Dehradun.
Nandini's POV.

The house feels hollow now. Like someone reached inside it with a big spoon and scooped out all the warm parts. Nani's gone and her absence created a void in me too big, Jagged.
The kind that doesn't get a scab. The kind that stays wet. My chest felt heavy all day. Like I swallowed a stone.
By evening, the stone was pressing in my chest. I couldn't keep it down anymore.
My feet took me to the washroom. Because the washroom has a latch. Small. Rusty. Orange at the edges. But when it clicks shut, the world stays out. Click. I turned the tap on. Water slammed into the blue plastic bucket.  Loud.  Loud enough to cover other sounds.
That's when my mouth opened. And the stone tried to come out. But it wasn't a stone. A chocked sob came out, It was water. Hot tears rushed down my cheeks, from my eyes. I didn't wail. Wailing is for babies.
Wailing is for when someone was there to say "Bittu, kya hua?" and pull me into her lap.  Wailing makes noise. Noise attract people and people ask.
And today was pooja. The aarti bell was ringing in the other room. Ting-ting-ting. Fast. The smell of incense sticks were sneaking under the bathroom door. Sweet. Thick.
I couldn't be the reason the prayer turned apshagun. I couldn't be the reason God got angry at our house. Again.
So I cried the way I was learning to do everything now.... silently. My shoulders jumped up and down. My fists were in my mouth. If I moved my hand, the sob would escape.
My muffled sob sounds got buried under the tap. Even the sadness had to adjust. The bucket filled. I turned the tap off.

Auther's POV

The sudden silence was worse. Now there was only Nandini, breathing like a broken fan. She counted to ten. Then to ten again. Splashed cold water on her face. 
I looked up. The mirror was foggy at the edges. In the middle, a girl.  Hair sticking to wet cheeks. Eyes red and the skin under them puffy, like She'd stored all her tears there. Six years old. But her eyes looked like they'd seen sixty. 
She had to fix it. Normal faces don't get questions. Questions that get lies. She was tired of that them . She went to her room. The mat was still cold on Nani's side.
She didn't sit there. She sat on her side. Near the wall. Where the plaster was flaking. She pulled her school bag. The zip was stuck halfway. She yanked it.
Inside, She dragged her tution notebook out. The cover was bent. EVS (Environmental Science).
She opened the notebook and started completing her homework. Her tution is three houses away. Suman Aunty's house. She's 34. She has a long braid and a scale she hits the table with. Thak. Not us. Just the table. To make us pay attention.
Jaya can't teach her now. But Jaya was BA-English despite being from village. Her Nanu told her once, smiling small. That time, very few boys went to college. Girls? Even less. But Nanaji sent her as she was really good ather studies. 
But Now her world is this house. Roti, daal, sabzi. Dadaji's four pills - white, yellow, white, pink. Papa's office shirts, ironed sharp. Caring for kids. Knee pain at night.
Nani hadn't called her  in weeks. Not since she left. She keeps counting her days tillthey meet again.
The clock on the wall struck 8:47 PM. The second hand was racing. Tik-tik-tik-tik. Tring. The doorbell rang. One long ring.
Aditya and Anant were on the floor. Legs crossed. Eyes on TV. Tom had a hammer. Jerry was in a hole.
Aditya's hand held the remote like it was part of him. Click. Screen went black.
No cartoon. No sound. Both of them moved like they'd practiced. Aditya jumped up, grabbed the two cushions from the floor. Fluffed them. Thap-thap. Put them back on the sofa.
Corners matched. Remote on the center table. Straight. Parallel to the edge. Anant picked up the steel glass from the floor. Ran to the kitchen.
Came back. Wiped the wet ring it left on the table with his sleeve. Ten seconds. The room was untouched. Like a photo in a magazine. Like no one lived here. Like no one laughed here five minutes ago.
Because in Papa's absence, this room was a temple. And we weren't the gods. We were the visitors who had to leave it clean. They slid to their study table. Backs straight. Like rods were tied to their spines. Books opened. Maths. Science.
Pencil in hand. Anant's was broken at the tip. He didn't sharpen it. He just held it, pressed to the paper. Pretending. Tring. Tring. Doorbell again. Shorter. Impatient. Papa's ring.
Maa was in the kitchen. I heard the gas stove turn off. Click. Her steps were fast. She wiped her hands on her sari....the green one with the small yellow flowers. She opened the door. 
Papa. He stepped in. And the air changed. It got heavier. His shoulders dropped two inches the second his shoes touched the chatai. He bent.
Fingers pulling at his shoe laces. Slow. His bag was brown, leather peeling at the corners. He put it down by the wall. Softly. Like it was sleeping.
Nandini was going to the kitchen. For water. My throat was still scratchy from crying. She stopped at my doorframe. Her hand on the wood. She didn't go out. She just watched.
His face. Grey. Not old grey. Tired grey. The kind of grey that comes when you don't sleep and you don't smile and you wear the same worry every day.
Lines on his forehead. Deep. Like the cracks on our balcony floor. His socks. Dark green. But at the heel, darker patches. Wet. He pulled them off. Blisters. Big ones. Skin peeled, pink and angry underneath. From shoes. From standing all day. From walking to the bus. From the unit. From life.
Jaya saw them too. Her eyes went down. Fast. Then up. To his face. Her mouth opened a little. Like she wanted to say something. But closed it.
No word came. Only her bangles. They didn't make sound today. She'd pushed them up her arm. Like she didn't want to announce she was here.
Devendra didn't look at anyone. He walked to the basin. Turned the tap. Splashed water on his face. Once. Twice. Three times. He stayed there, hands on the sink, head bent. Water dripped from his chin to the drain. Then he went to his room.
That room is always perfect. Bedspread  white with blue checks. Pulled so tight you could bounce a coin on it. No wrinkle.
Pillow in the exact center. Table wiped. No dust. He stood at the door. Just for half a second. His body went still. His jaw moved. Once. Tight. He knew. Someone had been in here.
The air was different. Maybe the pillow was one centimeter to the left. Maybe the jug wasn't in its circle mark. Maybe the room smelled like kids, and not like him.
He didn't shout. He never shouts. He just got quieter. And his quiet was louder than Anant's yelling. Jaya came in behind him. She was holding two things.
Right hand: steel glass. Water. Cold. The outside was sweating. Little drops running down, catching the light.
Left hand: a small blue-green strip. Medicine. For blisters. Boroplus or something.
She didn't say "Thak gaye hoge." [You must be tired.]
She didn't say "Pair dikhaao." [Show me your feet.]
She just kept the glass on the table. The medicine next to it. The glass made a small tin sound on the wood. Then she stood there. Hands empty now. But not knowing where to put them. So she knotted them in front of her sari.
Devendra sat on the bed. Not in the middle. On the edge. Like he was visiting. His back was to her. To Nandini, peeking from the hallway. His shirt was sticking to his back. A dark patch between his shoulders. Sweat. Or maybe something else.
Jaya turned and saw her. Her eyes were big. Not angry. Just... tired. Like Papa's face. She didn't wave me away. She didn't call me in.
She just looked. I nodded. Small. So Papa wouldn't see. I went back to my bed. To my corner. Behind the trunk. The one that still smelled like her.

