56. B’DAY
DIYA
The main hall of the NGO is louder than it has ever been.
Handmade paper streamers hang from the ceiling fans, children run from one corner to another, and the sweet smell of fresh marigolds and hot jalebis fills the warm afternoon air.
I stand in the middle of it all wearing a slightly crooked cardboard crown that keeps slipping over my hair.
For a second, I simply stare.
My chest feels so full that it almost hurts.
Birthdays have never looked like this.
Growing up, they were just another date on a calendar. Papa never remembered them, and at the orphanage, birthdays usually meant an extra banana or a sweet if the donations had been good that month.
That was enough.
Or at least . . . I had convinced myself it was.
But today . . . Today, people actually remembered. Today, they celebrate me.
A lump rises in my throat so quickly that I have to blink back tears.
"Happy birthday, Diya didi!" Rani suddenly jumps in front of me, nearly knocking the cardboard crown off my head again.
Laila joins her, both of them breaking into the most uncoordinated dance I've ever seen while Keshav claps dramatically from the side.
"She'll cry before we even cut the cake," he announces.
"I told you she would."
"I'm not crying," I protest immediately.
"You are."
"I'm absolutely not."
"You have shiny eyes," Rani says proudly. "That's crying."
"I'm emotionally . . . hydrated."
The children burst into laughter. Even Raj, standing beside the handmade banner, signs, “Liar” with the biggest grin on his face.
I laugh through the tears threatening to fall. The banner behind him is painted in uneven blue letters.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIYA DIDI
It's crooked. The paint has dripped in three places. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Before I can say anything, Meher bhabhi sa walks over. She gently places a hand on my shoulder. Her smile is soft . . . warm, the kind that always makes me feel safe.
"Happy birthday, Diya," she says quietly. "I'm so grateful you became part of this family."
My heart squeezes painfully.
Family.
That word used to feel like something I wasn't allowed to have. Now I hear it so often that it almost feels normal.
Almost.
Beside her, Poorvi lifts a tablet with a bright smile.
The screen lights up. "Happy birthday!" Sitara practically screams through the video call. Dhruv waves from behind her.
"We wanted to be there!" he says. "But business is cruel, right now."
"So we'll celebrate twice." Sitara jumps enthusiastically, her happiness radiating through the screen. "We're stealing you for dinner the next time we're home."
I laugh, wiping my eyes. "You two are impossible."
"And you love us," Sitara grins.
I do.
Looking around the room, my fingers brush absentmindedly over the pale patches on my hand.
There was a time when I would have hidden them immediately.
Today . . . I don't even think about it. Not because they've disappeared. But because nobody here makes me feel like they should.
These people don't look at my skin first.
They look at me.
For the first time in my life . . . That difference means everything.
"You are being far too emotional for someone who loves organizing events," That deep voice reaches me before the familiar scent of woodsmoke does. "You really thought there would be no birthday party?"
I don't even have to turn around.
My heart already knows it's him.
Veeraj steps beside me, his sleeves rolled up, looking far less like a prince and much more like the man who spent two hours helping children decorate this hall without complaining once.
His eyes meet mine.
And suddenly the noise around us fades.
He reaches up and gently fixes the cardboard crown that has slipped sideways. His fingers brush my temple. "So careless," he murmurs. "My queen deserves a properly fitted crown."
Heat rushes straight to my cheeks. "I am not emotional, Kunwar Sa," I murmur, trying very hard to sound serious. "I am simply conducting a professional inspection of the sugar levels in those sweets."
I point toward the dessert table.
"If Rani eats six laddoos and starts climbing the curtains, I'm sending the repair bill directly to the palace."
He laughs softly. "I'll approve the budget." Then he leans just a little closer. "But only because today belongs to you."
His eyes don't leave mine. "Happy birthday, my wife."
His voice is quiet now.
Gentle.
"So many people failed you before they ever gave you a chance."
His thumb brushes lightly against my cheek. "I can't change your past. I wish I could." His expression so soft, it almost makes me cry, "I wish I could go back and celebrate every birthday they ignored." He cups my face, "I wish I could tell that little girl she was always worthy of being loved."
My vision blurs.
His smile softens. "But I can promise you this .
. . You will never spend another birthday wondering if someone remembered.
" His words hold meaning, "You'll never celebrate alone again.
" He pecks my cheek, "As long as I'm here .
. . I'll celebrate every version of you.
" He kisses my eyes, "The little girl who deserved better.
" Then my nose, "The woman who built a home for these children.
" Then my forehead, "And the wife who somehow made a man like me believe in happiness. "
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.
My heart feels impossibly full.
How did I get so lucky?
How does someone who spent years believing she wasn't enough end up being loved like this?
Sometimes I still wait for it to disappear. For someone to tell me this isn't really mine. But then Veeraj looks at me like this . . . And every fear quietly melts away.
I grip the front of his shirt to steady myself.
"You keep saying things that make it impossible not to cry," I whisper.
"That's because you keep looking beautiful when you do."
I let out a watery laugh. "You are impossible."
"I've been informed of that several times."
He smiles before lowering his voice just enough that only I can hear. "I do have one more birthday gift waiting for you."
"Oh?"
"It stays safely inside our room." He smirks and then winks at me.
I narrow my eyes. "Should I be concerned?"
"Not concerned." He pretends to think for a second. "Curious, perhaps."
I lightly smack his arm. "There are children standing five feet away."
"And?"
"You have no shame."
"None whatsoever." He agrees.
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. "You are completely hopeless."
"For you?" He smiles. "Always."
Before I can answer, Rani runs between us carrying a plate nearly bigger than her face.
"Didi! It's cake time! No more romance! The cake is melting!"
Everyone laughs.
Raj signs, “Thank god, I want that cake.” He huffs, while Keshav starts chanting my name loud enough for the entire building to hear.
Within seconds the whole hall joins in.
"Happy Birthday to you . . . " The children sing completely off-key.
Nobody cares.
I look around the room.
At Meher bhabhi sa smiling proudly. Devraj bhai sa next to her, clapping while holding a sleepy Aadhya in his arms.
Poorvi recording everything and Vihaan unaware of the world as he smiles softly, his eyes only on his wife.
Sitara and Dhruv singing through the tablet.
The children shouting my name between laughs.
And Veeraj . . . Standing quietly beside me with his fingers still loosely wrapped around mine.
A few months ago I thought I had built a life.
Today I realize . . . I have built a family.
As everyone finishes singing, I look up at Veeraj.
Without thinking, I stand on my toes and press a soft kiss against his jaw.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He smiles before resting his forehead against mine for a brief second.
"No, Trouble." He gently squeezes my hand. "Thank you . . . for giving all of us a place to belong."
And somehow . . . On my birthday . . . That becomes the greatest gift of all.