Nandini's parents' house.
Author's POV.
Nandini, six years old, was sleeping peacefully. In the next room, her brothers watched TV, volume high, their shadows flickering on the wall like strangers. In the kitchen, her mother, Sunita, cut vegetables. Thak-thak-thak of the knife against the board too fast, too hard. The sound didn't match her usual rhythm. Her father was on duty.
Nandini woke from a deep slumber. The house felt wrong. Empty.
Nani's green cotton sari wasn't hanging on the hook behind the door. The air didn't smell like ajwain and Vicks. The steel trunk that always sat by the cot, the one with Parle-G and her hair ribbons had left a square of clean floor in the dust. She rubbed her eyes, chest tight, and started searching.
Nandini : "Nani!... Nani... Mumma, Nani kahan hai?"
 [Nani!... Nani... Mom, where is Nani?]
Jaya hesitated. Just for a second. Her knife froze mid-air. Her knuckles went white around the handle. Then she put on a smile that didn't reach her eyes and said.
Jaya : "Beta, Nani chhat se aa rahi thi toh unka pair fisal gaya aur woh gir gayi. Unhein bahut chot aayi hai, bahut khoon beh gaya. Isiliye papa unhein leke Chandigarh gaye hain. Woh hospital mein hai. Jab theek ho jayegi toh aa jayegi."
[Child, Nani was coming from the roof and her foot slipped and she fell. She got very hurt, bled a lot. That's why Papa took her to Chandigarh. She's in the hospital. When she gets better, she'll come back.]
Nandini's stomach dropped. Like the floor was gone. Tears filled her eyes, hot and fast. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But her shoulders locked. She felt too out of place to cry in front of strangers atleast, that's what they felt like to her. Her fingers twisted the hem of her nightdress until the fabric bit her skin. She asked hesitantly, eyes wet, voice barely a whisper.
Nandini : "And where is Nana?"
Jaya didn't look up. She attacked the onion on the board. Thak-thak-thak. A piece skidded to the floor. She didn't pick it up.
Jaya : "Beta, woh bhi Nani ke saath gaye hain. Unka dhyaan rakhne. Ab ro mat. Shaam ko pooja-paath ke time rote nahi hai. Manhoosiyat phailti hai. Shant ho jao aur jao padho."
[Child, he went with Nani too. To take care of her. Now don't cry. You don't cry during evening prayer time. It brings bad omen. Calm down and go study.]
That was the first time she heard those words. Manhoosiyat. [Bad luck / inauspiciousness] The word landed on her tongue like metal. That was the first time she was dismissed without being listened to. Her throat closed.
Nandini, held back her tears and went to freshen up. She washed her face, splashed cold water until her eyes weren't red, until her cheeks were numb. She stared at the girl in the mirror  same face, same nightdress, but something behind the eyes was different now.
She went back to study for her school entrance. Her school entrance test was two weeks away. She needed to be well prepared. Until now, she'd only had basic education from the village school. Her mother had taught her cursive writing, as that was necessary for her admission.
The loops of the letters felt shaky today. Her pencil kept slipping. She was a bright student. Good at maths. Before even going to 1st class, she knew tables up to 20.... but in Hindi. And this Hindi medium was a hindrance to her admission in the new school.
She completed her studies and went to sleep. She'd lost her appetite the moment she heard about Nani's "incident." The roti on her plate sat untouched, going hard at the edges like her chest. She tried to talk to her mother about Nani, but Jaya made an excuse.....Nani couldn't talk because of her injuries. Jaya said it while wiping the counter, her back to Nandini. Never turning around.
(After 3 days)
Days passed during this time, Nandini interacted very little to zero with her brothers. She sat on the edge of the sofa while they laughed at cartoons, her knees pressed together, making herself small. She was very different from them and felt out of place.
They too had a difficult time accepting someone they barely knew. Their eyes slid past her like she was furniture. And her father was busy. Once you are in your unit (army personal), you rarely have time to change clothes... let alone spend quality time with family members.
Her mother was also busy with household chores, taking care of three children, teaching them, and preparing everything for her father.
She used to teach her for the exam, and sometimes took out her tiredness and frustration on her in the form of slaps and insults. The slap would come fast. After, Jaya's hand would tremble before she went back to cutting vegetables. Nandini learned not to flinch. Flinching made it worse.
These things affected Nandini. Her stomach hurt at night, but she didn't say. Complaining was natak. But she hoped things would change. She hoped she would go back to her Nani. She kept that hope under her tongue like a toffee, letting it dissolve slow.
Nandini : "Mumma, how is Nani? Can I talk to her?"
Jaya didn't pause folding clothes. Her voice was flat, final.
