"Okay, come here, bacha," I finally relented, taking out the blue dress she insisted on wearing. I helped her into it, carefully smoothing the fabric.

I couldn't help but marvel at how quickly my little girl was growing up. She knew exactly what she wanted, and nothing could sway her—especially when it came to her clothes. There was something endearing about her stubbornness, even though it often made mornings a little harder to manage.

Just as I finished helping her into the dress, "Papa!" she called, sounding somewhat annoyed. I turned to see her standing there with a pout, hands on her hips. "I want the same hairstyle Piu wore yesterday. It's very nice!"

"Piu?" I repeated, trying to recall which hairstyle she was referring to. Piu was one of her little friends from the neighbourhood.

"What hairstyle did she have, bacha?" I asked, a little confused.

Myra pouted again, "You know, the one with the ponytail... like this." She demonstrated, tugging her fingers in the air as if I should instantly know what she meant.

I chuckled softly, though a part of me panicked. I wasn’t exactly the expert when it came to little girls' hairstyles. But I wasn’t about to let my daughter down, not when it was so important to her. "Okay, okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "I’ll figure it out."

I ran my fingers through her hair and thought about the ponytail I'd seen Piu wear yesterday. "Alright, Myra," I said, tying her hair into a simple but neat ponytail. "How’s this?"

Her eyes lit up, a smile breaking across her face. "Perfect, papa!" she cheered, jumping up and down in excitement.

I smiled to myself, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Though we had a nanny to look after Myra and my mother was always around to lend a hand when needed, I made it a point to be present in my daughter’s life. When I was at home, I wanted to be there for every little thing—every morning, every activity, every tantrum, every laugh. I didn’t want to miss a single moment.

Because, in the end, there would be nothing more fulfilling than watching my little girl grow up, knowing I had a hand in shaping her world.

After getting ready, Myra twirled around in her blue dress, her tiny hands smoothing out the frills.

Watching her, I couldn’t help but see Ruchi aka Ruchika in her—her habits, her decisions, the way she ate, slept, and even the way she twirled in her dress. It was like seeing Ruchi all over again. My heart ached for a moment, wishing Ruchi were here to see Myra grow into such a beautiful, spirited little girl. I hope you’re watching over her, Ruchi, I thought silently. I hope you’re still here with us, even if we can’t see you.

“Papa!” Myra’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “Yes, baby?” I said, turning to her.

She looked at me with wide eyes. “Papa, I forgot to buy a gift for Piu. Tonight is her birthday party!”

I chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Don’t worry, Myra. After school, we’ll go buy a gift, and then you can go to the birthday party. How does that sound?”

Her face broke into a wide smile. “Thank you, Papa! You’re the best!” she said, throwing her arms around me.

I hugged her tightly, savouring the warmth of her little body. She might not have her mother by her side, but she had her spirit, her strength, and her beauty. And I was determined to make sure she never felt the absence of a mother’s love.

“Come on, let’s go downstairs,” I said, taking her hand. “Dadu and Dadi are waiting for us.”

As we made our way to the dining table, Myra chattered away, her excitement infectious. I listened intently, savouring every word, every moment.

When we reached the dining table, my parents were already seated. My father was engrossed in his newspaper, as usual, while my mother was busy instructing the cook about breakfast. Myra ran ahead of me, her little feet pattering against the floor.

“Good morning, Dadu! Good morning, Dadi!” she greeted her grandparents cheerfully.

My father put down his newspaper and smiled, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his granddaughter. “Arey, my princess is here! Wow, she’s looking so beautiful today!” he exclaimed, scooping her up into his lap and planting a kiss on her cheek.

Myra giggled. “Thank you, Dadu!”

My mother turned to her, her hands on her hips. “Myra, what do you want for breakfast today?”

Myra tapped her finger on her chin, as if pondering the most important question in the world. “Cookies!” she declared finally.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Myra, cookies are for snacks, not for breakfast.”

She looked at me, her brows furrowed. “Why, Papa? Why can’t we eat cookies for breakfast?”

Here we go again, I thought. My daughter’s day always started with questions and ended with questions—so many questions. “Papa, what is this? How is that?” She was endlessly curious, and I loved every bit of it.

“Because breakfast should be healthy, and cookies are…” I began, but she cut me off.

“Cookies are not healthy, so we should eat only one once a week!” she finished, her eyes sparkling with triumph.

