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Four Years Later
Location: Northern Frontier | Time: Early Winter Twilight
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Winter had come not gently, but with the full dominion of Jack Frost, cloaking the land in an endless tide of snow.
Snowdrifts rose like white dunes, resting on rooftops, smothering treetops, weighing down the silent arms of conifers that once danced green in the summer wind. Every path was veiled in white, and even the evergreens surrendered their vividness beneath silver sheets.
Jack Frost had summoned the North Wind—a roaring phantom that wrapped itself in icy furs, crashing through chimney pots of old cottages and rattling doors with mischief. The wind howled stories through the valleys and whispered ancient lullabies to the children tucked within.
The world, as far as one could see, was nothing but white and wonder.
The sun had long descended.
Dusk had turned to night.
And under a clear sky, the stars now shimmered like spilled diamonds on black velvet.
It was a full moon night, and the light fell on the snow, making it glisten like countless suns spread across the earth. Every flake sparkled, every shadow shimmered. The universe looked endless. Limitless. Timeless.
And in the heart of that poetic silence...
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A tiny, snow-gloved palm lifted toward the sky and pointed to the stars.
"Mama! Daddy came, Daddy came!"
"Let's have dinner together, mama... And get ready for tonight's play!"
A bubbly voice, warm and musical, broke through the cold hush of the winter world.
She had eyes like blackcurrant gems and a nose powdered with snow. Her cheeks glowed pink against the frost, and her smile could melt even the iciest wind.
She was Miss Anshuman Aadyanshi Singh Rajput.
Now four years old—bubbling with life, joy, and innocence. A spirit untouched by the sorrows of the world that bore her.
Dressed in a blue wool skirt and white knit sweater, with puffed socks and old-fashioned grey boots, she looked like she had stepped right out of a fairytale painting. A snowy crown on her head and chocolate smears near her lips completed the portrait of this delightful mischief.
She had been raised in poetry, and now she lived like one.
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🕊️
**"Soft and cuddly. Warm and wanting,
Love sprouting with every smile;
Blue skirt, white shirt, bobble socks,
Grey boots, long out of style.
Mushy lips and chocolate face,
Tiny palms in snow's embrace.
Powdered nose and snoopy soap,
Baths with bubbles, dreams and hope.
No matter how the years may flow,
Or how far she'll ever go—
Through scraped-up knees and childhood tease,
She'll be the princess, always so."**
🕊️
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But pause... Look closer.
Behind her stands a tall, proud figure.
Clad in a military uniform, badges glinting under the moonlight, eyes sharp as a hawk, heart heavy with purpose—this was Major Abhishek Singh Rajput, younger brother of Mr. Anshuman Singh Rajput.
Now a decorated officer stationed in the North Range—Jammu and Kashmir, one of India's most volatile and honored frontlines.
A soldier by title.
But a guardian by choice.
Aadyanshi tugged his hand as if he were her entire world.
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"Snokeflake!" came a sweet call from behind.
"Come inside, dinner is ready. Let's not keep the stew waiting, my cupcake princess!"
The voice belonged not to her mother...
But to her aunt, Miss Abhishnigdha Chakrabarty, younger sister of Mrs. Rajput.
She had taken on the dual role of caregiver and companion, wrapping Aadyanshi in love like warm mittens. She called her Snokeflake, for she had been born in snow and was as rare and beautiful as one.
They were a family—but not the one that once was.
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And here, beneath the moon-draped sky, a silent question lingered in the air—
Where is Mr. Anshuman Singh Rajput?
Where is Mrs. Triveni Rajput?
What happened to them in these past four years?
Why is the daughter of a once-mighty couple being raised not by her parents... but by her uncle and aunt?
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The answer lives in the whispers of the hospital halls from that night long ago.
It breathes in the frozen room where a man lies still... eyes closed... body warm but unmoving.
For Mr. Rajput still rests in his Persistent Vegetative State, alive... but untouched by time.
His heart beats—but his soul wanders through dreams unknown.
As for Mrs. Rajput... her story is not forgotten.
After that tragic night, the weight of love, pain, and loss crushed her.
She disappeared from public view.
Some say she was admitted to a rehabilitation facility.
Some believe she visits her husband every full moon, whispering lullabies.
And some... claim she left to seek something even she didn't understand.
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But one truth remains firm.
Aadyanshi, their daughter, lives and grows with the love of two warriors—
One of blood and one of bond.
And while the frost continues to veil the earth and time flows silently like snowfall,
The Rajput legacy lives on—
In a smile, in a twirl, in a pair of mittens gripping tightly to hope.
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To be continued…