Ayesha's Village Surprise | Part-1

If you enjoy lift and carry stories that feel natural, emotional, and rooted in real-life moments, you're going to love this one. This tale blends the strength of a gym-going Mumbai girl with the raw simplicity of Indian village life. Whether you're a fan of Indian lift and carry stories or looking for fresh lift carry stories with relatable characters, Ayesha’s journey will leave you smiling—and maybe even a little curious about what comes next.

Ayesha’s Village Surprise

I’m Ayesha, 22 years old and proud of every inch of strength I’ve built over the last few years. I stand at 5'7" and weigh around 68 kilos—mostly muscle, thank you very much. I started working out at 17, and now the gym feels more like home than anywhere else. While most girls my age are scrolling reels, I’m probably deadlifting my body weight or helping the boys rerack their weights at my gym in Mumbai.

Today though, I traded in my dumbbells for a backpack and some packed snacks. My parents and I were taking a long train journey to our ancestral village to visit my grandparents. I hadn’t been there in years, and honestly, I was excited—but also secretly wondering if I’d get any kind of workout in during the trip.

We boarded early. The train was still half-empty, with soft winter sun lighting up the dusty platform. My seat was by the aisle, with someone already settled by the window. He looked about my age, maybe a couple of years older. Slim, neatly dressed in a casual shirt and jeans, reading something on his phone.

He glanced up as I stashed my bag on the top rack—yes, the heavy one. No struggle, just a smooth lift and tuck. I saw his eyebrows twitch, probably surprised I didn’t even ask for help.

“Excuse me,” I said with a polite smile as I slid into the seat next to him. He nodded, a little shyly.

Before we could properly introduce ourselves, my mom leaned over from the seat behind and tapped his shoulder. “Ravi? Is that you?”

He looked up, blinking. “Aunty? Oh wow—yes! I’m Ravi.”

My dad chuckled. “You’ve grown up, beta! I used to see you running around in the fields near your Dadaji’s house.”

Ravi’s smile widened, and just like that, he relaxed. Apparently, he was from the same village we were headed to. Our families knew each other from way back, and my parents were thrilled at the coincidence. Me? I was suddenly very aware that I’d be sitting next to this guy for the next few hours.

He turned to me, still smiling. “So… you’re Ayesha?”

“That’s me,” I grinned. “And you’re the famous Ravi they’ve been talking about?”

He laughed. “Famous is pushing it. I’m just visiting Nani for a week. Needed a break from the city.”

I gave him a once-over. “You don’t look like a city guy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just saying. You’ve got that village-boy charm going on.” I teased, and he actually blushed. Cute.

Physically, Ravi was probably around 5'9", a little taller than me, but not by much. He was lean—maybe 60 kilos max. He had that calm, thoughtful vibe. Definitely not a gym type. I could probably lift him without breaking a sweat.

Not that I planned to. Yet.

The hours rolled by, but sleep just refused to visit me. Or Ravi. Maybe it was the excitement of going to the village after years, or maybe it was just that this random stranger-turned-companion made the time pass a little too quickly.

We’d been talking nonstop—books, music, food, our favorite childhood memories from the village, even that one scary well near the temple that every kid was told never to go near. Turns out, we had a lot in common. More than I expected.

It was well past 2 a.m. when the train slowly pulled into a small station. Not many people got on or off—just a sleepy chaiwala clinking his cups and a couple of dogs lazing by the tracks. My parents were fast asleep by now, gently snoring in the seat behind us.

I nudged Ravi. “Wanna grab something to eat? I think I saw a snack cart outside.”

“Let’s go,” he said, stretching his arms and yawning.

We stepped out onto the quiet platform, the cool air brushing against our faces. The station was tiny, dimly lit, and almost deserted. A couple of sleepy vendors leaned against their stalls. We got some samosas and a bottle of water, but as we turned to head back, I noticed how empty the other compartments were.

“Look,” I grinned, pointing to the wide space near the doors and the benches left vacant. “I’ve officially found my village gym!”

Ravi looked at me, confused. “What?”

“This!” I said, stepping into the open space and doing a few quick squats and lunges. “My body was missing movement. I’m used to working out daily, and it’s already been, what, six hours?”