I laughed, ruffling her hair. “That’s my clever girl. Okay, how about your favourite paratha instead?”

She nodded enthusiastically and climbed onto my lap. Like every morning, I started feeding her, making sure she ate slowly.

“Myra, drink milk,” I reminded her, holding out the glass.

She scrunched her nose. “No, Papa, tea!”

I sighed. Somehow, she had started demanding tea, and I had no idea where she got the idea from. “No, Myra, no tea for children. Only milk.”

She gave me her signature pout, the one that could melt my heart in seconds. But I held firm. As much as I loved her, teaching her was just as important. “Why don’t we add choco chips to your milk?” I suggested, knowing it would work.

Her eyes lit up, and she squealed happily. “Yes, Papa!”

With that, she drank her milk, the choco chips making it more palatable for her. I picked her up in my arms, bid bye to my parents, and carried her out to the car. My driver was already waiting, and we drove toward her school.

As I dropped her off, watching her run into her classroom with her little backpack bouncing, I felt a pang of longing. I knew she missed me when I wasn’t around, and I made sure to be there for her whenever I could. Whether it was helping her pick her clothes, tying her hair, or feeding her breakfast, these little moments were what made life meaningful.

With a deep breath, I got back into the car and made my way to the office.

While discussing the new agenda with my marketing team during our evening meeting, I glanced at the clock and realised I was late. Myra needed to be picked up from school, taken to the gift shop to buy a present for Piu, and then dropped off at Piu’s birthday party. I quickly messaged my mother, asking her to handle it for me. “Ma, can you pick up Myra from school, take her to the gift shop for Piu’s birthday gift, and drop her at Piu’s house? I’ll pick her up after the party.”

Within seconds, my mother sent back a quick thumbs-up emoji. I smiled, seeing her reply. Keeping my phone aside and immersing myself back into the meeting. I continued briefing the team, outlining the changes we needed to make and the strategies we had to implement.

The meeting dragged on, and by the time I wrapped it up, it was already 7 PM. I glanced at the clock, realizing I was late to pick up Myra from the birthday party. Just as I was about to leave the office, there was a knock on my door. “Come in,” I called out, trying to mask my impatience.

Lissy, my PA, stepped inside, her tablet in hand. “Sir, Mehta’s have called. They wanted to meet you urgently,” she said, her tone apologetic.

I frowned, glancing at the time. “Now? Isn’t it odd? Tell them to visit me tomorrow, no matter how important it is. And they can’t just show up without prior notice. Make sure you give them this information next time, Lissy.”

She nodded, looking a bit flustered. “Sorry, sir. I did tell them, but they were insisting I let them talk to you once.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Not today, Lissy. I need to leave early. Schedule their meeting for tomorrow.”

She nodded, understanding the urgency in my voice. “Okay, sir. I’ll let them know.”

As she left the cabin, I grabbed my phone and jacket, making my way to the basement parking. My driver was already waiting, the car engine humming softly. “To Piu’s house,” I said as I slid into the backseat.

Soon, we reached Piu’s home. The garden was lit with fairy lights, and the sound of children’s laughter filled the air. I stepped inside, and Piu’s parents greeted me warmly. “Hello, sir! So good to see you! Myra’s been having a great time,” Piu’s mother said, smiling.

I returned the smile. At that moment, I noticed Myra approaching me swiftly, her expression bright with enthusiasm and her face marked by remnants of cake. "Papa," she exclaimed, embracing me warmly.

I lifted her up and placed a kiss on her cheek. "My apologies for being late, Myra," I said, with a tone of regret in my voice.

But Myra just smiled, her eyes sparkling. “It’s okay, Papa. I wished Piu a happy birthday, and we played so many games! And I ate cake!”

I chuckled, wiping a bit of frosting off her cheek. “I could see how much cake you had, baby. You’re a mess!”

She giggled; her laughter infectious. “I’m glad you had fun, Myra,” I said, setting her down and holding her hand. “Let’s say goodbye to Piu and her parents, and then we’ll head home, okay?”

She nodded, and we made our way to the door. I wished Piu a happy birthday, and Myra gave her friend a big hug. “Bye, Piu! Thank you for the party!” she said, waving enthusiastically.