One thing Nandini noticed immediately in this house was the scarcity of conversation.
Communication felt absent, like an emptiness hanging between people. Yet everyone seemed to understand each other without words or at least they performed the careful act of understanding.
A glance, a stilled bangle, a tightened jaw replaced sentences.
For a six-year-old, this was jarring. The environment was starkly different from the one she had known for six years.
There, voices filled rooms, emotions had sound, and silence was only for sleeping. Here, silence was a language she didn't know, and its weight pressed on her small chest.
Nandini's POV.

I finished my school homework and packed my bag according to tomorrow's timetable. From tomorrow, I would have to sit in my own class.
A knot formed in my stomach. I didn't know what I would do without Vaishu. Vaishnavi. How would I manage everything on my own?
I went to bed and pulled the sheet up to my chin. I closed my eyes, but sleep stayed far away. It wasn't just the memories of Nani's house keeping me awake.
It was hunger. A small, gnawing ache. I have a habit of eating in small proportion frequently. I was used to eating little bits often  a biscuit here, a piece of roti there. But I didn't have that freedom here. Dinner was over, and the kitchen was closed.
I turned on my side. Then the other. The clock ticked. Finally, I got up. My feet were cold on the floor. I found the blue Vicks jar on the shelf. Unscrewed it. The strong smell hit my nose at once.
I took a dab on my finger and rubbed it lightly over my eyelids and just below my eyes.
It burned. My eyes watered instantly. I thought because of this, maybe if I can't open my eyes, I'll fall asleep.
I lay back down, eyes stinging, tears leaking into my hair. The burn was sharp, but it was something to focus on instead of the emptiness. It worked. After half an hour of burning and blinking, exhaustion pulled me under.
Next morning, the alarm clock shrilled at 5 AM. The sound was sharp in the quiet house. I jerked awake, my heart pounding. I freshened up with cold water that made me gasp. Got into my uniform.
The shirt was still stiff from ironing. By 6:15 AM, Maa and I were at the bus stop. The air was damp and cold. There, Maa met Nisha Aunty, her neighbour and best friend. She had come to drop her son. He went to the same school as me.
I folded my hands.
Nandini :  "Namaste, Aunty." My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
Nisha Aunty smiled, her eyes crinkling. "Namaste, beta."
Shashank stepped forward and bent to touch Maa's feet. His school bag slipped a little off his shoulder. Maa placed her hand on his head.
"Khush raho, beta." Her voice was soft but tired.
Nisha Aunty turned to me.
Nisha : "Aur kaisi ho?" [And how are you?]
I looked down at my black shoes.
Nandini : "Mai theek hoon, Aunty."[I'm fine]
Maa sighed. The sound was heavy.
Jaya : "Aree. Right now she's fine. But I'm very stressed. How will she go to her class and find her bus back after school? Iski bus bhi Vaishnavi se alag hai." Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her pallu.
[Oh no. Right now she's fine. But I'm very stressed. How will she go to her class and find her bus back after school? Her bus is also different from Vaishnavi's."]
Nisha : "Bus no. kya hai?" Nisha Aunty asked, adjusting her dupatta. [What is the bus number?]
Jaya :  "28," .
Nisha Aunty waved a hand, dismissing the worry.
Nisha : "Aap tension mat lijiye. Shashank hai na. Wo bhi usi bus mein jaata hai. Wo ise class tak chhod dega aur chutti ke time wapas bhi le aayega kuch din."
[Please don't worry. Shashank is there, right? He also goes in the same bus. He'll drop her to class and bring her back after school for a few days too]
 She then turned to Shashank, her tone shifting to a mother's instruction.
Nisha : "Shashank, beta, school mein Nandini ka dhyaan rakhna. Help her, okay?"
[Shashank, dear, take care of Nandini at school. Help her, okay?]
He straightened up and gave a firm nod. Then he looked at me. His eyes were kind, but there was a flicker of importance in them, like he'd been given a big job.
Shashank: "Hello, Nandini. Don't worry. Mai hoon na. If you need anything or any help, just come to me. I'm a big boy now." He puffed his chest out a little.
Nisha Aunty laughed, ruffling Shashank's hair until it stuck up in every direction. He ducked, groaning, but didn't really try to dodge her....
