Aastha’s Pov

That night, after a long day at the Orphanage and dealing with endless paperwork, I finally tucked Vihaan into his crib. His little body was warm from his evening bath, smelling faintly of baby soap and milk. I hummed softly, the same lullaby I had sung to him every night since he had entered my life.

His eyelids fluttered, resisting sleep, as if afraid he might miss something if he closed his eyes. I brushed my fingers through his soft hair.

“Sleep, my baby,” I whispered. “Mumma’s right here.”

The street outside was loud, the clatter of neighbors returning home, the occasional motorcycle echoing through the narrow lane. Somewhere, someone laughed too loudly, and from the next house, I caught the faint hiss of a whispered conversation. My chest tightened. I didn’t have to hear the words to know they were about me.

They always were.

Single mother. Shameless. No father in sight. Must be some man who left her.

I forced myself to breathe slowly, to focus only on the steady rhythm of Vihaan’s breath. None of that mattered when I had him in my arms. Their whispers couldn’t change the truth I carried in my heart: that he was mine. Entirely, irrevocably mine.

Vihaan let out a soft coo, his lips curving in a sleepy smile. I kissed his tiny fingers, letting his warmth seep into me. In that quiet, I felt the weight of the world dissolve. I had given up so much; dreams, security, even the little fragments of dignity people thought they had stripped from me. And yet, I had never felt richer than I did in this moment, with his tiny fist curled against my chest.

I lowered him gently back into the crib. He stirred, his little legs kicking, before his hand found the teddy tucked beside him. Within minutes, his breathing deepened, steady and calm.

I stood there longer than I should have, just watching. His cheeks flushed with sleep, the faint twitch of his lips, the way his eyelashes rested like shadows on his skin. My heart clenched with a love so fierce it frightened me sometimes.

Leaning down, I whispered, “One day you’ll understand, Vihaan. The world may try to tell you a different story about us. But you…” my throat caught, and I swallowed hard, “...you are my story.”

I switched off the light, leaving just the soft glow of the lamp beside his crib. And as I curled onto the bed across from him, I prayed silently for strength, for courage, for the kind of love that would always shield him from the cruelty of the world.

Because I knew one thing with certainty. The world may never forgive me for being his mother, But I would never forgive myself if I failed to be.

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The next day, I followed my morning routine and got vihaan ready along with me. I made sure he was dressed comfortably or he would fuss the whole day.

The walk to the orphanage was peaceful as always, with his continuous babbles. I love hearing his cute little voice and the way he claps his tiny hand whenever he gets excited or sees me. It feels like I am the centre of his universe and it feels nice to be a priority to someone— someone who I love with all my heart.

Reaching the Orphanage, I walked in and placed vihaan in his crib. The other kids rushed over and got occupied playing with vihaan. I made my way over to the office as I had to complete some paperwork.

I settled into the creaky chair, pulling the stack of files toward me. The morning sunlight streamed through the barred window, lighting up the dust dancing in the air. Halfway through filling out the attendance sheets, my eyes caught on the supply ledger lying open at the corner of the desk.

My stomach sank.

The list was shorter than it should’ve been, much shorter. We were already running low on notebooks and pencils, and even the food supplies looked like they wouldn’t last another week. With so many little mouths to feed and growing minds to teach, how were we supposed to manage?

I chewed on my lip for a second before deciding to bring it up. Gathering the file, I walked down the narrow hallway to where Mrs. Deshmukh, the senior in charge, sat at her desk, spectacles perched on her nose.

“Ma’am,” I began carefully, “I was going over the supplies, and… I don’t think we’ll have enough for all the kids this month. Especially with notebooks and food stock. Could we maybe request more—?”

She looked up, her expression hardening, and set her pen down with a faint click. “We’ve been through this before,” she said in a clipped tone. “This Orphanage runs on donations. We cannot afford to keep asking for more just because it doesn’t feel enough to you. Learn to make do with what’s available.”

I swallowed. “But the children—”

“The children will adjust,” she cut in, firm. “We all must. Don’t be greedy, beta. We’re not here to demand luxuries.”

Her words stung, but I bit back my response, nodding quietly. I knew this wasn’t about luxuries. A notebook, a proper meal— these were basics. Still, arguing further would only make things worse.

As I walked back to the play area, I caught sight of Vihaan clapping along with the other kids, his laugh carrying across the room. My heart twisted. For him, for all of them, I had to find another way.

The children were still giggling around Vihaan, who waved his chubby hands in the air as if he understood their games. I forced a smile, though inside my chest it felt like someone had pressed down with a heavy stone.

“Didi, can I have another roti today?” little Aarav tugged at my kurta, his big brown eyes hopeful. My heart clenched. I bent down and smoothed his hair, my voice gentle even as it broke.

“Tomorrow, hmm? Today we have to share.”

He nodded, disappointment clouding his face, and went back to play. I turned away quickly before anyone saw the tears brimming in my eyes.

When lunchtime came, I quietly set aside the plate given to me. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it, sipping water instead. Vihaan’s feeding bottle was tucked neatly in my bag, filled with formula I’d stretched out by using less than the recommended scoops. He suckled greedily, tiny fists curling and uncurling, completely content.

I watched him, my throat tightening. He deserved more than watered-down milk. He deserved more than a mother who sometimes went hungry so he wouldn’t.

Later, when the children settled down for an afternoon nap, I sat near his crib. His little fingers curled tightly around mine, his lips parting into a sleepy smile. My chest ached with love and fear all at once.

“I’ll find a way,” I whispered, brushing his soft hair back. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you’ll never know hunger, my jaan. I promise.”

His steady breathing was my only answer. Still, it was enough to keep me going.

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So, here's the chapter 2. I hope you like it. The next chapter we will dive into his world. Until then,

Lots of love,

Shay 💗