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Taking the sacred name of Ganpati Ji,lets begin ….                                      

                                            !! GANPATI BAPPA MORYA !! 🌸🐘

This is Chapter One of a book that lives very close to my heart.
Pouring these words onto the page was not easy this is, without a doubt, the longest chapter I have ever written i think  .

Dear readers, your love means everything to me.
Please don’t forget to vote, and do share your honest thoughts and reviews they give life to my words and strength to my journey.

 This story begins here… with faith, devotion, and endless love -

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Somewhere in Chhattisgarh
Nishtha’s POV

I was sitting right in the middle of the classroom, The morning assembly had already drained whatever little patience I had left, and now this , the hour I disliked the most . The teacher stood near the green-black board, chalk scratching against it , writing some theories that were supposed to shape our future—but all I could hear was the faint screech of chalk and the hum of my own thoughts growing louder by the second.

I stared at the board, but I wasn’t really seeing it. The green surface slowly stopped being a board in my mind and turned into something - It reminded me of fresh grass after rain, wide open and inviting. I imagined tiny barefoot children running across it, laughing freely, falling down, getting back up again without worrying about marks, attendance, or expectations. My lips curved into a faint smile without me even realizing it. I wondered how peaceful it would be to lie down on that grass, to close my eyes and let the world pause for just a moment.

My notebook lay open in front of me, pages painfully blank except for a few careless doodles at the corners. 

Suddenly, the teacher’s voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding.

“Nishtha,” she said, “Explain this theory.”

For a second, the name didn’t even register.I was still lost somewhere between green fields 

“Nishtha,” she repeated, louder this time.

I blinked. Once. Twice. My heart skipped, then began to race. Slowly, the classroom came back into focus

“Nishtha!” she shouted now.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My mind was blank.

“I… I—” I, my voice barely audible.

The teacher sighed, disappointment lining his face, and just as she was about to say something that would probably stay with me longer than the lesson itself, the \ voice -

“May I come in, mummah i mean mam?” a soft, hesitant voice asked.

Every head in the classroom turned at once, 

the sudden shift of attention making the air feel heavier than before. The teacher’s expression changed the moment she realized who stood at the door, her jaw tightening in a way that felt far more personal than professional.

“Adira,” she snapped sharply, her voice echoing against the walls, “how many times have I told you about punctuality?”

The room went silent. No whispers. No giggles. Everyone knew. —our strict Class teacher was Adira’s mother. And somehow, that made things worse for her, not better.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Adira said softly, eyes lowered, her voice calm but tired.

“Sorry doesn’t fix discipline,” her mother replied sternly. “Get out of the class. You are not allowed to enter before the lunch break.”

 She didn’t roll her eyes or try to explain. She simply hummed a quiet, almost defeated “okay,” turned around, and stepped outside, standing near the wall with her bag hanging loosely from her shoulder.

She didn’t look back even once.

I watched her from my seat, my fingers curling against the edge of the bench. 

The class went on as if nothing had happened. Time dragged. But my focus had already followed Adira outside the room.

When the bell finally rang for lunch break, the sound felt like relief crashing into my chest. Without thinking twice, I stood up and walked straight toward her, weaving past benches  until I reached the doorway where she stood, pretending to be unbothered.

“Why were you late?” I asked gently, my voice low .

She looked at me, then scoffed softly,. “You won’t believe this,” she said, shaking her head. “Mummah  herself told me in the morning to switch off the motor when it is full and not come to schooltill it is done .. I was literally doing what she asked. That’s why I got late.” 

She paused, then added bitterly, “And still, she threw me out. Don’t worry wait till I reach home. I’m definitely telling her everything.”

I laughed quietly, . “Leave it,” I said, nudging her arm lightly. “Teachers get stressed too. She probably had a lot on her mind.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re defending her now?”

“Not defending,” I replied with a shrug. “Just saying… come on. Let’s go roam around. As if we ever eat lunch properly anyway.”

She nodded instantly, the tension easing from her shoulders. “True. What’s even the point of food?”

We walked back into the classroom together to As soon as we reached my place , she stopped abruptly.

And then—thud.

She lightly smacked the back of my head.

“Ow what was that for?” I protested, rubbing my head dramatically.

She stared at the seat beside me, where another girl’s bag rested comfortably. Her eyes narrowed, mock-offended. She clapped her hands together sarcastically. “ WAAH SHAMPYY WAAHHH! ,  I’m late for five minutes and you’ve already changed the whole party?”

I blinked, then burst out laughing. “Are you mad? She came and sat on her own. I even told her that you’d be coming back and she should move, no tension at all.”

She didn’t say anything for a second, just looked at me then turned away with a dramatic sigh. I picked up the other girl’s bag immediately and carried it to the next bench, placing it carefully.

“There,” I said. “Problem solved.”