He laughed. “You’re seriously doing squats at 2 a.m. on a train platform?”

“I’ve done weirder,” I winked. “Though I am missing my weights... Hmm...”

I turned to him slowly, mischief lighting up my face. “Ravi… can you be my weight?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know. Just for a quick set. I’ll do squats with you in my arms.”

His eyes widened. “No way. Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” I cracked my knuckles.

He chuckled nervously. “You can’t be serious. You think you can actually lift me?”

“Oh, Ravi,” I said sweetly. “I don’t think I can. I know I can.”

He looked around the platform. “What if someone sees?”

“No one’s here. Come on, be a sport. Live a little.”

He gave a sheepish laugh. “Alright. Try. I know you can’t do it anyway.”

“Famous last words,” I said, and before he could react—

I bent down, wrapped my arms around him, and with one swift, smooth motion, scooped him into a cradle carry. He wasn’t heavy at all—not to me. I’d done heavier lifts in my gym warmups.

“Whoa! Wait, wait, wait—” he flailed slightly, laughing.

“Hold still,” I said, grinning as I straightened up and began doing squats with him in my arms.

One... two... three...

“Are you kidding me?” he gasped.

“Nope. I told you. You’re lighter than the barbell I deadlift,” I said, breathing easily. “And way cuter.”

I did five squats, then gently lowered him to the ground. He was staring at me like he just witnessed magic.

Then—toot toot!—the train gave its warning whistle.

“Come on!” I grabbed his hand, and we both jogged to our compartment, just in time to hop back inside before it started moving again.

Back in our seats, both panting from the rush, Ravi was still staring at me.

“You actually lifted me,” he said, as if he still couldn’t believe it.

“Told you.”

He folded his arms. “I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t braced. That doesn’t count.”

I smirked. “Ahh, the classic excuse of someone who got humbled by a girl.”

“You’ve done that before?” he asked.

“Lifted people? All the time. My friends at the gym love getting carried. I lifted my mom once during Navratri, just to make her laugh. My dad, too—though he pretended to hate it. And one time, I carried two of my cousins at once during a wedding because they dared me.”

Ravi blinked. “You’re unreal.”

“No,” I said with a playful smile. “I’m just strong.”

Morning Light and Quiet Smiles

I don’t remember when exactly I fell asleep. One moment, Ravi was laughing off my “strength stories,” pretending he wasn’t impressed, and the next—everything blurred into dreams and the rhythmic sound of the train rolling through the night.

When I blinked my eyes open, the sunlight was streaming softly through the dusty window. The world outside had turned golden—the kind of gentle morning light that only village skies can offer. Birds chirped in the distance, fields rolled by lazily, and the train moved with that same relaxed sway.

I stretched a little, my muscles comfortably sore from yesterday’s fun. My parents were already awake, sipping tea from small paper cups and looking fresh like they didn’t just sleep on a moving train.

“Good morning, Ayesha beta,” my mom said with a smile. “You finally woke up.”

I rubbed my eyes and smiled back. “Good morning.”

Then I turned to Ravi.

He was still half-asleep, curled slightly against the window, hair a little messy, mouth slightly open. I bit back a laugh. The same guy who tried to act all cool and unfazed last night now looked like a sleepy puppy.

I gently nudged him. “Ravi.”

He stirred, eyes fluttering open. “Hmm… we there?”

“Almost,” I said. “But you might want to wake up before my dad finishes all the chai.”

He sat up groggily, blinking at the sunlight. “Morning already?”

“Yep. You missed a beautiful sunrise,” I teased.

He yawned, then noticed my parents already up and smiling politely at him. He straightened up instantly, adjusting his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

“Good morning, uncle, aunty,” he said.

My dad chuckled. “Good morning, Ravi. Slept well?”

“Very,” he nodded. “This was… a fun journey.”

My mom gave me a look. One of those knowing mom-smirks. I gave her a what?! shrug in return and sipped the cup of tea she handed over.

As the train rolled on, the mood stayed light. We chatted about the village, about the family waiting for us there, about the slow life compared to Mumbai. Ravi seemed more comfortable now, chatting easily with my parents like he belonged.