Jaya : "She is fine now and returned to the village."
The words hit her like a slap. Actual, physical slap. Nandini's ears rang. She froze for a moment, breath caught in her ribs. She wanted to say something - anything, but words refused to come out. Her throat felt constricted, like someone had tied a string around it. Still, she asked again, hesitantly, her voice cracking.
Nandini : "Mumma, can I talk to her?"
Jaya : "Sure.....you can only talk to her once you pass the exam."
(After two weeks)
Nandini gave the entrance exam and aced it. Her hand didn't shake once while writing. Every lesson from her mother, every late night she pushed herself, it paid off. She passed. The teachers couldn't help but praise her. She got the admission. Her mother brought her books, dress, and stationery items.
The new bag smelled like plastic, not like Nani's trunk with its old, sweet Parle-G scent. Nandini came home and saw her Nani back. She stopped at the door. Her whole body went cold, then hot. She hesitated for a minute, as if she was hallucinating. But she wasn't. The sari was real. The smell was real. She ran into her arms with teary eyes, her small fists clutching Nani's pallu like it was a rope.
Nandini : "Nani, aap aa gaye?"
[Nani, you came back?]
Nani : "Haan bittu, bas teri bahut yaad aa rahi thi."
[Yes child, I was just missing you a lot.]
Nandini kept the hug intact, her face buried in Nani's stomach, breathing her in. Then she pulled back and looked into her eyes, searching.
Nandini : "Aapki chot kaisi hai abhi? Aur aap gire kaise?"
 [How is your injury now? And how did you fall?]
Nani frowned, confused. Her hand came up to cup Nandini's cheek, warm, familiar.
Nani : "Kaun si chot? Mujhe kya hua hai? Main toh bas ghar gayi thi. Aur mujhe teri bahut yaad aa rahi thi, isliye aa gayi."
[What injury? What happened to me? I just went home. And I was missing you a lot, so I came back.]
Nandini : "Then why didn't you take me along? Neither did you tell me you were going back. And why did Mumma say that you fell from the stairs?"
She asked, sobbing, her whole body shaking now.Jaya stepped forward from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her sari. Her jaw was tight. Her smile was sharp.
Jaya : "Arey Maa, aap bhi. Ab ise aadat daalni hogi aapke bina yahaan rehne ki. Bas isiliye maine keh diya tha. Aur kya bahaana banati?"
[Oh Maa, you too. Now she has to get used to living here without you. That's why I said it. What other excuse could I make?]

The words stung Nandini. They landed behind her ribs and stayed. But she couldn't speak. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Couldn't ask what she did to deserve this.
A six-year-old didn't need this sort of lie, even if it was "for her own good." This was the worst thing one could do to a child. Her hands went cold. The footrest in her life,the one she didn't know the name for yet had been kicked up that day. And she felt it.
Nandini had grown up seeing her Nani Maa as her mother. She was eighteen months old when her grandmother took her with her. She had always seen her grandparents as equivalent to her parents. This lie was, to a six-year-old, just like almost losing her mother. The world had tilted, and no one else seemed to notice.
Meanwhile, Jaya started packing her and her husband's clothes. The zippers on the bag sounded like teeth. She had to return to her in-laws because of an emergency, so she called her mother to stay here temporarily.

Later that night, Jaya left with Devendra for Indore , her in-laws' house. Nandini's father, before leaving, asked his neighbour Rakesh and his wife Anju for help. They lived in the same Army cantonment in Dehradun.
Rakesh was also in the Army. Rakesh's daughter, Vaishnavi, studied in the same school, so he knew the process - books, uniform, forms, everything. Vaishnavi was outspoken. Loud laugh, fast hands, eyes that didn't look away. She bonded with Nandini in a day.
It was Nandini's first day at the new school. She was never an early bird. She woke up at 6 after four warnings from her nani. Shivani Singh, her Nani had to shake her shoulder gently, then harder.
Shivani: "Uth ja, bittu. School ka pehla din hai."

[Get up, child. It's your first day of school.]
Nani helped her get ready. The grey school skirt was too long. It would fit her after 3-4 years. The hem almost brushed her ankles, fabric pooling. The too-long clothes were a misfit for her tiny frame, just like she was a misfit in this house. The thought came fast. She didn't let it stay. She swallowed it down with water. She ate her breakfast, few bites of paratha, and went to school with Vaishnavi's father as she didn't had her own bus pass yet.
She was allotted Section 1F. But she was new to the school, to the city. And her parents were absent. On request, the teachers allowed her to sit in Vaishnavi's class for a week. After a week, her unit tests would start. After UT, she'd return to her own class. Vaishnavi helped her with everything - studies, copying work from the board, finding the washroom. She gave her company during lunch without asking.
