Chapter One: * INTODUCTION** .... {WHISDOM OF LOVE}

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 Main Characters: 

Ashima Verma – A compassionate, resilient woman in her late 20s with a high degree of emotional awareness. She is a committed mother caught between her nostalgic past and the current challenges she faces.

Mrs. Sunali Verma – Ashima's mother. She is a fiercely protective single parent who raised both Ashima and Ronit on her own. She is practical and nurturing.

Ronit Verma – Ashima's younger brother. He is playful, a bit plump, and full of antics, bringing joy to Ashima during her toughest moments.

Karan Malhotra ( Husband) – Ashima’s spouse, who is kind and supportive.

The morning light streamed through delicate curtains, casting a warm gold over the light beige walls of a cozy yet vibrant apartment in Lucknow. The aroma of freshly made parathas filled the air, intertwined with the sharp fragrance of ginger in the chai.

Ashima Verma softly hummed a melody as she arranged the breakfast table, her hands moving with the silent grace developed through years of affection and routine. Clad in a simple pink cotton kurta, her hair loosely braided, her face shone not from cosmetics, but with a gentle joy of satisfaction.

“Where’s my wallet, sweetheart?” Karan called out from the bedroom, his tone playfully exasperated.

“It’s in the drawer beside the bed—just like always!” Ashima responded with a chuckle, rolling her eyes with fondness.

Karan Malhotra, her husband of four years, strolled into the kitchen moments later, wallet in hand and a sheepish smile across his face. His shirt was partially buttoned, and his hair was still damp from the shower. He resembled a man perpetually on the brink of being late, always relying on his wife to keep him steady.

Ashima turned to face him, her heart fluttering like the first time he held her hand at the tea stall near the university.

“Your tea is going to get cold,” she cautioned.

“And you get more beautiful with each morning. What should I do about that?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Drink your chai, Mr. Filmy,” she replied, smirking, though her cheeks were already colored with a blush.

Their love story wasn’t grand. No dramatic declarations, no daring elopements. Just two souls discovering a subtle kind of magic within one another. Karan, a civil engineer whose heart was too tender for his job, and Ashima, a literature graduate dreaming of writing children’s books someday. They resided in a rented apartment with second-hand furniture, worn-out curtains, and a small balcony where they tended to tulsi and money plants. But it felt like home.

Ronit, Ashima’s younger brother, burst in without knocking—just as he always did—munching on toast.

“Didi, Mom is saying I can’t skip college again, but I promise I have a fever,” he said dramatically, clutching his forehead.

“You have a real case of laziness,” Ashima laughed as she handed him a tiffin.

Karan tousled Ronit’s curly hair. “Your sister skipped half of her college classes and still scored higher than I did. So if you want to be a genius like her, maybe skip the theatrics.”

Ronit groaned. “You both are teaming up against me. This is emotional torture.”

Ashima observed the two of them—her brother and her husband—and smiled softly. Her two boys, forever teasing each other, always vying for the last piece of dessert, and constantly making her laugh.

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