Around one o’clock in the morning, when I got up to go to the bathroom and passed by my daughter-in-law’s room, I heard a man’s voice coming from the room. The voice wasn’t clear, just intermittent sounds, interspersed with a girl’s whisper./hi
Ever since my son died in a road accident, the warmth of our small home in New Delhi has completely vanished. Three months have passed, and I—Savitri Devi—still haven’t gotten used to Aarav’s absence. Every afternoon, I sit in front of the puja corner, look at my son’s photo wrapped in a marigold garland, and caress everything he touched.
While I was still grieving, Nisha—my daughter-in-law—confused me. She used to dress simply, apply just a little kajal and light lipstick, and go to work. Now she wears heavy makeup, a body-hugging office dress/kurta, and high-heeled shoes that click on the tiled floor every morning.
She goes to work early and comes home late. Some days, she comes home almost midnight. When I asked her, she simply said vaguely:
The subsidiary is working on a project quickly, I sympathize with you.
I nodded, but my mind was filled with doubts.
The climax occurred one weekend night. Around 1 a.m., I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I passed my daughter-in-law’s room, I heard a man’s soft voice from outside, accompanied by Nisha’s whispers. I stopped, my heart pounding: There are only two of us in this house, mother and daughter, so who was in her room?
The next morning, I chose my words carefully:
— Nisha, last night I… heard a man’s voice in your room?
She was a little confused, then calmed her voice:
— You must have heard me on a video call with my colleague. The project is in its final stages, so we had to discuss it late. Don’t worry, Mom.
I didn’t say anything else, but my heart was restless: It’s only been three months since my husband passed away, and my daughter-in-law is in such a hurry?
Since then, I’d secretly noticed. Nisha’s clothes were becoming more stylish, her scent was stronger, she always kept her phone with her; whenever a call came, she’d go away somewhere and speak very softly. I felt so sad. I loved Nisha like my own daughter, but now I couldn’t help but think she was betraying my unfortunate son.
Everything fell apart on that rainy night.
I was thirsty, and when I passed by her room, I saw the light was still on. I opened the door slightly—enough to see Nisha huddled up on the bed, her eyes red and clutching her phone tightly. On the screen, Aarav—my son—was smiling brightly at an old clip. His voice echoed:
“Nisha, I’ll be back tomorrow. What gift would you like me to get you?”
Nisha broke down and whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks:
— I miss you so much… I won the bidding again today. If you were still alive, you would have praised me so much…
I was stunned. It turned out that the man whose voice I had heard at midnight was Aarav’s voice from the old video—the one Nisha used to hold onto to ease her cravings. I had mistakenly blamed him.
The next morning, when Nisha went into the kitchen, her eyes still puffy, I asked softly:
— You’ve been coming home late and staying up late these days. Is work going well?
Nisha nodded:
— Yes, I just got promoted to manager. Now I have to meet partners and go to events, so I dress up a little more. I don’t want to be considered sad forever. I know he’s… gone, but I have to try to live, Mom.
I put a hand on her shoulder and whispered:
I understand, my child. I’m sorry for misunderstanding you.
Nisha looked up, tears welling up in her eyes. I knew: after all, she had never forgotten Aarav. She was learning to live—strong and proud, just as she had promised beside his photo on the day of his funeral.
From that day on, I wasn’t strict anymore. Nisha and I cleaned Aarav’s room and chose a small corner in the house to cherish his memories. Nisha still came home late, but every night she would stop by the prayer room, light incense sticks, and tell me some little stories from the day.
I no longer heard that strange man’s voice in the middle of the night. Nisha whispered in his place:
I’m home from work, darling…
I smiled through my tears. I understood: true love doesn’t need fanfare – as long as people remember, endure the pain, and live on, that’s enough.