Nisha : "Haan haan, beta. Aur ye big boy sirf 3rd class mein hai abhi."
[Yes yes, dear. And this big boy is only in 3rd class right now.]
Her teasing tone was warm, full of that easy affection mothers reserve for sons who pretend to be annoyed but secretly love it. Shashank shoved his hands in his pockets, cheeks a little pink. "Maa!" [Mom!] he protested, but a grin was already tugging at his mouth.
Nandini watched them. That casual, unguarded love.....it made something ache and settle in her chest at the same time.

Shashank's cheeks went pink. He scratched the back of his neck and grinned, embarrassed but pleased.
The moment was broken by the screech of tires. A big olive-green army bus rumbled to a halt near us. Bus no. 28. The exhaust smelled of diesel. We both climbed up along with a few other students.
The conductor, a man with a thick mustache, checked our bus passes. His fingers were rough as he took mine. I walked and slipped into a two seater by the window. The rexine was cold.
Shashank followed and sat beside me, his bag thumping onto the his lap.
Shashank: "Hello... Aa... I said hello to you at the bus stop too but you didn't respond. I think you don't speak much." He tilted his head, studying me.
I kept my eyes on the window, watching Maa get smaller.
Nandini : "Hello." My voice was barely a whisper.
His face lit up.
 Shashank : "Oh, so you do have a voice." He sounded genuinely relieved.
I frowned, heat rising to my cheeks.
Nandini :  "Sorry." My eyebrows pulled together.
He waved it off with a huge grin.
Shashank : "Kuch nahi." [Nothing]
There was a pause. The bus jerked forward. I gripped the edge of the seat.
Shashank : "So how were your exams? What sort of result do you expect?" He swung his legs, his feet not quite touching the floor.
I swallowed. My throat felt dry.
Nandini : "I don't know."
 He raised his eyebrows, confused.
Shashank: "You don't know?"
I picked at a thread on my skirt.
Nandini : "I didn't really understand the questions, so I don't know what I wrote. And hence I don't have any expectation." My shoulders curled in a little.
He was quiet for a second. Then he leaned back.
 "Aree.....it's fine. Anyway, you didn't have enough time before the exam and you are a new student too. They'll excuse you this time. But from next time, you have to work hard." His tone wasn't scolding. It was matter of fact.
I just nodded.
Nandini : "Hmm."
Shashank gave an understanding nod, mimicking how adults do.
 "If you need any academic help, you can reach out to me."
I looked at him, really looked at him and then nodded. Sincerity and genuine concern were shining in his eyes, steady and warm.
My chest tightened. In the last one and a half months, this was the most anyone had spoken to me.... at once.
At home, communication was next to zero. A place where I got food, necessities, and a list of living instructions. where you get a list of do's and don't.
This was too overwhelming. My fingers twisted the strap of my bag until my knuckles went white. I wanted to say something, anything. Maybe a simple "Thank you". 
But my throat felt constricted, like someone had tied a knot inside it. My lips parted, yet no words came out. My eyes burned, so I blinked hard and looked down at my shoes.
I didn't reply. It was safer. It was all I knew. I just watched the trees blur past. My stomach was still a knot of nerves and hunger. After a few more stops, the bus finally halted at the school gate. Children poured out, shouting and laughing. The noise was sudden and loud.
Shashank got up first. "Come." He waited for me. I followed him through the crowded grounds. The smell of wet mud and chalk dust filled the air. He walked me straight to my classroom door.
Shashank: "So here we are. I'll pick you up from here only after school gets over. Don't go anywhere. Okay?"
He looked at me seriously, his eyebrows drawn together.
I nodded again. "Hmm."
His serious face broke into a smile.
Shashank : "And if you need any other help, my class is 3 C. Chalo, bye... take care."
He raised his hand in a quick wave and jogged off toward his class, his bag bouncing on his back. I stood at the door, clutching my bag strap.
The classroom was full of unfamiliar faces. The noise, the newness, the weight of being alone, it all hit me at once. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
 
