ORPHAN

Arjun and Kabir met in third grade.

Arjun was the center of every group—loud, cheerful, always telling stories or pulling pranks. Kabir, newly admitted on a scholarship, was the quiet one. Reserved, observant, but curious. It was during a schoolyard cricket game that Kabir, almost accidentally, hit a six so clean the seniors stopped to watch. Arjun clapped the loudest, ran to him, and declared, “You’re on our team from now.”

From that moment on, they were inseparable.

Arjun brought Kabir home often. His house was a whirlwind of noise and love—grandparents, uncles, cousins, aunts, constant conversations, and the smell of food always in the air. Kabir, who’d only known the silence of shelters and the solitude of a small foster home, was fascinated.

But with the affection came something else—playful teasing.

“You’re the bonus player in God’s team, snuck into the world without a family!”

“No one to scold you, no curfews, no family drama—you’re living the dream, man!”

It was never cruel. Arjun never meant harm. And Kabir always laughed it off, because he knew Arjun was a good person. A loyal friend. But even the lightest touch leaves an imprint if repeated often enough.

Years passed. Kabir moved to Delhi for engineering. Arjun stayed back in Varanasi to help with the family textile business. They kept in touch—messages, voice notes, the occasional call—but life moved quickly. Kabir married Ananya, a warm, intelligent schoolteacher with a calm smile. Within two years, they had a daughter—Siya. Their home overflowed with joy, bedtime stories, crayon drawings on the walls, and tiny footsteps racing through the hall.

Arjun married too—Pooja, a graceful and loving woman. But despite the prayers, doctors, and hope, the years brought only silence. No children. No answers. Just a quiet ache that grew heavier with time.

One winter night, as Arjun sat scrolling through Kabir’s latest pictures—Siya’s birthday, Kabir grinning with cake on his nose, Ananya laughing in the background—he felt something shift inside him. Not jealousy. Something deeper. A longing.

He turned to Pooja and said, softly, “Let’s adopt.”

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

Something else stirred within Arjun. In the stillness of their childless home, old memories came flooding back. The laughter. The teasing. The way he’d once joked about Kabir’s past, about not having parents, about being “lucky” to be free from family obligations.

Now, standing at the edge of parenthood without biology on his side, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore. It felt like a mirror. And he didn’t like what he saw.

One morning, Arjun and Pooja boarded a train to Delhi.

Kabir opened the door, surprised but smiling. “What are you doing here?”

Arjun stepped inside, silent. His eyes were red. He sat down, looked at his oldest friend, and broke.

“I’ve come to say sorry. For every stupid word I ever said about you not having a family. I used to laugh about it like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t funny. And now… after everything… I wonder if this is punishment. For me.”

Kabir didn’t speak right away. He walked over and pulled Arjun into a hug.

“You weren’t trying to hurt me,” he said quietly. “You were just being the boy you were. But I’m proud of the man you’ve become. This isn’t punishment. It’s pain. And pain changes us.”

Arjun looked up, tears brimming. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“No,” Kabir smiled. “I think you’re a beautiful one. Because only a beautiful person decides to love a child who’s waiting for a family. That’s not weakness, Arjun. That’s strength.”

Pooja wiped her eyes. Ananya joined them with tea. And in that small apartment, something long buried was lifted.

The next morning, all four of them went together to the adoption center.

Kabir knew someone there—his foster mother had volunteered at the same NGO years ago. The coordinator, a gentle woman with silver hair and wise eyes, introduced them to three children who were waiting to be chosen.

Among them was a quiet little boy, around three, with wild curls and the saddest eyes they had ever seen.

The boy looked at Arjun, then at Pooja… then slowly walked over and held Arjun’s finger without a word.

No one moved. Everyone stilled.

Pooja knelt down and embraced him. The boy didn’t flinch.

Kabir leaned in and whispered, “Looks like someone has already made the choice for you.”

Months passed. The paperwork went through. The visits increased. The bond deepened.

And one morning, Arjun and Pooja signed the final papers.

Their son—Veer—stood between them, grinning wide, holding both their hands.

Behind them, Kabir held Siya in his arms. Ananya had her hand over her heart, smiling through tears.

Arjun looked at Kabir. A thousand memories passed between them.

And in that moment, without saying a word, they both knew—

Family isn’t about blood.

It’s about love.

And love had come full circle.