My mother's hand: A story by Narayani V Manapadam
What a homecoming it was!! My dad checked my temperature. 100°F. "Have a paracetamol and take rest", he advised me. I nodded. Had it been a mistake to return home? No, this must be a figment of my hyperactive imagination. Just then, granny came with a bowl of piping hot chicken soup. I took it gratefully. That soothed my throat. But why was I missing something? "I have prepared your bed, dear", granny smiled at me. I looked at her. A pregnant pause followed. It was now or never! "Granny. I will sleep in mom's room." My dad opened his mouth to say something, but a fierce glare from granny made him stop. "As you wish, Freya." I opened the door to her room. A pristine white bedsheet had been draped over the cot. I recognized the floral pattern. Her hands indeed possessed magic. I lay down on the bed and drew the quilt over my hot body. I closed my eyes. How many hours passed? Or was it minutes? That unmistakable soft touch of her hand. Caressing