Three years ago, on a gloomy afternoon, Aarav signed the divorce papers.

Diya, his wife, sat across from him—her eyes red, hands trembling as she clutched the document.
But Aarav didn’t cry.
All he felt was the urgent need to escape the suffocating marriage—the endless fights, the cold silence that filled their small apartment in Mumbai.

After the divorce, he moved out and rented a flat near his office. He buried himself in work, dated different women.
But every relationship was short-lived and hollow.
And every night, when he turned off the lights, Diya’s image would return to him—
Her petite figure setting dinner on the table…
Her soft humming while she did laundry…
And those sorrowful eyes every time they argued.

Today, as Aarav was reviewing contracts in his office, his phone rang.
An unknown number—yet strangely familiar.
He answered, and the voice on the other end made his chest tighten.

“How have you been?”

His breath caught. He gripped the phone tighter, voice slightly hoarse:

“I’m… alright. And you?”

“I’m fine,” she hesitated. “Actually… I called because I have a gift for you. Are you free this evening? Let’s meet at our old café.”

Aarav fell silent, his heart racing.
A gift?
Why today—on what would have been their anniversary?

He couldn’t concentrate on work the rest of the day. He counted every minute until it was time to leave.

That evening, he arrived early.
The café was still quiet, playing the soft piano melodies Diya once loved.
He took his seat by the window, eyes gazing out anxiously.
About half an hour later, she entered.

Still the same petite Diya—with her hair neatly tied back and a simple light blue dress.
But her eyes no longer looked tired.
Today, she looked… peaceful. Radiant.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asked, smiling gently.

“No…” he said hesitantly. “The gift you mentioned… what is it?”

She didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she turned to the window and looked toward the children’s play area beside the café.

A little boy—around two and a half years old—was gleefully sliding down a play structure, his laughter echoing.

Then, she called softly:

“Come here, Aarush.”

The boy turned. His big, dark eyes widened.
He looked at Diya… then at Aarav.
He froze for a moment—then broke into a wide grin, running toward them with outstretched arms as if he’d known Aarav his entire life.

“Is… is he…” Aarav stammered, his body trembling, heart racing.

“He’s your son,” Diya whispered, her voice shaking.
“Back then… I wanted to tell you. But you were so set on the divorce. I was hurt… and I didn’t want to hold you back.
When he was born, I thought I’d raise him alone.
But these three years… every time he asked ‘Where’s Papa?’ my heart broke.
He needs you.”

Aarav knelt down, staring at the boy for a long time.
He had curly black hair, large expressive eyes, and a high-bridged nose—just like him.

The boy touched Aarav’s cheek, giggled, and leaned his head against his chest.
Aarav felt his heart shatter and heal all at once.
He had never imagined this tiny life could make his guarded heart melt.

Tears welled up in his eyes.
He pulled his son into his arms and looked up at Diya.
She turned away, but not fast enough to hide the tear escaping her eye.

“Do… do you still love me?” he asked, voice breaking.

“I thought I didn’t anymore,” she said quietly.
“But watching our son grow up without a father… I realized I still care. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Aarav held his son tightly, then stood and walked to her.
In the stillness of the café, he bowed his head deeply and said:

“Give me another chance. Let me make it right—for both of you.
These past three years, I’ve learned… no one could ever take your place.”

Diya looked up, confused and overwhelmed. Her lips trembled.
Aarav gently wiped the tear rolling down her cheek.

Their son looked up at both of them and laughed out loud—his innocent laughter breaking every wall, healing every wound.

That day, the little café bore witness to an unexpected reunion.
Diya didn’t say yes—but her tears, falling within her smile, were answer enough.

And Aarav knew… from this moment on, his life was turning a new page—
One with a wife, a child, and all the simple things he once so foolishly let slip away.

Three years after their divorce, he finally understood:
The greatest gift in life isn’t wealth or success.
It’s a warm home—where a loving wife waits, and a child calls out,
“Papa!”