𝟎𝟏. 𝐌𝐚𝐚?

★ ★ ★
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  A N A Y A

Three years ago —

I stormed out of the house, muttering a string of curses under my breath. Projects, deadlines, and my never ending thesis had already wrung me dry, and my mood was one shove away from complete disaster.

Like always, I found myself at my safe place—my favorite little café. I ordered an iced americano, hoping caffeine would fix what life couldn’t.

The buzzer rang, I grabbed my drink, and turned around… only to collide head first with a wall. Or at least it felt like one. Turns out, it was just a man’s ridiculously broad chest.

My drink didn’t survive the impact. Half of it landed on the floor, half on my shirt, and a tiny, pitiful portion was left in the cup. Great. Just great. I could hear the chuckles and giggles of people around us. I guessed that they were his friends.

The man stammered an apology, but I wasn’t in the mood. So naturally, I splashed the remaining coffee on him and walked right out without a second glance.

A few minutes later, while sulking on the street, I caught the faint sound of… crying. It was so soft at first, I thought I imagined it. But as I followed the sound, my heart dropped.

There in a trash bin lay a baby. Wrapped in a thin blanket, fragile, weak, and shivering in the cruel weather.

My eyes stung. I didn’t even think. I scooped him up into my arms, holding him close.

“Shh… baccha, I’m here. I’m never letting you go,” I whispered. He couldn’t have been more than four months old.

At that moment, I made a decision. If the world could be so heartless as to abandon him, then I would be the one to protect him. He was mine now. My son.

I didn’t care about gossip, or judgment, or society’s cruel eyes.

That day, I walked away not just with a baby in my arms, but with a piece of my heart that would never leave me again.

At first, I had no idea what to do. I was twenty, stressed about surviving my own life, and suddenly holding another one in my arms. The irony wasn’t lost on me. People my age were figuring out careers, love lives, or at worst, which Netflix show to binge. Me? I was googling how to buy formula milk at midnight.

The next few days were chaotic. Hospitals. Police stations. Endless questions. Everyone wanted to know where I found him, why I had him, whether I was sure I wanted to keep him. I didn’t hesitate once. Yes. Yes. And yes.

Of course, society didn’t clap for me. Aunties whispered, neighbors speculated, and my relatives probably held prayer meetings about “the shame.” But their judgment couldn’t outweigh the way he looked at me..tiny fists curled, eyes blinking up at me like I was his whole universe.

I named him Yuvaan. It means “youth, strength, new beginnings.” Because that’s what he was for me too—a new start, whether I was ready or not.

Raising him wasn’t easy. I wrote my thesis with one hand while rocking his crib with the other. Nights were sleepless, mornings were loud, and yet, my heart was full in a way no degree could give me.

Yuvaan didn’t just become my son. He became my reason. My fight. My little miracle.

When I first brought Yuvaan home, I expected war. Screaming, disbelief, maybe even ultimatums. After all, I was twenty, unmarried, and suddenly carrying a baby that wasn’t even mine by blood. But my parents surprised me.

My mother didn’t bat an eye. She looked at Yuvaan once, then at me, and simply said, “So this is my grandson?” That was it. No drama, no judgment. Just immediate acceptance. She wrapped him in a designer cashmere blanket the same evening and joked, “If he’s going to be in this house, he better look stylish.”

My father, the tech genius who ran his company like a fortress, was quieter. He didn’t say much that first night. But the next morning, I found him in the nursery I hadn’t even finished setting up. He was sitting by the crib, programming a white noise app on his phone so Yuvaan could sleep better. “You’ll need this,” he said. That was his version of love—silent, practical, unwavering.

Together, they backed me when the rest of the world whispered. My mother shielded me from gossip, reminding me that “the world feeds on scandal until it finds a new one.” My father reminded me that family isn’t built on bloodlines but on choice. And they both gave me the one thing every young, terrified mother needs: the reassurance that I wasn’t alone.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s why I was able to hold my head high. Because in a world ready to point fingers, my parents chose to hold my hand instead.

Neil, my older brother, was in the middle of shadowing my mom to prepare for his future as CEO, but the moment he saw Yuvaan, his corporate seriousness melted. He scooped him up with all the confidence of a man who had never held a baby in his life and announced, “Don’t worry, little guy. I’ll make sure you inherit shares in the company.” I laughed until I cried because Yuvaan wasn’t even six months old, and Neil was already talking business deals with him. That was Neil—serious, ambitious, but secretly soft when it came to family.

Priya, on the other hand, was fire wrapped in elegance. As a fierce advocate, she spent her days fighting in courtrooms and her nights making sure I didn’t drown in self-doubt. She kissed Yuvaan’s forehead and whispered, “You’ve been chosen, baby boy. That makes you luckier than most.” It wasn’t just support; it was her way of telling me I had made the right choice. She even threatened to sue anyone who dared question my decision, and honestly, I believed she would.

Having Neil and Priya by my side made the storm outside our house seem irrelevant. With them teasing, protecting, and spoiling Yuvaan endlessly, I realized something—he wasn’t just my son anymore. He was our boy, the family’s heartbeat.

When I went back to college to finish my degree, I thought I’d be the one juggling late nights, baby bottles, and textbooks. But it turned out I had two unshakable shadows—Neil and Priya. They divided my schedule like it was a legal contract. Neil handled morning feeds before his training meetings, while Priya blocked off her afternoons to check in on Yuvaan. I teased them about turning my baby into a “shared custody project,” but deep down, I melted every time I saw how fiercely they stepped in for me.