As we walked to the car, Myra chattered away, telling me about all the games they played and the presents Piu received. Her energy was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile as I listened. “Papa, we played musical chairs, and I almost won! And there was a magic show, and the magician made a rabbit disappear!”

“That sounds amazing, baby,” I said, buckling her into her car seat. “Did you thank Piu’s parents for inviting you?”

She nodded proudly. “Yes, Papa. I said thank you, and I even gave Piu the unicorn plushie we bought!”

“Good girl,” I said, ruffling her hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

As we came home, my mother greeted us with a warm smile. “Myra, did you enjoy the party?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Myra nodded enthusiastically, her energy still bubbling over. “Yes, Dadi!” she exclaimed, and then she launched into a detailed retelling of the entire party. My parents listened intently, their faces glowing with affection for their granddaughter.

I smiled, watching her animated expressions, but then I noticed her face was still smeared with cake and chocolate. “Myra, why don’t you freshen up and wash your face? It’s all sticky with cake,” I said, trying to steer her toward the bathroom.

But instead of running off, Myra paused and looked up at me, her eyes suddenly losing their sparkle. “Papa, you know what? Piu cut her cake with her father and mother,” she said, her voice soft and thoughtful.

Her words made me stop in my tracks. I glanced at my parents, who were now looking at Myra with concern. My mother’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and my father’s jaw was tight, his emotions barely contained. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and knelt to her level. “Baby…” I began, but she interrupted me.

“Piu told me that her mother made her favourite dish and gave her favourite toys for her birthday,” Myra continued, her voice trembling slightly. “Papa, why doesn’t my mamma do that for me?”

Her question hit me like a punch to the gut. Myra had never openly asked about her mother before. She was growing up, and now she was noticing the differences between her life and her friends’ lives. She was feeling the empty space that no amount of love or toys could fill.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Baby, your mamma is with God,” I said, pointing to the sky. “She’s always watching over you, making sure you’re happy. She’s the one who sends you all the gifts, all the toys, and all the happiness in this world.”

Myra’s eyes filled with tears. “But Papa, why is she near God? She can do all that even if she stays here with us, na? Even I want my mamma with me, Papa.”

I looked at my parents, helpless. My mother’s tears were flowing freely now, and my father’s eyes were red, his emotions barely held in check. I had no answer for my little girl’s innocent wish. I could give her anything in this world—toys, clothes, trips, love—but I couldn’t give her the one thing she truly wanted: her mother.

Oh God, help me, I thought, feeling utterly powerless. I forced a smile and said, “Let’s send a message to God and tell him to send your mamma soon, okay? So that you can enjoy with her.”

Her eyes lit up slightly at that. “Really, Papa? Can we do that?”

I nodded, though my heart was heavy. “Of course, baby. But first, you need to have a shower. Look at all the cake and chocolate on your face. If you sleep like this, small ants are going to come and bite this beautiful face,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Myra immediately touched her face, her eyes wide with mock horror. “No, Papa! I don’t want ants to bite me!”

I chuckled, relieved to see her smile return. “Come on, let’s go and have a bath. And guess what? I have a new story for you tonight.”

“Yay!” she exclaimed, her excitement back in full force. Thank God for small distractions, I thought as I took her hand and led her to my room.

I helped her bathe, washing away the remnants of the party from her face and hair. After changing her into her favourite pyjama’s, I tucked her into bed beside me. She curled up, resting her head on my arm, just as she had done since she was one year old. I covered us with the blanket and began telling her a story, my voice soft and soothing.

As I spoke, I watched her eyelids grow heavy until she finally drifted off to sleep, her breathing slow and steady. I kissed her forehead gently, my heart overflowing with love for her. But sleep was far from my eyes. Myra’s questions echoed in my mind, each one a painful reminder of the void in her life—and in mine.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling. How could I explain to a three-year-old that life wasn’t always fair? That sometimes, the people we love the most are taken away too soon. I didn’t have the answers, and the weight of that uncertainty pressed heavily on my chest.

But one thing was certain: no matter what, I would always be there for Myra. I would do everything in my power to make sure she felt loved, cherished, and secure. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to fill the empty space in her heart—at least for now.

As the night stretched on, I held Myra close, silently promising her that I would never let her feel alone. She was my world, and I would move heaven and earth to keep her happy. But deep down, I knew that some questions had no answers, and some voids could never be filled. All I could do was love her with everything I had and hope that, one day, it would be enough.