Adira’s lips curved into a small smile. She kept her bag right beside mine, the familiar comfort returning to its place like it always did. No apologies needed. Just understanding.

Without saying anything else, we turned and walked out of the classroom together, side by side, our steps falling into a quiet rhythm. 

The corridor outside felt louder , footsteps, and the smell  of lunch .

Sunlight slipped in through the long windows.

We didn’t speak at first. There was no hurry to fill the silence. 

“Why didn’t Iyana come today?” I asked casually, though I already had a feeling I knew the answer.

Adira let out a soft laugh, the kind that carried both amusement and familiarity. “She’s absentpaglu , idiot,” she said, nudging my shoulder lightly. “She’s probably lying at home buried in books. You remember how hard it was for her to even reach seventy-five percent attendance in tenth grade, right?”

I groaned dramatically. “Ugh, don’t remind me. She really is impossible.”

“She’s hopeless,” I muttered, half-laughing. 

She glanced at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exactly..”

Somewhere in Punjab
Author’s POV

The afternoon sun hung stubbornly above the school ground, pouring its heat onto the dry grass and the restless boys scattered across it . 

The ground echoed with whistles, shoes scraping against soil, and the sharp, commanding voice of  coaches .

Avyaan, completely done with life at this point, leaned heavily onto Aarvik’s shoulder, his entire body sagging as if his bones had quietly decided to resign.

“I’m exhausted,” he muttered dramatically, voice rough with breathlessness. “That idiot Treyaksh has already made us run fifteen rounds, and I swear, if he makes me do even one more, I’m going to break his head .. I really thought being his friend would mean less torture, but no—that dog makes us run more than everyone else on the ground.”

Avyaan slid further down, resting his head against Aarvik’s, Aarviks chin awkwardly perched on top of Avyaan’s hair, eyes half-closed, clearly using him as a human pillow without permission. 

Aarvik didn’t move. He just sighed,  but didn’t push him away either. There was a quiet understanding between them—

They sat there in the middle of the field, surrounded by noise and movement, yet somehow existing in their own exhausted bubble.

Before either of them could say anything else, a sudden sharp kick landed on Aarvikn’s back.

Aarvik barely reacted, lifting his head just enough to complain lazily, “Avyaan, look at this. I’m letting you rest on me like a good friend, and you’re hitting me?”

Avyaan finally stirred, turning his head slightly, brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you talking about? You’re the one heating on me. Don’t lie.”

They stared at each other for a second, too tired to even argue properly.

That’s when Treyaksh lost whatever patience he had left.

He kicked both of them at once, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to offend.

“I swear,” Aarvik groaned, straightening up slowly, rolling his shoulders. He turned to Avyaan with mock seriousness and whispered, “I’m going to kill you . One day. Not today—today I don’t have the energy.”

Treyaksh folded his arms, glaring at them like a disappointed captain  “I’m warning you both,” he said sharply. “If I see you sitting down again, I’ll make you do ten extra rounds.”

Both boys groaned in unison but stayed where they were, trying to look upright and obedient.

Treyaksh continued, his voice lowering, more controlled now, but heavier. “There’s an inter-school cricket competition in two weeks. And if you two keep doing this lying around, fooling off people will start saying I’m showing favoritism because you’re my friends. I won’t have that.”

He paused, his eyes flickering briefly with something softer before hardening again.

“Stand up properly. Right now.”

Something in his tone made them listen.

Avyaan straightened first, wincing slightly, stretching his legs, while Aarvik followed, brushing dust off his shorts. Neither of them complained this time. 

They knew Treyaksh wasn’t just shouting for the sake of it. He cared about the team, about the game, about them even if his care came wrapped in shouting and endless rounds.

As they began jogging again, slower now, matching each other’s pace, Avyaan leaned slightly toward Aarvik and murmured, “After this, I’m not talking to him for at least five minutes.”

Aarvik let out a tired laugh. “Five minutes? That’s generous.”

They ran on, feet pounding the ground, lungs burning . 

Author’s POV

By the time the clock crept close to four-thirty, the day had begun to loosen its grip on the sky. The harsh afternoon sun softened into a warm , stretching long shadows across the school ground.   

The school had allowed extra hours for the selected participants, and the field still breathed with tired footsteps, scattered kits, and boys ..

Treyaksh stood near the ground, sweat clinging to his hairline, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. He clapped his hands once, loudly enough to pull everyone’s attention toward him.

“Everyone here,” he called out. “Come on, gather in one place.”

Slowly, reluctantly, the boys moved toward him some limping, some laughing weakly, some dropping down right where they stood because standing itself felt like a task. They took a breath, scanning their faces, then spoke again -

“You all can rest for half an hour,” he said. “After that, we’ll do one full hour of individual batting practice. Then you’re free to go home.”

For a second, nobody reacted.

And then the ground practically collapsed.

