STORY

It didn’t begin like a story. There was no background music, no slow motion, no dramatic entry  just a normal day in a normal place, and then… I saw her, and for a second something strange happened, not outside but inside, as if everything paused, as if the noise around forgot its purpose, as if time itself took a small break just to let me notice her. I didn’t understand it then, and honestly, I still don’t fully understand it now.

She wasn’t trying to be noticed, no effort, no display, just… her, and maybe that’s why it felt different. There was a calmness around her like peace had chosen a human form. I didn’t go and talk, I didn’t interrupt her world, I just observed her quietly, like someone watching a beautiful moment without wanting to disturb it. And that day something changed because I realized beauty is not always something you see, sometimes it’s something you feel.

She wasn’t loud, she wasn’t trying to impress, and still she became the only thing my mind could focus on, like a poem I never planned to read but couldn’t stop once I started.

And then came her smile  simple, soft, real, not the kind people practice but the kind that belongs to the heart. And I noticed something, her smile doesn’t just show happiness, it creates it, like sunlight entering a quiet room.

And then there was this small funny truth, the way her eyes light up when she sees chicken biryani. I once seriously thought, “am I competing with biryani now?” 😄 But honestly, seeing her that happy, that pure unfiltered joy, didn’t make me jealous, it made me smile, because someone who finds happiness in such simple things is never ordinary.

She is not a baby, but sometimes she feels like one, in her innocence, her softness, the way she reacts to small things. And sometimes when she wears something simple, she looks so delicate, like something you naturally want to protect without even knowing why.

But when she wears traditional, everything changes, not loudly but deeply. She doesn’t look like someone trying to be beautiful, she looks like she already is  like Sita Mahalakshmi, graceful, calm, untouched by noise, the kind of beauty that doesn’t fade with time.

And sometimes she looks at me, just for a second, and I don’t know what happens in that moment, but my thoughts lose direction. I forget what I was doing. Nothing dramatic happens, but something shifts.

She likes walking in the rain, and somehow the rain feels lucky because it gets to touch her without asking. She likes flowers, but she doesn’t know she herself is like one, soft, natural, unaware of her own beauty.

She loves chocolates and cupcakes, but when she smiles while eating them, it feels like everything around melts faster than chocolate, because happiness like that is rare.

She loves clicking pictures, but there is something she doesn’t know. No camera can ever capture her completely, because her beauty is not just in how she looks, it is in how she feels, like sand slipping through fingers  you can see it, but you can’t hold it fully.

And when she speaks in her mother tongue, it feels like words are not just spoken but flowing, soft and sweet, like a song you don’t fully understand but still feel completely.

And when she feels shy, it feels like the world slows down again, like even the sky leans closer just to witness that moment. There is something so pure in that shyness that you don’t want to disturb it.

I never tried to enter her world, I never tried to disturb her peace. I just stayed at a distance, observing, respecting, caring silently, not as someone who wants something from her, but as someone who only wishes, “may she always stay this happy.”

I never planned to write this, but maybe some stories don’t ask permission, they just happen, and one day you find yourself writing things you never thought you would.

If this were a movie, I wouldn’t be the hero, I would be the quiet observer, the one who noticed everything but said very little.

I don’t know if this is love, or admiration, or something in between, but I know this  some people are not meant to be explained, they are meant to be felt.

And if someone ever asks me what makes her special, I will just say, “she is simple… and somehow, that is the most beautiful thing about her,” and maybe one day I will tell her all this, or maybe I won’t, because some stories are too beautiful to be disturbed by words ❤️