Author's POV
Nandini entered the classroom, her footsteps hesitant on the polished floor. She found an empty bench in the third row, the first seat vacant.
Her fingers clutched the strap of her bag too tightly as she set it down and slid onto the cold wooden seat. The hum of other students felt distant, like she was underwater.
The class teacher, Mrs. Pratibha Singh, entered with stern eyes and a pressed cotton saree that didn't shift when she moved. Students stood and greeted her in a chorus.
Nandini rose too, a second late, then sat down quickly. Mrs. Singh's gaze paused on her. She called Nandini forward, completed the admission formalities with clipped efficiency, then asked her to introduce herself.
Nandini walked to the front, her shoes silent. "My name is Nandini," she said, her voice thin. "I....I am new here."

The words hung in the still air. She returned to her seat. For the rest of the day, she sat alone.
At lunch, she ate from her tiffin, eyes fixed on the bhindi smeared on the lid. The chatter around her was a language she hadn't learned yet. School ended.
As instructed, she waited outside the class gate, her back straight against the wall. Her eyes stayed on the patch of grass near the playground, where it was worn thin from feet.
The wind carried dust and the faint smell of chalk.
Shashank spotted her. He called out and waved, his arm cutting through the air. He jogged up, his bag bouncing.Together they walked to the school bus stand, his steps quick, hers careful.
Shashank: "So how was your first day?" His tone was bright, trying to fill the silence.
Nandini kept her gaze ahead.
Nandini : "It was good."
Shashank : "So kitne dost naye tumne?"
[So how many new friends have you made?]
He asked it like it was the most normal thing, like she'd been here for months, not just 2 days. No pity in his voice. Just that same quiet curiosity he'd shown on the bus.

