The Takur house felt… normal.
That was the best part.
Najma stepped inside without hesitation this time, already loosening her dupatta, already breathing easier. This wasn't her first visit after marriage. The awkwardness had passed.
Only warmth remained.
Twinkle was already halfway inside, calling out,
"Mom! We're home!"
Saraswati appeared instantly, her face lighting up.
"You didn't even call this time," she scolded lightly.
Najma smiled. "We were nearby."
Takur laughed from his chair. "You always say that."
Lunch was loud.
Twinkle talked nonstop. Saraswati kept refilling plates. Takur pretended to read the newspaper but listened to every word.
Najma ate quietly, observing.
She liked this version of home—unchanged, uncomplicated.
Later, Najma and Twinkle went to their old room.
Twinkle flopped onto the bed dramatically.
"Second visit and still no tears. Progress."
Najma smirked. "You're disappointed?"
"A little," Twinkle admitted. "I expected drama."
Najma sat beside her. "This house doesn't need drama."
Twinkle turned serious again.
"So… Sign house treating you well?"
Najma nodded. "They respect me."
"That's good," Twinkle said firmly. "Because if they didn't—"
Najma cut her off. "You'd start a war?"
Twinkle grinned. "Obviously."
They lay side by side, feet dangling off the bed.
"Do you feel different?" Twinkle asked.
Najma thought for a moment.
"Not different. Just… expanded."
Twinkle laughed. "That's a fancy way to say married."
As evening approached, Najma stood at the window, watching familiar streets.
This place no longer felt like something she was leaving behind.
It felt like something she carried with her.
Always.