I’ll never forget one evening when I had an exam. Neil showed up on campus, suit and tie and all, holding Yuvaan on his hip as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Go ace your paper,” he told me, waving his phone. “I’ve already rescheduled two of my meetings. Don’t ask how. Just trust your genius brother.” Yuvaan drooled all over his suit jacket, but Neil didn’t even flinch. He just laughed and muttered, “Guess Armani has a new line now—baby spit edition.”

Priya, of course, went full lawyer mode. She once drove across the city to confront a professor who made a snide remark about me being a “distraction” in class because of my responsibilities as a mother. “My sister doesn’t need your pity or your prejudice,” she said, her voice cold as ice. Needless to say, the professor never mentioned it again.

Their overprotectiveness wasn’t suffocating—it was empowering. Every time they stepped in, I felt like I wasn’t raising Yuvaan alone. He had an entire army, one suit-clad CEO in training, and one fiery lawyer, making sure he grew up wrapped in love and strength.

One Sunday afternoon, I walked into the living room only to witness the most ridiculous sight: Neil and Priya sitting cross legged on the carpet, both armed with toys, making the strangest faces at Yuvaan.

“Come on, champ,” Neil coaxed, holding out a stuffed lion. “Say ‘mama’ no, wait say ‘mamu.’ That’s way cooler.”

Priya gasped. “Excuse me? He’s going to say ‘maasi’ first. Babies love their aunties more. It’s scientifically proven.” She shook a rattle like she was presenting evidence in court.

Yuvaan blinked between the two of them, utterly amused, before bursting into a bubbly giggle. He reached for Neil’s tie, tugging it with his tiny fists. Neil smirked in triumph, but Priya wasn’t having it. She leaned closer, pinched Yuvaan’s cheeks, and whispered, “Don’t worry, baby, you’ll pick me once you’re smarter.”

I couldn’t stop laughing. Watching them bicker over my son like he was a trophy made me realize just how lucky Yuvaan and I were. He might not have been born into our family by blood, but he was loved fiercely, loudly, and playfully.

“Say mamu,” Neil insisted, pointing at himself dramatically. “Come on, buddy, it’s easier with just two syllables. Ma-mu.” He exaggerated every sound like he was teaching an alien to talk.

Priya rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “Really, Neil? That’s bribery. Yuvaan, sweetheart, don’t listen to him. Say maasi. Maa-si. See? It even sounds musical!” She jingled the rattle in perfect rhythm, like she was composing a theme song.

Neil scoffed. “Musical? You sound like a broken wind chime. Yuvaan’s not falling for that.” He leaned closer to the baby and whispered conspiratorially, “Besides, mamu gives cooler gifts. Like cars. Remote controlled ones. None of that boring soft toy stuff.”

Priya gasped like she’d been stabbed. “Excuse you! Soft toys build emotional intelligence. Cars just make noise and crash into walls.”

Yuvaan, caught in the middle of this chaos, squealed with laughter, drooling all over his fist. Then, with all the seriousness of a judge delivering a verdict, he babbled, “Maaaa…”

Both Neil and Priya froze mid-argument, eyes wide.

“Maa—mu,” Neil blurted, already celebrating, fist-pumping the air. “I win!”

“No way!” Priya countered instantly. “That was maasi! Say it again, Yuvaan! For your favorite aunty!”

They both leaned so close to the poor baby that Yuvaan simply blew a spit bubble and clapped, clearly enjoying the drama he’d created.

I shook my head, laughing so hard my stomach hurt. “You two are impossible. He said maa which, if you ask me, means ‘mumma.’ So technically, I won.”

The looks on their faces were priceless.

He didn’t speak much yet but he didn’t need to. His small arms stretched up high, trembling just a little from the effort.

“Maa…”

That one word cracked me open. My chest burned as I bent down and scooped him into my arms. He clung to me immediately, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his tiny hands gripping me as though he was afraid someone might take me away.

The room went still.

Neil’s mock anger faltered first his jaw tightened, his eyes shining in a way I had never seen before. Priya’s lips parted, but no sound came. I could see tears gathering in her lashes, ready to spill.

Yuvaan sighed, a soft, content sound, and nestled closer into me. That simple gesture the blind trust of a child who had once been abandoned but now found his world in my arms left no space for arguments.

In that moment, both my brother and sister looked at me not as the reckless younger sibling they had been trying to protect, but as a mother. Their little sister… and his only mother.

Neil whispered hoarsely, “We’ll protect him too, Anaya. Both of you.”

Priya finally broke, stepping forward and gently stroking Yuvaan’s back as tears slipped down her cheeks. “You’re not alone in this… never.”

And just like that, the fight dissolved into something far greater our family growing around the tiny heartbeat resting against mine.

“ He didn't ask for toys and sweets — just lifted his hand and called me maa…he choose me”

Nanhe haath uthe meri or,
Uska ek shabad ne kardiya Mera saara dhyaan uske or.

Na khilaune, na khel, na aur koi baat,
Bas 'Maa'... aur duniya ho gayi mere saath.

Teri har hansi, har rona, har pukaar,
Maa banne ka tohfa hai sabse khaas uphaar.