Part Two: The Life We Choose
1015 Words
A Seat at the Table
The first time Arjun and Kabir attended a family wedding together, it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. They were “just friends,” at least in everyone’s eyes.
But something changed this time.
They entered together, dressed in soft shades of cream and gold, looking like they belonged — to each other, and the moment.
Tanya, who hadn’t seen them in a while, hugged them both tight and whispered, “Finally showing the world, huh?”
Kabir grinned. “Not the whole world. But our little part of it.”
Later that night, an uncle leaned toward Arjun and asked, “So you’re the boy Kabir keeps writing about in those little journals?”
Arjun choked on his juice.
Kabir turned pink. “Appa reads them.”
“No,” the uncle chuckled. “But your mother does. She shows him the ones with your poetry.”
That night, they danced together. Just once. Just a little. But no one stopped them.
No one laughed.
---
Sunday Mornings and Maybes
Sunday mornings were slow and golden.
Kabir liked the crossword. Arjun liked toast. They both liked lying in silence with the fan whirring and the cat from next door snoozing on their windowsill.
It was on one of those Sundays that they got a call from an old friend — a social worker named Devika.
“I just wanted to ask,” she said. “We have a 9-year-old boy in our network. His foster family had to move abroad. He’s been through a lot, but… he’s wonderful. Smart. Artistic.”
Kabir’s voice was quiet. “What’s his name?”
“Neil.”
Later that night, Arjun stared at the ceiling again.
“We’re not ready,” he said softly.
Kabir nodded. “But what if he needs us more than we need to be ready?”
They didn’t say yes.
But they didn’t say no either.
---
Fear Revisited
One week later, someone emailed Arjun.
It was anonymous. The message was simple:
> “You’re disgusting. Stop teaching kids to be like you.”
He didn’t cry. Not like the old days. But his hands trembled when he showed Kabir.
Kabir’s jaw clenched. “Block them. Report them.”
“I’m used to it,” Arjun muttered. “It’s always been like this.”
Kabir knelt beside him. “It shouldn’t be. And you shouldn’t have to be used to it.”
The next day, Kabir posted a photo of them on i********: — standing on a hill, arms around each other.
The caption read:
> “This is my partner. He is brave and beautiful. And I’m proud of us.”
It got over 10,000 likes and one death threat.
But also hundreds of messages from young people saying:
> “Thank you. I needed to see this today.”
---
The Little Shoes by the Door
Three months later, Devika called again.
“Neil asked about you,” she said. “He drew both your faces from the photos I showed him.”
They visited the shelter a week later.
Neil was quiet. Wary. He didn’t smile easily.
But when Kabir accidentally knocked over a paint cup, Neil burst into a small giggle.
And when Arjun drew a tiny comic of Neil and handed it to him, the boy said softly, “You made me a superhero.”
That night, they sat across each other in the kitchen.
“So,” Kabir asked, “can we do this?”
Arjun looked down at the empty sketchbook on the table.
Then he picked up a pen, drew a tiny pair of shoes by the door, and nodded.
“Yes. Let’s bring him home.”
---
New Kinds of Love
Becoming guardians wasn’t simple. The paperwork was endless. Some officials raised eyebrows. One asked directly, “You’re both… men. Do you really think that’s fair for a child?”
Kabir said, calmly:
“We think love is fair. We think honesty is fair. We think Neil deserves both.”
Eventually, they were approved — after a long fight, a few allies, and a kind-hearted judge who read Almost Us and cried in her chambers.
Neil moved in with a single bag of clothes and a pair of scuffed sneakers.
He didn’t call them “Dad.” He didn’t even call them anything at first.
But a few weeks later, while watching cartoons, he turned to Kabir and asked, “Can I call you Kabiya?”
Kabir blinked. “Sure.”
Then he pointed to Arjun. “He’s Artu.”
It stuck.
Kabiya and Artu — a family of three.
---
Home
Years later, they moved into a bigger house. Still modest. Still creaky. But with light in every corner.
There were new drawings on the walls now — Neil’s.
Kabir’s journals now had entries about bedtime stories and packed lunches.
Arjun’s books had dedications that read:
> “To my family. To the boy who held my hand,
the child who gave us purpose,
and the life we built with quiet courage.”
One rainy evening, Neil — now taller, louder, bolder — asked:
“Do you think I’ll ever fall in love like you two?”
Arjun smiled. “If you do, I hope you fight for it.”
Kabir added, “And if it hurts, come home. We’ll be here.”
They didn’t need a ceremony, or rings, or declarations.
Their whole life was proof enough.
---
✨ Epilogue: Always Us
On their tenth anniversary, Arjun and Kabir sat under the same old school tree where everything began.
Neil sat between them, sketching squirrels.
Kabir reached into his bag and pulled out a new sketchbook.
“Volume Three?” Arjun asked, smiling.
“No,” Kabir said. “This one’s blank. For whatever comes next.”
They looked at the boy who had become their world.
And knew:
> This wasn’t a perfect life.
It was better.
It was honest.
And it was always theirs.
Not almost. Not maybe. Not someday.
Just—Always Us.
- Writer
