The day had been long before it even reached noon.
Vahni's shift at the hotel kitchen was a battlefield of boiling vessels, sharp knives, and the metallic voice of a head chef who had clearly decided to take his moods out on the staff.
"Faster!"
"Not like that—are you new?"
"This isn't a charity! Move!"
He barked at everyone, but somehow he found new material specifically for her.
"You again? You slice too slow. You stir too soft. You wash too long."
"You're not here to stroll. Work!"
The rhythm of his voice grated against her spine, not because she feared him, but because she hated being cornered. Every blow of criticism pressed her back into memories she'd buried with ash and courage. For a moment she wished she had the freedom to flare, to frighten, to burn the air around her into silence. But that belonged to a world she wasn't allowed to return to.
She inhaled. Held it.
Contained.
Controlled.
Endured.
When her shift ended, she left without looking back. The metal doors closed behind her, sealing in the chef's voice and everything she hadn't said to him. But the weight of it followed her home like a storm cloud clinging to her shoulders.
Tejas and Anaya were at home working on the group project.
Which meant Anaya was drawing, narrating, teasing, and adding glitter while Tejas pretended he was unaffected by any of it.
"You coloured outside the box," Tejas said.
"I expanded the box," she corrected.
"That's not how boxes work."
"That's why I'm here. To redefine boxes."
She sat cross-legged on the floor, tongue slightly out as she drew a wave of blue across the poster.
Tejas sat opposite her, cutting chart paper into strips. The scissors squeaked. A small warm breeze drifted by—nothing strange, just something he'd felt more often these days. Anaya didn't notice this time. She was too focused on arranging yellow stars around the title.
The house was peaceful.
Until the door opened.
Vahni entered like someone who had held her breath for hours. Her hair was pinned tighter than usual; her shoulders were stiff, her jaw locked. Tejas instantly recognized the warning signs—small, sharp, controlled.
Anaya didn't notice at first. "Aunty, look! We finished the outline. We only need to decorate the—"
"That's very nice," Vahni interrupted, her tone politely sanded smooth for Anaya's benefit. "Good work. But I need you both to do something for me."
She opened a drawer and pulled out a small slip of paper. A grocery list. Longer than necessary.
"Oils, two packets. Turmeric. Sugar. Rice flour. Kitchen foil. Salt. Green chilies. Curd," she listed.
Too many items for two children.
Too many items for an evening.
But she handed the list to Tejas with the authority of someone who desperately needed space.
"Go to the general store. Both of you. Now."
Tejas blinked. "Now? Aunty, we can go after—"
"Now," she repeated gently, but her eyes were tired. "It's important."
She didn't explain. She didn't need to.
Tejas knew that look.
The look someone got when they'd been fighting a battle alone and needed a moment to breathe.
Anaya jumped up, stretching her arms dramatically. "Shopping adventure! Let's go, soldier."
"I'm not a soldier."
"You are now."
They left the house with the list, and the door closed behind them with a soft thud.
Inside, Vahni's breath finally loosened.
The kitchen noises, the chef's voice replaying on loop, the endless pressure — they all cracked inside her chest. She leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed.
Raghav stepped out of the bedroom. "You're home early," he said gently.
"I needed to leave," she whispered. "He was—today was—"
She stopped. She didn't want to bring that man's voice into her home.
He stepped closer, hesitant but concerned. "Are you alright?"
"No," she said.
Then after a beat: "But I will be."
Something in her voice unlatched something in him.
A week of exhaustion, closeness, fear, and suppressed longing sat between them like a secret they had both tip-toed around.
The house was quiet now.
For the first time in days.
The first time since they moved.
She touched his arm—not shy, not bold, just… real.
He cupped her face gently in response, thumb brushing away the tension that the kitchen had carved into her.
And for the first time in a long while, they let themselves be something other than parents, guardians, protectors, and fugitives.
The door shut.
The lights dimmed.
And the house grew quiet in a way only two people can create when they finally choose each other, even briefly.
The moment wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't something that would break worlds.
It was simply two tired souls taking back a small piece of humanity.
Fade.
When Tejas and Anaya reached the store, she immediately threw the list up like a flag. "Curd, chilies, salt, flour. Why do your parents need so much?"
"Why do you talk so much?"
"Because your parents clearly wanted us gone."
Tejas nearly choked. "What?! No! They just needed some space."
"Exactly," she smirked. "Fun space."
"Shut up."
Anaya leaned closer, eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "Oh come on, Tejas. They were smiling weirdly when we left. You didn't see the look?"
"There was no look."
"There was definitely a look."
Tejas grabbed the rice flour packet a little too aggressively.
Anaya continued, delighted, "Your mom literally shooed us out. Like—shoo! Shoo! Shoo! That is the official parent code for 'we need the house empty.'"
"She didn't shoo!"
"She did."
"She didn't."
"She. Did."
Tejas went red enough to match a traffic signal.
"They're just… normal," he muttered. "They're always together. They just—work well. They're not—like that."
"Your dad calls her Vahni like he owns the name," she teased. "And your mom talks to him like he's the only person she trusts."
Tejas paused.
That… was true.
"And they move around each other," Anaya added, pretending to act out Raghav handing a bowl and Vahni catching it without looking. "Like they've known each other for centuries."
"Shut up, please."
"And they share that look. This one—" she widened her eyes and softened her mouth into something ridiculously dramatic. "The 'I like you but won't say it' look."
"That's not a thing."
"It is. Trust me."
Tejas couldn't argue. Not really.
Because somewhere deep inside, tiny pieces were falling into place.
Why they always stood close.
Why they never argued loudly.
Why they covered for each other perfectly.
Why they shared responsibilities like a practiced team.
Why Vahni's voice softened only for Raghav.
Why Raghav trusted her with decisions without hesitation.
Maybe they weren't pretending anymore.
Maybe the act wasn't an act.
Maybe something real had grown in the cracks of survival.
He tried to shake the thought away.
But it stuck.
"I hate you sometimes," he muttered as he picked up the last item.
"I know," she said proudly. "That's what friendship feels like."
They returned home an hour later.
The door opened to soft lighting, warm air, and the smell of simmering dal.
Raghav and Vahni were in the kitchen—close, not touching, but close enough that the silence between them looked comfortable.
Warm.
Shared.
They both looked up at Tejas and Anaya with the same gentle smile.
Not rehearsed.
Not acted.
Natural.
Tejas felt his ears burn.
Anaya leaned toward him and whispered, "Told you."
He did not reply.
Because for the first time, he wasn't sure she was wrong.