The house grew unbearably quiet after Arjun's departure. The bundles of money lay untouched on the table, mocking the years of sacrifice.
Meera wept, clutching her saree pallu, whispering his name like a prayer. Raghavan sat in the wooden chair, staring at the notes. His hands trembled as he picked them up, only to let them fall again.
"What use is this now?" he muttered. "We saved for love… and lost it."
Days turned into months. Arjun did not return, not even for festivals. Phone calls stopped. The money remained locked away, growing stale like forgotten bread.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the neem tree, Raghavan and Meera sat side by side, surrounded by their silent wealth. They realized, too late, that love cannot be stored, hidden, or purchased.
They had saved for a lifetime, but lost the one thing they could never buy—
their son's heart.
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💔 The End