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AAVYA RAJAWAT

2 HOURS AGO

“And I always love you,” Papa looked into the camera, his face glowing with warmth as he carefully sliced the mango for me. I still remember that day. I was seven—tiny, carefree, full of demands. I had told him I loved mangoes, and the very next morning, he came home with an entire box, like it was his life’s mission to keep a smile on my face.

When I complained about the mango hair getting stuck in my teeth, he didn’t dismiss it like most grown-ups would. Instead, he patiently started cutting the mango into tiny, clean pieces so I wouldn’t struggle. “Aavya, do you like it?” Mum’s voice came from behind the camera, laced with affection. The little me nodded eagerly, not caring about the golden mango juice dripping onto my new pink t-shirt. My world was just mangoes and my Papa’s smile.