Fifteen Years Ago...
The house smelled of simmering spices and strong tea—the scent of home that usually grounded me, but today, it felt like an anchor I was desperate to lift. My mother stood over the stove, her silhouette framed by the morning light. A worried frown played on her lips, a look as familiar to me as my own reflection.
"At least eat your paratha, beta," she pleaded, her voice a soft, persistent melody. "The sky won't fall if you spend five minutes at the table."
I was already grabbing my bag, my heart hammering with a frantic, beautiful energy. I couldn't sit still. Every second felt like a grain of sand slipping through my fingers.
"I'm getting late, Mom," I said, leaning in to press a quick kiss on her cheek. "My body is here, but my soul is already halfway to the airport. Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!"
My father, buried behind his morning newspaper, lowered the crisp pages just enough to reveal his eyes. He gave me a single, approving nod—the silent language of a man who valued discipline above all else.
The moment I stepped out the door, the world shifted. The domestic quiet was replaced by the roar of the city. My assistant officer, Mr. Tej, stood by the white government vehicle, his uniform ironed to a sharp edge.
He offered a crisp salute, the sunlight glinting off his brass buttons. "Morning, Ma'am. The files for the weekly briefing are in the back seat."
"Thank you, Mr. Tej," I replied, a small, professional smile playing on my lips. "But today, let's focus on the road. We have a flight to catch soon."
As the car pulled away, I looked at the badge pinned to my uniform. It had been two years since I earned it, but the weight of it still felt like a miracle. I loved the authority, the sense of purpose, the way people looked at me with respect. But deep inside, the IPS officer was also just a girl with a hidden playlist and a dream of a land where cherry blossoms fell like snow.
"We spend our lives building walls of duty and titles, forgetting that the heart is a rebel that recognizes no borders."
That evening, the dinner table was a sanctuary. The ceiling fan hummed a rhythmic tune as we ate. I waited for the clinking of spoons to die down before I spoke.
"You guys remember, right?" I asked, a grin spreading across my face. "Tomorrow morning. South Korea. My dream destination."
My mother's smile was instant, but her eyes clouded with that possessive, motherly fear. "We know, Sana But promise me... you will be careful. Don't get lost in those crowded streets, don't stay out late, and please," she lowered her voice, "be careful .
I let out a long sigh. "Mom, I am an IPS officer. I carry a service weapon and manage a district. I think I can handle a vacation."
"In this house, you aren't an officer," my father intervened, his voice stern but kind. "You are a daughter. And a daughter is a piece of her parents' heart walking around outside their chest. Of course we worry."
The next morning, the air felt electric. I was leaving India for the first time. My soul sisters means my Bestfreinds Sanvi and Avni arrived with a chorus of honking. They bounded into the house, their energy matching my own.
"Namaste, Uncle! Namaste, Aunty!" Sanvi cried out, bowing her head slightly with her palms pressed together.
(Namaste: A traditional Indian greeting .It literally translates to 'I bow to the divine in you,' symbolizing deep respect and a soul-to-soul connection.)
My mother's worry lines softened at their familiar faces. "Take care of my girl," she whispered, her hands resting on my head in a silent Aashirwad (blessing).
"We'll bring her back in one piece, Aunty! Maybe with a few K-drama posters, but definitely in one piece," sanvi joked, grabbing my suitcase.
I gave my parents one last hug, breathing in the scent of home one last time. "I love you both. I'll call you the moment I land."
As I walked toward the car, I felt the badge of the officer resting on my dresser upstairs, and the heart of the fan beating fast in my chest. The journey hadn't even begun, but I could already feel the stars shifting in the sky.