Chapter 5: CHAPTER 3

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Reyansh's POV

On the first day of the new semester, I strode into my classroom with confidence, ready to instill a sense of order among all the students.

As I introduce myself and outline my rules, my gaze fell upon Noor Sharma, a bright but distracted student.

She seemed more engrossed in something stupid than the lecture, sketching something instead of solving equations.

Irritated by her lack of focus, I reprimand Noor, highlighting the importance of discipline in my classroom.

My frustration boiled when I asked her to leave the classroom, thinking it would serve as a wake-up call.

However, I observed the remaining students, I began to doubt my harshness.

The first day is daunting enough for everyone; perhaps I should have been more understanding.

After a moment of reflection, I decided to let Noor back in, hoping to foster a supportive learning environment rather than a punitive one.

The engine of my car hummed softly as I navigated the familiar streets towards home.

I was tired, the kind of tired that seeped into your bones after a day filled with equations and lectures.

As I pulled into the driveway, I spotted a glimpse of my mother through the kitchen window, her hands deftly slicing fruits.

The scent of something sweet wafted through the air, mingling with the salty breeze from the ocean a few blocks away.

“Reyansh!” she called out, her voice a melody of joy.

I stepped inside, shaking off the remnants of my day like an old coat. “Hey, Maa.”

“Come, sit with me,” she insisted, her eyes sparkling as she gestured toward the small table cluttered with bowls of vibrant fruits. “I made your favorite.”

I shuffled over, the warm glow of the kitchen wrapping around me like a blanket. “You always do,” I said, taking a seat.

My gaze drifted to the neatly arranged fruits. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion! Just thought you might like some company.” She chuckled, slicing an apple with precision.

“Though, it does seem like an occasion to me—my son, the esteemed math professor, coming home after a long day.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her pride, but a familiar tension knotted in my stomach. “Maa, it’s just a job.”

“Just a job?” she echoed, her voice climbing an octave. “You should celebrate your achievements! But let’s not forget the topic that’s been on my mind.”

I braced myself. “You mean—”

“Marriage!” She practically sang the word, her eyes twinkling mischievously.“How long will you sit single, Ansh? You’re twenty-eight! It’s high time you settled down.”

“Mom, I appreciate that, but I’m not interested in marriage. Mera kaam kaafi satisfying hai.” I took a bite of the apple, hoping the sweet crunch would distract her.

“Satisfying? Ya fir bass ek bahana?” She raised an eyebrow, her playful teasing sparking a warmth in my chest. “You need someone to share your life with.”

I sighed, the weight of her words pressing heavily on me. “I don’t want to share my life, Maa. Par mai akela khush hu.”

“Happy? Or just comfortable?” she countered, her voice a soft challenge. “You’re avoiding the real question. What’s stopping you?”

I felt my defenses rise. “Nothing is stopping me. It's just kidding mujhe baat samajh nhi aa rhi hai.”

“Baat?” She laughed, the sound bright and clear. “Baat pyar ki hai, Ansh! Companionship! Koi aisa jiske sath tum apni haar or Jeet share kar sako. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

“Of course I have, par iska matlab ye to nahi ki mai ye chahta hu.”

I couldn’t meet her gaze, instead focusing on the table. “Every relationship I’ve seen… it’s complicated. Why would I want to dive into that?”

“kyuki harr rishta complicated nahi hota!” she exclaimed, slicing an orange with a flourish.

“Look at the love stories around you. Some are quite simple and beautiful.”

“Simple and beautiful?” I scoffed, imagining all the dramas I’d witnessed among my friends. “Like that one couple who broke up over a forgotten anniversary?”

“Ah, but they’re just one example! You can’t generalize.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“What about that girl who proposed you in high school? What was her name? Anaya?”

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I winced at the mention of Anaya. “Maa, that was years ago. We were kids and she was cringe, i had rejected her.”

“Kids grow up, Ansh!” she insisted, her hands gesturing animatedly. “You’re not a kid anymore. You owe it to yourself to at least try.”

“Try what? To fit into a mold you’ve created?” I shot back, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “You want me to live by your standards. What if I don’t want to?”

“Then what do you want?” she challenged, her eyes narrowing. “What makes you happy?”

I paused, taking a moment to think. “I want to teach. I want to inspire my students, show them the beauty of mathematics. That’s my passion.”

“And that’s wonderful!” she replied, her expression softening. “But can’t you have both? A career and someone special in your life?”

“Maybe I don’t need someone special, Maa. Maybe I’m meant to be alone. Or isme kuch galat nahi hai.” I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, the frustration morphing into something softer.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Ansh, I just want you to be happy. You’re my child, and I worry.”

“I know, Maa,” I said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “But let me find my own happiness, in my own way.”

She smiled, a hint of resignation in her expression. “Alright, I’ll back off. For now. But don’t think I won’t bring it up again.”

I chuckled, the tension easing. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As we sat together, the laughter and light banter returning, I realized that our conversations, no matter how challenging, were built on love.

In her eyes, I saw the hopes and dreams she had for me, and in my heart, I understood that while I may not be ready for marriage, her love would always be my anchor.

And the rest of the evening I spent with equations and assignments.

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1100 words

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