I glanced at him now and then, and once or twice I caught him looking at me too—with that half-grin he always tried to hide.

“You still sore from last night’s squat set?” I teased under my breath.

He smirked. “Please. I was just letting you win.”

“Oh? Then let’s do a rematch once we’re in the village.”

“Bring it on,” he said. “But next time, I’m the one doing the lifting.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

He gave a small shrug and smiled. “You’ll see.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, but my heart did a tiny, unexpected flip.

The Ride into Memory

The train hissed as it came to a final halt at the village station, quiet and sleepy under the morning sun. I stepped down onto the platform with a soft thud, the air hitting me like a forgotten memory—muddy, warm, still. It had been so long since I came here. Years, maybe. I barely remembered anything.

We gathered our bags, and Ravi—already alert and moving like he owned the place—helped my dad with the bigger suitcase.

“This way,” he said, without waiting for us to decide.

I exchanged a glance with my mom, who smiled and nodded. “Ravi knows the place better than we do, beta. He’ll take us.”

That’s right. Ravi was from this village. His grandparents lived just a few houses away from mine. Suddenly, he didn’t look like a stranger anymore—he looked like home.

We found a rickshaw parked right outside the station, sun-faded and slightly wobbly. My dad took the front with the driver, while Ravi helped my mom and me into the back. Then he jumped in, gave a quick direction to the driver, and we were off.

As the rickshaw rattled and bounced through narrow lanes, I looked around, trying to recognize something. A field, a tree, a house. But everything felt new, yet oddly familiar—like a song I hadn’t heard since childhood.

Ravi pointed toward the right. “That’s the old temple. They’ve rebuilt it a bit, but it still smells like incense and stone dust.”

I smiled. “I used to come here when I was… what, five? Six? I barely remember any of this.”

He glanced at me. “You’re in for a bit of nostalgia then. The mango trees are still there near the pond. And the shortcut to the main chowk? Still muddy.”

I grinned. “You really grew up here, huh?”

“Every summer,” he said, his tone softening. “All the cousins would pile into one room, play cards, sneak out to steal guavas. It was chaotic. Perfect.”

I leaned my elbow on the side bar of the rickshaw and looked out at the passing fields. Goats, banana trees, schoolkids walking in dusty uniforms. Everything looked so different from the Mumbai skyline. And yet… it made something in my chest settle.

“So you’ll be our guide for the week?” I asked.

He looked smug. “Absolutely. Local expert. I charge in samosas, though.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Done.”

The rickshaw took another turn, this time past a large tree I vaguely remembered climbing once—maybe. Ravi leaned forward, talking to the driver in the local dialect, and I saw my mom smile, pleased.

“You’re more local than us now,” I teased.

He shrugged. “Maybe. But you’ll catch up.”

And just then, the rickshaw slowed near a blue gate with red tiles—my grandparents’ house. A small crowd was already waiting: cousins, uncles, a few neighbors who looked like they hadn't aged since I last saw them.

As we stepped out, bags in hand and hearts full of warmth, I felt like I was stepping not just into the village—but into something new.

And Ravi? He wasn’t just a fellow passenger anymore. He was part of the place. And maybe, just maybe, part of my story here too.

Hugs, Laughter, and That Lift

The rickshaw came to a halt right outside the blue gate. My nani’s house hadn’t changed much—red tiled roof, faded walls with bougainvillea creeping up one side, and the same uneven cement porch I vaguely remembered skinning my knee on when I was five.

Before I could even step down, the gate burst open.

“Nani!” I grinned, watching her hurry out with surprising speed for someone her age.

My mom rushed ahead and hugged her tightly, both of them speaking over each other in a mess of laughter and emotion. My mama—my mom’s younger brother—followed right behind her, arms open, and enveloped both me and my mom in a bear hug.

“Ayesha, look at you!” he exclaimed. “You’ve become double the size since the last time!”

“Not double,” I laughed. “Just gym-sized.”

Then came a voice I hadn’t heard before. Soft but confident. “So this is the our girl Ayesha?”

I turned to see her—my mami. The first time I was meeting her.