Days passed like that. Nandini was happy as she was staying with her Nani. Shivani's cotton sari smelled like her home. At night, Nani's hand found hers under the sheet. Still, at times, she would miss Nana, Mahesh Singh and their home. The one with the guava tree. The one where she wasn't furniture.
At Indore
Devendra's father was seriously ill. He'd suffered a heart attack and was admitted to the Military Hospital in Indore. His father had other sons. But only Devendra and his eldest brother, Rajendra - also in the Army, really cared. 
Flashback
Devendra was on duty when he received a call on the battery landline at his unit. It was Rajendra's call.
Rajendra: "Hello? Dev? Pitaji ko heart attack aaya hai. Asthma ke patient to pehle sethe ab ye heart attack bhi , haalat bahut critical hai. Jaldi aa ja."
[Hello? Dev? Father had a heart attack. He's an asthma patient, condition is very critical. Come quickly.]
He came back and started packing. He decided to go to his hometown with Jaya.
Flashback ends
The doctor conducted tests, saw reports, gave treatment. He gave precautions and advice. "Tanaav mat lena. Dawa time pe."
[No stress. Medicines on time.]
Devendra decided he would take his father with him. He would take care of him. He'd already lost his mother five years back. He couldn't afford to lose him too. His jaw set when he said it. Jaya didn't argue. Her hands just kept folding the same kurta twice. After a week, he came back with his father.
It was Sunday, 8 in the morning. Devendra returned to Dehradun with Jaya and his father. His children, Aditya and Anant  were happy to see him back. They ran to him. Aditya's hug was hard, back-slapping. Anant clung to his leg. But for Nandini, it didn't really matter. She felt content only in the presence of her Nani.
Nandini met her grandfather for the second time. She'd only met him once when he visited Shivani's place. She had faint to almost zero memories. A blur of white kurta and paan. She greeted them, hands folded, head bent and went back to her shell. Her shell was Nani's side, the corner of the cot, the space behind the trunk.
Her unit tests started. She wasn't really well prepared. She'd been busy completing work and adjusting for the past week. Her pencil felt heavy. The questions swam.Her father dropped her to school and picked her back.
In the meantime, she got her bus pass. Green Army bus no. 28. The plastic card was cold in her hand. It had her photo eyes too big, braid too tight.After her exams, it was a holiday.
She slept in the afternoon after lunch. It was her daily routine with her Nani. The only time she gained her senses. Nani's fingers in her hair. Nani's stories about the village. Nani's breath, steady.
At 4 PM, she woke up. The house was calm. Too terrifyingly calm. It felt empty. The green sari, not on the hook. The steel trunk.....gone. The space beside her on the mat, the warm dent that was usually occupied by her Nani, was empty. Cold. And then it hit her.
She searched for her. Anywhere. Everywhere. Under the cot. Behind the door. In the kitchen.All she got was silence. Complete, eerie silence. The kind that has teeth.Her stomach dropped. Like the floor was gone.
Again.
Her guts told her: She left. She left again without telling me. Alone in this house. In this world. Which is meant to be hers but is not. She felt her world getting collapsed. Not cracking but collapsing. Like the stairs Nani was supposed to fall from.
She observed. She saw how Jaya wiped the same counter three times, her back a wall. How Devendra coughed and went to the balcony.They tried to intentionally avoid her. So they were not in a position to answer her questions. Their eyes slid past her like she was glass. She saw every little thing. The way Jaya's bangles didn't clink. The way the radio wasn't on. The way no one said "Nani chali gayi." [Nani left.]
And she decided not to ask them. Because the reality was: her own Nani left her. Without informing her. Without a hug. Without a "Bittu, main aa jaungi." [Child, I'll come back.]
These people, her blood were strangers to her. What if they lied again? Sometimes it's better not to know everything. Not to enquire. Not to ask.
Because when the person who taught you how to be safe is the one who leaves you in the dark, you learn something no six-year-old should know: Love can have conditions.
Goodbyes can be stolen. And the people who call you 'beta' can still make you feel like burden.
Her mother figure abandoned her in the name of 'good.' For her 'better future.'
But no one asked the child if she wanted a future without the one person who made the present bearable.
Who do you go to when the person you'd run to is the person who ran away from you ? So she didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just pressed her knees together, made herself small, and learned the first adult lesson of her life: "If you don't ask, they can't lie to you again" .But silence.........silence hurts in a language kids aren't supposed to speak yet.
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Will be continued in the next chapter....
Thank you. 
Will increase word count in upcoming chapters.🙃