The Birthday Gift

A Short Story by Vasu Gangapalli

“Son, what would you like for your birthday this year?” Subramanian asked his ten-year-old son, Pradeep.

Pradeep looked at his parents, who were sipping tea in the garden behind their house. “Dad, I’ve had one wish for a long time…”

“And what is that, my boy?” Subramanian asked, setting his empty cup down on the teapoy.

“I want the love and affection of a grandmother,” Pradeep said softly. “Other kids my age have grandmas who tell them stories, cook delicious food, and take care of them. But I don’t.”

Subramanian sighed. “I know, son… but what can I do?”

“You can do anything, Dad!” Pradeep insisted. “You just have to set your mind to it. You’ve done it before!”

Subramanian glanced at his wife, Arpitha. “What do you think?”

She shrugged lightly. “It’s between you and him. If it makes you both happy, go ahead. Honestly, even I’d love some company while you’re away at work.”

Subramanian placed a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “Then I’ll give it my best try.”

Pradeep’s face lit up. “Thank you, Dad!”


—

The day before his birthday, Pradeep asked again, “Dad, any update about grandma?”

“I tried my best, son, but…” Subramanian hesitated. “Would you like something else instead?”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Pradeep said with a small smile. “Maybe it’s just not in my destiny.” He turned away to join his friends outside.

Arpitha frowned. “Why don’t you just tell him the truth?”

Subramanian grinned. “What fun is a surprise if you reveal it early?”

“But the disappointment in his eyes breaks my heart,” she said softly.

“Trust me,” Subramanian replied. “Tomorrow, you’ll see him all smiles.”


—

The next morning, Arpitha gently shook her son awake. “Pradeep, wake up! Your dad brought a special gift for you!”

“Mom, you know I don’t care about gifts…” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Just come downstairs and see for yourself,” she urged, tugging his blanket away.

Grumbling, Pradeep followed her down the stairs. As he reached the last step, his eyes fell on a rocking chair by the window.

An elderly woman sat there, her silver hair neatly clipped back, gazing into the garden.

Pradeep froze for a second, then his face broke into the brightest smile. “Grandma!” he shouted, running into her arms.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Subramanian whispered, patting Arpitha’s back.

“Yes, you did,” she replied, smiling warmly. “Thank you for bringing her home.”


—

Later, Grandma handed Pradeep a neatly wrapped package. “A small gift from me to you, dear.”

Pradeep carefully peeled the wrapper.

“Most kids would’ve torn it open by now,” Grandma chuckled.

“I want to keep the wrapper safe… as a memory,” he replied.

Inside lay a hand-knitted sweater, his name woven into the design. Pradeep touched it with awe, then slipped it on.

“I love it, Grandma!” he said, giving her a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Grandma kissed him back, her eyes moist. A single tear rolled down her face.

“Why are you crying?” Pradeep asked, wiping it away with his little fingers.

“I lived in a place where I had everything… except love,” she whispered. “I thought I would spend the rest of my days there. But your father found me and brought me home. I am so happy to be here, with you.”

Pradeep smiled knowingly. “You know something, Grandma? My mom and dad found me in an orphanage too. I had everything… except love. Then they adopted me.”

Grandma’s eyes widened. “Is that so? How wonderful!” She turned to Subramanian. “But tell me—whose idea was it to bring me home?”

“It was his,” Subramanian said, smiling.

Arpitha entered with a tray of tea and biscuits. “Happy birthday, Pradeep. Do you like your gift?”

“I love it, Mom. I love it, Dad.” Pradeep beamed. “This is the best birthday gift ever.”