The city was warmer that morning—not in a dramatic, supernatural way, but in the way air sometimes feels thick, like it remembers something. I didn't think much about it. I only noticed that when the class lined up outside for morning assembly, everyone shivered except me.
"You're not cold?" Anaya whispered, rubbing her arms.
"I'm fine."
"You're warm," she muttered, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Like human chai."
"I'm not chai."
"Yet."
I ignored her and stood through the prayer quietly. No heat surges. No strange pulses. Just a slightly warm body and a girl who observed too much.
The chapter of my life that changed today belonged not to me, but to the two adults who kept this family alive.
Vahni's First Days in the Hotel Kitchen
At 7 a.m., the back kitchen of Hotel roared to life.
Knives clattered.
Onions sizzled.
Someone yelled, "More batter!"
Steam blinded half the staff.
The smell of frying curry leaves spread like smoke.
Vahni fit into the chaos instantly—not because she wanted to blend in, but because heat made her invisible. Here, every corner was hot. Every vessel steamed. Every tawa glowed. No heat-mapper in the world would separate her warmth from the ambient kitchen fever.
For the first three days, no one noticed her much.
She cut vegetables.
Sorted chilies.
Refilled masala jars.
Wiped down counters.
Kept her head low.
Spoke only when spoken to.
The junior cooks liked her because she worked fast. The cleaners liked her because she helped without being asked. The serving staff liked her because she didn't interfere.
There was only one person she absolutely did not want to interact with—
Chef Ramesh.
People said his biryani could save a dying man's soul, but his personality… his personality was the kind that rotted things quietly.
He wasn't cruel loudly. He wasn't abusive in front of everyone. He chose moments carefully.
Comments whispered too close to a woman's ear. A hand placed where it didn't belong. Jokes that weren't jokes. Threats disguised as advice. Promises disguised as praise.
Women who had been there long enough avoided him like a religion.
For the first few days, he didn't see Vahni. She stayed in the back kitchen. He stayed in the front. The distance was safety.
On the fourth day, he noticed her.
She was chopping beans when she felt his shadow fall across the table. She didn't flinch, but her jaw tightened slightly.
"You're new?" he asked, too softly.
"Yes," she replied.
"Hardworking," he observed.
"I try."
"Good," he said, leaning closer than necessary. "I like hardworking women."
She didn't look up. But her fingers paused for a fraction of a heartbeat. Just enough for him to see he had struck some nerve.
He smiled.
Predators always smiled when they found a weakness—even if that weakness was only disgust.
She resumed chopping, faster now.
The woman beside her, Reena, whispered once Chef Ramesh walked away, "Stay careful. He's… dangerous."
"I know how to avoid fire," Vahni said.
Reena didn't understand the double meaning. But she nodded anyway.
By the end of the shift, Vahni's mind wasn't on fear. It was on Tejas. On keeping him hidden. On the ash she protected. On the map of the city she needed to understand if things spiraled.
She didn't fear the chef. She feared slipping—even once.
Dad's First Step Back Into Teaching
At home, Dad stood in the small living room, pacing slowly.
He had spent most of last night printing flyers, then most of early morning sticking them everywhere he could reach. His ribs ached, but something inside him—something old and familiar—felt alive again.
Teaching wasn't a job for him. It was the one thing he had ever been naturally good at. Before everything went wrong, before the fire and the collapse and the ten years of hiding, he had been a professor at a small institute.
Students liked him.
Parents trusted him.
The work made him feel useful.
When the phone rang at 10:15 a.m., he froze.
A woman's voice spoke. "Hello? Are you the tutor? My son… struggles a bit with Physics. Are you available today evening?"
Dad's heart thudded.
"Yes," he said, trying not to sound too eager. "Yes, I am."
When he hung up, his fingers trembled—not from weakness, but relief.
He had gotten a student. Their first consistent income.
In the afternoon, Vahni returned home, exhausted, smelling of turmeric and burnt curry leaves.
Dad told her about the student.
Her expression hardened instantly.
"You're bringing strangers here?" she asked sharply.
"He's twelve. He'll come with his mother," Dad replied calmly.
"That doesn't matter. We moved here for safety. You know that."
"We also need money."
"I can work longer hours. I can pick up evening shifts."
"Your job is already hard. And it won't be enough."
She clenched her jaw. He held his ground.
"We can't afford another move," he said softly. "We can't keep depending on luck. I can teach, Vahni. It's the one thing I'm good at. And it's safe."
"It's not safe," she insisted.
"It is," he said gently. "This is just a child who needs help. And I… I need to earn again."
Their eyes met—his, wounded but determined, hers, frightened but trying not to show it.
After a long silence, she exhaled.
"Fine. One student. If I sense anything—anything at all—we stop immediately."
He nodded. "Agreed."
But she added one last line before walking away:
"Keep Tejas away from them. Always."
Dad didn't argue.
She was right.
Evening — Tejas Comes Home
When school ended, Ananya was already beside the gate, waving like the hero of her own movie.
"There you are!" she said.
"I'm literally on time."
"Good. Today we have things to discuss."
"Like what?"
"You run warm," she declared.
"I don't."
"You do. And I'm making a temperature chart."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
I didn't win.
We walked home. Nothing dramatic happened. Just the usual chatter, jokes, arguments about whether lemon rice was food or punishment.
At the building entrance, I looked up—Dad was standing on the balcony again.
He raised his hand slightly. I raised mine back.
For a moment, we held each other's eyes across the distance.
His face looked brighter than yesterday. Lighter. More hopeful.
He had purpose again. He had a student waiting. He had a path forward.
Anaya followed my gaze. "Your dad's watching."
"I know."
"He looks sweet."
"He's… okay."
"Lies," she said. "You like him a lot."
I didn't reply.
Some truths don't need arguments.
That night, Dad prepared his old notebooks, sharpened pencils, arranged a small table neatly, and rehearsed how he would greet the new student.
Vahni watched silently from the kitchen doorway, her expression unreadable.
But inside, she was making a list too—of escape routes, of suspicious faces, of risks that could ruin everything.
She would never admit it, but she needed Dad to succeed. And she needed him to be careful.
Outside the window, the city hummed quietly.
Inside, three lives moved forward—one teaching, one cooking, one trying very hard not to feel the warmth within.
Tomorrow would test all three.