Some boys dropped flat on the grass like they had been released from prison. Others cheered softly, stretching their arms, a few even laughing in disbelief. The relief was visible, , floating in the air like a reward they had earned honestly.

Treyaksh watched them for a moment, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, before jogging toward the small corner near the boundary where the helper bhaiya usually stayed.

“Bhaiya,” he said quickly, “please bring some refreshments for everyone. Anything light. They’re exhausted.”

The helper nodded immediately, already moving, and Treyaksh turned back toward the ground.

That’s when he saw them.

Avyaan and Aarvik sat a little away from the others,, arms crossed tightly across their chests, faces turned deliberately cold . They didn’t look at him. Not even once.

Treyaksh slowed his steps and walked toward them, stopping right in front of where they sat.

“You two,” he said carefully, trying not to sound hurt, “are you really not going to talk to me?”

Avyaan didn’t even lift his head. Instead, he leaned toward Aarvik and said loudly, “Aarvik… do you hear something?”

Aarvik played along instantly, eyes still fixed ahead. “What?”

“Sounds like a dog barking.”

Aarvik nodded seriously. “Strange. I don’t listen to dogs.”

Treyaksh let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He crouched down in front of them, elbows resting on his knees, voice softer now.

“Come on, yaar. Why are you acting like this with me?” he said. “I’m doing all of this for the team. And yes, I push you two harder but that’s because you know how it looks. The one who doesn’t  get selected tomorrow, they’ll say I favored my friends.”

Aarvik finally turned to look at him, eyes tired but sharp.
“So to protect your reputation, you make us suffer extra?” he said bluntly. “Nice. Very noble. Selfish, honestly.”

That hit harder than any joke.

Treyaksh’s face fell, his confidence cracking just enough to show what lay underneath.
“So… that’s what I am now?” he asked quietly, his voice low, almost unsure. “Selfish?”

Avyaan looked at him then really looked. 

He leaned closer to Aarvik and whispered, “Come on. Let it go. Forgive him.”

Aarvik rolled his eyes dramatically. “This is pure drama, Drama queen.”

Treyaksh heard that too. He straightened suddenly

“Okay, listen,” he said quickly. “Talk to me. Please. I’ll give you both one extra whatever bhaiya will being . And I’ll tell my mom to make pani gujha for you both special  promise.”

That did it.

Both Avyaan and Aarvik turned toward him at the same time, studying his face, the seriousness behind the joke, the hope hiding in his eyes.

Finally, Aarvik sighed and said, “Not because of pani gujha. I’m forgiving you because you’re my friend.”

Avyaan laughed loudly. “Wow. Aarvik, you sold yourself for one samosa and one pani gujha.”

Aarvik shot back instantly, “You sell yourself too.”

And before Treyaksh could react, Aarvik lunged forward, throwing his arms around him and pulling him down onto the grass. Avyaan followed a second later, collapsing beside them with a tired groan.

They lay there, backs against the earth, staring at the sky slowly turning orange and blue, laughter mixing with silence, exhaustion blending into comfort. 

Someone shouted from the far end of the ground, someone else burst into laughter over a bad joke, a whistle blew somewhere near the nets

That moment was broken warmly when helper bhaiya finally walked toward them, a large cardboard box balanced carefully in his arms. The faint, unmistakable smell of freshly fried samosas drifted through the air before anyone even saw what he was carrying.

“Arre bhaiya aa gaye!” someone yelled from the group nearby.

Bhaiya smiled, placing the box down and opening it, steam rising softly as he began distributing samosas to everyone, one by one, moving patiently across the ground like this small act of food was his quiet contribution to their tired happiness.

Treyaksh pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at the box, then glanced at Avyaan and Aarvik with mock seriousness. “See,” he said lightly, pretending to clear his throat, “I did say something nice would happen if you talked to me.”

Before he could finish the sentence, Aarvik smacked the back of his head not hard, just enough to shut him up and without a second thought, grabbed the entire box of samosas, pulling it toward himself like a dragon protecting treasure.

“Hey!” Treyaksh protested, sitting up fully now. “That’s for everyone!”

Avyaan laughed so hard he had to bend forward, clutching his stomach. “Aarvik has officially lost it. This is what hunger does to a man.”

Aarvik ignored them both, already grabbing one samosa and taking an exaggerated bite. “This,” he said through a mouthful

Treyaksh snorted, reaching out to steal one from the box anyway. “You’re impossible.”

Soon, the three of them were sitting cross-legged on the grass, sharing samosas, teasing each other endlessly, deliberately taking bites from the same piece just to annoy one another , pushing shoulders, stealing food, and arguing over who had taken the bigger bite. 

Between laughter and crumbs falling onto the grass, Treyaksh suddenly pulled out his phone. “Wait,” he said, standing up slightly and walking a few steps away. “I need to call home.”

