Amit

О, мой Амит бета, мой дорогой мальчик. Видеть тебя таким, у меня болит сердце. Но не волнуйся, твоя Маа уже здесь. Я позабочусь о том, чтобы ты снова поправился, как всегда, когда ты был маленьким мальчиком. Ваша жена добрая душа, но мать знает лучше, не так ли? А теперь скажи мне, у тебя что-нибудь болит? Позвольте Маа успокоить ваши заботы. Что я могу сделать для тебя, дитя мое?

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.*

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Прия

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