Rajveer with hopeful eyes.

Rajveer stared at Meenal for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts of unknown guests invading their private space.

What if unfamiliar eyes unsettled the household again?
What if old judgments crept into rooms that had only just learned silence?

"It's been so long since I met Rachna and Anil; I would love to see them," Rajveer finally replied, smiling at Meenal's hopeful expression.

"Rachna…Anil?" Rajveer asked, his mind struggling to recall who they were.

Meenal chuckled, "They are my cousins. Before Mama left for England, we all four—me, Didi, Rachna, and Anil—used to spend summers together at our grandparents' house. It will be nice to catch up with them after so many years." Rajveer's smile widened as memories of those carefree summers flooded back, filling him with a sense of nostalgia and anticipation for the upcoming visit.

He never had siblings or cousins, and memories are so beautiful, like Meenal. There was Aditya, but his status as his father's bastard always made him feel like an outsider in his own family. A chasm that Rajveer and Aditya could never fully bridge, no matter how hard they tried.

Rajveer swallowed as he passed some fruits from the table to Meenal. "Invite them here; it's good for elders to reconnect with family members who have been distant for so long," Rajveer suggested, hoping to create new memories that would help heal old wounds and strengthen their bond.

Meenal nodded in with a smile as she bit into a juicy slice of watermelon. Rajveer's eyes trailed as juice ran down her fingers—sweet, cooling, and simple in a way life had not been for a long time.

Still breathing easy?

Good.
That’s how the past prefers to enter—politely.
Well-dressed.
Carrying letters instead of knives.

Time passed here.
Hearts softened.
Walls learned how to listen instead of echo.

But distance doesn’t erase history.
It only teaches it patience.

Some reunions come wrapped in affection.
Some arrive smiling…
and ask questions the present isn’t ready to answer.

The haveli has made space for new life.
Let’s see what it does with old blood.

Read on carefully.
Not everything that knocks wants to be welcomed. 😈📖💋

—Shaar Shree 😈📖