She was tall, broad-shouldered, and had the glow of someone who probably wrestled her to-do list before breakfast. Her smile was warm, and she walked with that solid village grace—strong, grounded, no-nonsense, but affectionate.

She hugged my mom first, holding her close, and then—without warning—lifted her slightly off the ground with the kind of ease that made everyone laugh.

My eyes widened a little. I didn’t expect that. Neither did my mom, judging by the way she chuckled and gave her a light pat on the arm.

Then Mami turned to me, studying me with a smile.

I caught Mami’s eye and smiled as I stepped closer. “Mami, aap kaisi ho?”

She turned to me with a spark in her eyes. “So you are Ayesha. My goodness—you’ve grown taller than your mom!”

Before I could reply, someone from behind joked, “ Ayesha toh apni mummy se lambi ho gayi hai!”

The whole group chuckled.

Mami laughed with them—then turned back to me and said, “Still doesn’t change one thing…”

“What’s that?” I asked, smiling.

“That you’re still our baby.”

And without warning, she pulled me into a big hug—and suddenly, I felt my feet leave the ground.

I gasped and let out a laugh as she lifted me clean off the porch, holding me like I weighed nothing. My arms instinctively wrapped around her shoulders. Everyone around us burst into claps and laughter.

“You’ve grown so much,” she said softly, her voice full of affection. “But you’ll always be our baby.”

Breakfast and Blushes

After all the hugs, hellos, and chaos, we finally settled in. Bags were taken inside, my mom was already catching up with nani over tea, and Ravi was chatting comfortably with my mama under the neem tree like he’d been coming here for years.

But what stole the morning for me—was breakfast.

We sat on the floor, around a low table with steel plates already shining in the morning light. Mami had prepared a feast. There were hot aloo paranthas dripping with ghee, a bowl of chilled homemade dahi, fresh mango pickle, and a copper glass full of thick lassi.

I looked at the spread like I hadn’t seen food before. “Mami, yeh sab mere liye?”

She grinned, already placing a second parantha on my plate. “Of course. You’ve come all the way from Mumbai. You need strength.”

I took a bite—crispy, spicy, warm—and let out a soft “Mmm.” Pure bliss.

But before I could finish my first parantha, Mami was already tearing another one and sliding it onto my plate.

“Arrey Mami!” I protested with my mouth full. “Yeh ho kya raha hai?”

“Eat, beta! Eat and be strong,” she said cheerfully, scooping more butter onto my parantha like it was a medical prescription.

I blinked. “Mami, I’m already strong,” I mumbled with a half-laugh.

She looked at me, pausing for a second, then tilted her head with a smile. “Haan haan, I saw. But strength needs fuel. And this”—she pointed to the food—“this is your protein.”

Ravi, sitting on the other side of the table, stifled a laugh.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t you start.”

He raised both hands. “Hey, I’m just here to support your… bulking phase.”

I rolled my eyes and took another big bite, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

But honestly? I was loving it. The food. The laughter. The way everyone was feeding me like I was still that little girl who used to get lost in the sugarcane fields.

And okay, yeah—I might’ve felt a little nervous when Mami looked at me like she could lift me again at any moment. But beneath that playful teasing, there was nothing but warmth.

After that mountain of paranthas, I couldn’t move for a while. Mami finally stopped feeding me only after I gave her the most dramatic "bas bas!" of my life, and even then, she slipped one more into a foil wrap “in case you feel hungry again in ten minutes.” Typical.

She smiled at me, brushing a loose hair behind my ear. “Ab thoda so ja, beta. You’ve had a long night. And when Ritu comes, tum dono nikal jaana ghoomne.”

I blinked. “Ritu?”

She looked at me, surprised. “Arrey, you didn’t know? My daughter—your cousin. She’s three years younger than you. College student. She went to her friend’s house for some project work. Will be back soon.”

I nodded slowly. Wait, Mami has a daughter? Somehow, no one mentioned this during the whole train ride, or ever before. I didn’t even remember hearing her name. 

“She’s almost as tall as you,” Mami added with a little smirk. “And thodi ziddi bhi.”

That made me curious, but the food coma was too strong. I dragged myself to the spare room, laid down under the fan, and was out like a light.

To be Continued...