Unveil the Other Side

Padma was a small fourth-class girl, smart and curious, but her teachers never seemed to notice her talent. Their praise always flowed elsewhere, leaving her wondering if she was invisible. One evening, she told her mother how unfair it felt. Her mom gently held her hands and said, “You are unique, Padma. Your brilliance doesn’t need certificates or applause. Keep doing your best, and life will reward you in the right form at the right time.” Padma smiled, feeling lighter, knowing patience and effort would eventually unveil her true worth, and she walked forward with confidence in her bright future.

In the hustle and bustle of the city, I lost my sanity. Everywhere I turned, men moved like machines, gears grinding in a race to reach the top. Achievements piled high, yet faces grew hollow. I paused, wondering—where was the time for things we truly cherish? Perhaps buried beneath deadlines and desires, or tucked away in the dusty corners of the mind, saved for a “later” that never comes. As the city roared around me, I realized the cruel truth: in chasing everything, we risk losing ourselves. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the greatest loss of all.

Rain poured softly the day Krishna first saw Purvi—draped in yellow, lighting incense at the Ganapati pandal. Their eyes met like a prayer answered. Thunder rolled, but all he heard was her laughter. From borrowed umbrellas to shared street-side chai, their story bloomed. Every rain after felt like a song only they understood. When they wed under cloudy skies, even the priest smiled, “Blessed by Bappa Himself.” Years passed, but every drizzle pulled them back to that pandal, that glance, that moment. Love, like rain, sometimes arrives quietly—soaking deep, leaving music in its wake. Krishna and Purvi were always meant to be.