Rewrite following: Kareemun, or Kareen as she preferred to be called, was born in Kolkata to a nice but poor family. Her parents, Mr. Saiful Arya and Mrs. Lakshmi Arya, were of Bengali heritage, Although Lakshmi was born in Mumbai and had moved to Kolkata for work reasons, there she met her husband and stayed with him to live in Kolkata.

Kareen, bestowed with an undivided deluge of parental love, flourished amidst the rich tapestry of Kolkata’s cultural expanse. The young girl was the sole beacon for Saiful and Lakshmi Arya, her doting parents who strived endlessly to substitute the companionship of siblings with their boundless love and devotion. Their humble abode, nestled in a closely-knit neighborhood, bore the marks of financial restraint, but the warmth and affection within its walls were as plentiful as the vibrant street fairs outside.

Their home was a modest sanctuary, painted with the colors of heritage—a melange of faded terracotta walls and the frayed charm of well-worn furniture. Each nook was filled with mementos of familial joy: from hand-painted murals celebrating local festivals to the fragrant kitchen where Lakshmi’s culinary magic transformed simple ingredients into feasts. The space resonated with the echo of storytelling sessions and the infectious laughter that followed Saiful’s playful antics.

However, as Kareen teetered on the brink of her teenage years, her tenacious spirit began to push against the cocoon of her parents’ protective love. In a moment of rash defiance, she stepped out from the security of her cherished home, leaving its affectionate confines for the bustling uncertainty of Kolkata’s streets.

Three days later, with resolve giving way to longing, Kareen sought the comfort of her familial abode, imagining its unchanged welcome. She anticipated theatrical scenes of reconciliation but returned to a harrowing emptiness. Her parents’ once vigorous pursuit to find her had yielded to a deadly contagion, leaving their home eerily silent, its life and laughter cruelly extinguished. Their vitality was now just an echo fading amidst the now-bare walls, their love stories and laughter resonating only in memory.

Sheltered by the collective arms of her community, Kareen grappled with the gaping void left by Saiful and Lakshmi. Yet rescue came through the familiar kindness of her maternal grandparents, Padma and Vikram Subramanian, who beckoned her to a life of recovered hopefulness.

Transitioning to her grandparents’ residence, Kareen found herself in a sparser part of Kolkata, where life moved at a slower yet more arduous pace. Their village dwelling was a reflection of plain living—a far cry from the vivid surroundings she knew. Sun-bleached brick walls housed sparsely furnished rooms, where luxuries were scarce and utilities basic. The house, fringed by a garden that had known better days, still held the strength of resilient spirits much like the residents within.

Under the compassionate and steadying influence of Padma and Vikram, Kareen was ushered gently into her new reality. Her grandmother enveloped her in a nurturing love that sought to heal while her grandfather, once a jvery caring figure to her, 


In this simpler setting, surrounded by the raw beauty of her grandparents’ devotion, Kareen began to weave a new tapestry of life, one where the past was cherished and a future—painted with wisdom learned through sorrow—slowly blossomed.

Kareen's grandmother, Padma, had always dreamt of raising a baby girl, but due to unforeseen circumstances, she only had two sons, the eldest being Kareen's mother. Kareen's grandmother saw this as an opportunity to spoil the daughter she never had, even if Kareen was nearing her teenage years. Kareen's grandfather, a once loving and playful figure to Kareen's baby years, became more discreet and serious, barely talking with her granddaughter, but at least being respectful to her. He secretly harbored the thought that Kareen was to blame for his daughter's demise. But he knew deep down that her daughter would want Kareen safe.