The sky was still grey when Dad stepped outside.
Most people were asleep. The milk packets hadn't arrived yet. Street dogs stretched lazily on the footpath like they owned the city. And the air felt cold enough to wake even someone who'd barely slept.
Dad pulled his jacket tighter around himself and adjusted the small stack of printed A4 sheets tucked under his uninjured arm. He had spent most of last night designing them on his old laptop:
TUTOR AVAILABLE
Mathematics, Physics, Chemistry
Reasonable Rates
Contact: Raghav K.
Simple. Clean. Hopeful.
He hadn't slept much afterwards. Pain in his ribs made turning difficult, and thinking about money made staying still impossible.
So he'd gotten up even earlier—around 4:30 a.m.—and walked into the quiet streets of new town with determination holding his spine straight.
His first stop was the tea stall at the corner. The owner wasn't there yet, but the shutters were half open. He didn't drink tea. But he stood there for a moment, just breathing in the silence.
He crossed the main road and pasted his first tutoring sheet on an electric pole. The tape trembled slightly in his fingers. Not from fear. From effort.
He pasted the second on a wall outside a stationery shop. The third near a temple entrance. The fourth on a college notice board. The fifth on a community center wall.
By the time he pasted the tenth, he felt… relieved. Lighter. Useful, even.
He was determined not to sit home like his broken bones were an excuse. Life had taken enough from him. He refused to let dignity be another casualty.
By 6:45 a.m., he was heading back home, the city waking up around him—auto drivers arguing, shops unlocking, birds screeching as if rehearsing a fight scene.
When he reached the building, Vahni was already standing with her hair tied tight, apron in hand, ready to leave for her new job at the hotel kitchen.
She froze when she saw him.
"Where were you?" she snapped.
He didn't flinch. "I couldn't sleep. Just went for a stroll."
"A stroll," she repeated, like the word personally offended her. "In this cold? With your breathing? With your ribs?"
"I'm fine," he said, lifting his chin.
"You're not," she said. "And you KNOW you're not."
He didn't answer.
She exhaled sharply. "I don't have time for this now. I'm late. Wake up Tejas. Get him ready. Make him drink his tea, all of it. And don't let him leave without saying the mantra."
She pointed a stern finger at him, then at the stairs.
Dad nodded. "Go. I'll manage."
"You say that too easily," she muttered, grabbing her bag.
She left without looking back.
Dad watched her go and smiled faintly.
He had lied to protect his pride. She had scolded him to protect his life. Balance.
He climbed the stairs slowly, gripping the railing for support. Tejas's door was half open.
Inside, my hair was a mess, my face less awake than a dead phone battery.
Dad shook my shoulder gently. "Tejas, get up. You'll be late."
I sat up, groaning. "Why is morning legal?"
"Get ready," he said. "School won't wait."
I dragged myself to the bathroom, washed up, put on the uniform, and combed my hair halfway decently.
Dad placed a cup of tea in front of me. "Drink."
"I don't like tea."
"Drink."
"I'm not thirsty."
"Tejas."
I drank.
Half.
Dad raised an eyebrow.
I drank the rest.
He nodded, satisfied, then said lightly, "Your aunt said something before she left."
I groaned. "No."
"Yes."
"Nooo."
"Mantra," he said.
"Dad, come on—"
"She will burn the whole building if she finds out we skipped it."
"She won't know."
He crossed his arms. "Tejas."
I pressed my forehead into my palm. Aunt Vahni was contagious. She had infected dad with authority.
I took a deep breath and recited:
"अग्निः प्रतिज्ञा, अग्निः मूल्यं।
नियमय — नियंत्रय — सहस्व।
Fire is a promise, and a price.
Contain. Control. Endure."
Dad smiled at the end like he hadn't smiled in days.
"You sound half-dead," he said.
"That's because I AM."
He chuckled weakly. "Come on. I'll walk you out."
We reached the third-floor balcony, and he leaned slightly against the grill, watching as I headed down the stairs.
That's when I saw her.
At the ground floor. Standing with her bag. Glasses shining. Smile bigger than her face.
Anaya.
Not waiting by accident. Waiting on purpose.
She waved both hands like she was signaling an airplane.
"There you are!" she called.
I stopped halfway down the stairs and stared at her.
Half irritated. Half… happy.
From the balcony above, Dad saw everything. My expression. Her smile. The ridiculous enthusiasm.
He didn't call out. He didn't tease. He didn't smirk.
He just watched, leaning on the railing, eyes softening in a way he didn't allow often.
Anaya walked closer, still grinning. "Why do you look like you ran away from home?"
"I didn't run," I said.
"Good," she said. "Then run now. We're late."
Before I could reply, she grabbed my arm lightly and pulled me toward the gate with the confidence of someone who assumed we were best friends already.
I glanced back once.
Dad stood at the balcony, watching us disappear into the morning light.
And for a split second, I saw something in his expression—
Relief. Fear. Hope. Pride.
A little of everything. A lot he wouldn't say.
I turned back toward Ananya as she continued talking without pause.
"Okay," she said, "today we're making a plan. A proper investigation plan. You're mysterious. I'm nosy. It's destiny."
I sighed. "Why me?"
"Because," she said brightly, "some people glow from inside."
I froze for half a second.
She didn't notice.
She kept walking, swinging her bag on her shoulder.
And just like that, the day began…with a smile waiting for me at the gate and a father watching from above hoping this new city would be kinder than the last.