Avyaan raised an eyebrow. “Already hungry again?”

Treyaksh ignored him and dialed quickly. The call barely rang once before it was answered.

“Mummy,” he said instantly, his tone softer, familiar, lighter. “Listen, please make pani gujha today. We’ll come back by eight.”

From the other end, his mother’s voice came through clear and decisive. “Okay. I’ll send your sister to buy khoaa.”(खोआ)

Before Treyaksh could even respond, she turned away from the phone and shouted loudly, “Kritiiiii! Get up, put the phone down, and go bring khoaa from the shop!”

Treyaksh froze for a second, then burst out laughing, holding the phone away from his ear. He didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye before the call disconnected on its own.

He looked back at Avyaan and Aarvik, still smiling. “She didn’t even let me finish.”

Avyaan grinned. “Aunty doesn’t play around.”

They laughed again, easy and unguarded, the kind of laughter that didn’t need reasons or explanations.

Back at Agrawal Haweli

The Agrawal Haweli came alive long before the boys returned, as it always did slowly,, 

Treyaksh’s mother, hands on her waist, eyes sparkling with a familiar mischief only elders who adored children ever carried.

“Children,” she called out loudly, her voice reaching every corner of the haveli, “tell me honestly—do you want to eat pani gujha?”

For half a second, there was silence.

And then chaos.

“Haaaaa, chachi!”
“Yes, yes, tayiji—big mummy!”
“Please make it sweetuuu!”
“More filling for me!”

The younger kids jumped in excitement, the teenage ones pretended to be calm but failed miserably, and even the older cousins smiled knowingly, already imagining the taste.

 From the inner courtyard, Treyaksh’s chachi and tayiji walked in, drawn by the noise and the familiar excitement.

“So, bhabhi,” chachi said with a teasing smile, adjusting her dupatta, “is this a pani gujha plan today?”

Treyaksh’s mother nodded, already moving toward the kitchen. “It is,” she replied simply, like it was the most natural decision in the world.

Without another word, the three women walked into the kitchen together, the heart of the haveli, where warmth didn’t come just from the stove but from shared memories and practiced teamwork.

 Rice flour was taken out, water was set to boil, and his tayiji began preparing the khoya mixture carefully crumbling the khoaa, adding sugar, mixing it with slow patience .

Meanwhile, outside, the haveli echoed with children shouting, laughing, chasing one another across the courtyard, their voices blending into something chaotic yet comforting.

Chachi stirred the boiling water and smiled softly. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “a house only feels like a home when it’s filled with children’s noise.”

Treyaksh’s mother laughed, nodding in agreement, while tayiji smiled quietly, her hands never stopping their work.

“Bhabhi,” Treyaksh’s mother said after a moment, “you two go ahead and prepare the dinner. Papa ji has given all the helpers the day off today. We’ll all sit together and eat—family food, cooked by his bahus hands. You know the rule—Saturday and Sunday are for togetherness.”

She paused, then added with a fond smile, “And Treyaksh is bringing his Changu-Mangu today.”

Chachi laughed immediately. “Treyaksh and his Changu-Mangu,” she repeated. “They’ve been together since childhood. It feels good seeing friendships last like that.”

Treyaksh’s mother shook her head,  “Sometimes I feel he’ll bring a son-in-law home instead of bahu ,” she said dramatically. ”

Tayiji burst into laughter. “Oh bhabhi!” she exclaimed, shaking her head, amusement written all over her face.

Soon, the kitchen returned to its rhythm. Hot water was slowly mixed into the rice flour, kneaded carefully until it formed a soft, sticky dough. 

Treyaksh’s mother shaped each gujhiya with practiced hands, filling them with the sweet khoaa mixture, sealing them gently as if each one held a little piece of her affection. 

The stove burned steadily as the pani gujhas cooked, filling the air with a warm, comforting aroma that drifted through the haveli.

Once everything was set, she looked up and said softly, “Bhabhi, you go check on the children. I’ll finish the sabzi.”

Tayiji nodded and left the kitchen, her footsteps calm, unhurried.

By the time the clock crept toward eight-thirty, the haveli lights glowed warmly, the courtyard settled into quieter laughter, and just then, the front gate creaked open.

“Treyaksh aa gaya!” someone shouted.

Treyaksh walked in, tired but smiling, Avyaan and Aarvik beside him—his Changu and Mangu, just as promised. 

Dust still clung to their shoes, hair slightly messy, faces carrying the exhaustion of the day and the comfort of belonging.

Before they could even say anything, Treyaksh’s mother appeared, wiping her hands on her dupatta, eyes immediately softening at the sight of them.

“You’re finally home,” she said warmly. “Wash your hands quickly. The pani gujha is ready.”

Avyaan looked at Aarvik, eyes lighting up. Aarvik grinned. Treyaksh smiled wider.

                                            Thank you for reading !!