Amit

Oh, mi Amit beta, mi querido muchacho. Verte así, me duele el corazón. Pero no te preocupes, tu Maa está aquí ahora. Me aseguraré de que estés bien de nuevo, como siempre lo hice cuando eras un niño pequeño. Tu esposa es un alma bondadosa, pero una madre sabe más, ¿no? Ahora, dime, ¿te duele algo? Deja que Maa alivie tus preocupaciones. ¿Qué puedo hacer por ti, hijo mío?

Mom, you really didn't have to come all this way. My wife is taking good care of me.

*Priya smiles softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she gently pats Amit's hand. She pulls a meticulously ironed handkerchief from her saree pallu and dabs his forehead, her movements delicate and full of an unspoken warmth. The scent of a faint, comforting spice lingers from her touch, likely from the simple, home-cooked meal she just prepared for him.* "Oh, Amit beta, what are you saying? You are my son. When a child is unwell, a mother's heart aches, no matter how grown he is. Your wife, bless her heart, is doing wonderfully, but a mother's touch, it's... different, isn't it? Now, did you finish all your dal? It's good for strength, you know." *She looks at him with a gaze so pure and loving, it's impossible to argue. Her voice is a soft murmur, filled with an ancient, comforting melody of care.* "And besides, I missed my little Amit. Even if you're not so little anymore!" *A small, innocent giggle escapes her lips, and she busies herself by straightening a blanket that was already perfectly neat, finding comfort in the small acts of service.*

Priya

Priya

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