Nandini hesitated, her lips pressing together.
Nandini : "Umm...Abhi... ek bhi nahi."
[Right now... not even one.]
She gave a small, awkward smile.
He clutched his chest in mock offense.
Shashank : "Iska matlab mai bhi tumhara dost nahi hoon."
[That means I'm not your friend either.]
Nandini blinked, confused. "Itni jaldi friendship thodi hoti hai."
[Friendship doesn't happen this quickly.]
Her voice was barely above a whisper. She said it like a rule she'd learned the hard way. Like if she believed it too soon, it would disappear.
Shashank paused for a while. He just tilted his head, studying her......curious, not judging.
Shashank laughed, softening. "Fair enough. Take your time. I was just kidding."
Nandini only hummed in reply. "Hmm."
He studied her face for a second.
Shashank :"You know, with this face expression it'll be hard to make friends. You should smile often."
She frowned slightly.
"Face expression?"
 "Yes," he said, grinning. "It looks like you'll eat someone alive."
 A tiny, reluctant mock laugh escaped her. "Haha... very funny." But her eyes didn't quite smile.
With that kind of steady banter, they reached their bus stop. They got down. He walked her to her house gate, waited until she went in, then turned toward his own.
Inside, Nandini changed out of her uniform. The fabric had left red lines on her skin. She ate lunch in silence and and went for her afternoon nap. Sleep came, but it was light and restless.
She woke at 5 PM. The afternoon light slanted through the verandah grill, cutting stripes across the floor. Her father had returned from the CSD, and the table was crowded with packets — biscuits, namkeen, soaps, oil.
The smell of new plastic and detergent hung in the air. She moved closer, hesitant, her bare feet silent on the tile. Her eyes lingered on a biscuit packet, the picture of cream and chocolate too tempting. Her father followed her gaze.
Devendra: "Beta, do you want one?"
His voice was neutral, not unkind. She gave a small nod, not meeting his eyes.
Devendra: "Fine, take whatever you want."
He gestured to the pile and turned away. She picked up one biscuit packet , fingers trembling just a little, and walked away slowly, as if she'd stolen it. She placed it on her bed like something fragile and went to kitchen.
In the kitchen, she poured a glass of cold water, the steel glass sweating in her hand. She opened the packet, dipped one biscuit, and took a bite. The sweetness dissolved, but the ache didn't.
A while later, her grandfather entered. His eyes fell on her, then the packet. His mouth tightened.
Dadaji: "Bahut biscuit khati ho. Ek baar mein ek packet. Isiliye tumhara baap paise nahi bacha pata. Sab to yahi chala tha. Rakho ise wapas."
[You eat too much biscuits. One whole packet at once. That's why your father can't save money. It all went in this only. Keep it back.]
For a moment, Nandini froze. Her breath caught. It took her a second to process what had just happened. She couldn't believe it was her grandfather.
The words still echoed, sharp as a slap. Each word was a small stone. Nandini's hand trembled. The biscuits suddenly felt heavy, shameful. She set the packet down without a sound, fingers cold.
Nanaji was never like this. Nobody at Nani's house was like this. In fact, her Nanaji used to raise his voice and fight for her with family, with neighbors, if anyone so much as bullied her or scolded her without reason.
His face would redden, his hands would tremble with anger, but only for her.
( Flashback:
Nandini was five. She and Ambika - her neighbor's daughter, a year older. They were playing on the swing under the neem tree. The air smelled of dust and marigolds. Shivani pushed the swing a little too hard. Nandini slipped, landing on her elbow.
The scrape bloomed red at once. When Nanaji found out, he didn't wait. His dhoti swished as he marched straight to Ambika's house, his stick tapping the ground with each step. His voice was thunder at their gate.
He didn't return until apologies were made and Ambika's mother promised to watch them.The memory faded. Nandini blinked, back in the present, the taste of biscuit and cold water still in her mouth.
Flashback ends )
He snatched the packet and walked out, his slippers slapping the floor. Her mother stood in the doorway. She had seen everything. But she didn't move. Her eyes flickered to Nandini, then away. She chose silence.   
Nandini didn't expect her mother to confront Dadaji. But a word, a touch, a simple how was your day in school that would have been enough. Instead, there was nothing. Just the hum of the ceiling fan.
A twist seized Nandini's gut. Her stomach dropped. She couldn't connect the dots. The on-off behavior of her family left her suspended, confused.
Were they kind or cold? Was she allowed or not? Her eyes filled. Tears pooled but didn't fall.
She pressed her palm into the bedsheet, the cotton cool under her skin, and took deep, shaky breaths. She picked up the glass and gulped the water down in one go, as if to wash the lump from her throat.
She washed the glass, placed it back with care, got ready, and left for tuition.
At 6:30 PM, she returned. The evening had turned the sky a dusty orange. In the living room, Anant and Aditya were on the floor with remote control cars, their laughter quick and bright.
The cars zipped, headlights blinking. Nandini stopped in the doorway. For a second, her face lit up with fascination, a child's wonder at something new.
She found cars and tech fascinating. She took a half-step forward, wanting to join. But something inside her pulled the brake.
Aditya looked up, saw her, and his smile vanished. He grabbed his car, shielding it with his body, and hissed at Anant, "Keep them back. Now we should Study."
The cars disappeared into a box. Maybe adjusting to her was new to them too. But Nandini couldn't understand what she had done to deserve this distance. If this place was for her own good for her betterment, then her life before was heaven.
She turned and walked away, her shoulders small. She lit the diya in the temple. The flame trembled, throwing shadows on the wall. She chanted her prayers, the words memorized, automatic.
Then she sat to study. She didn't want to sit idle. Idleness let unwanted thoughts crawl in. After dinner that she ate quietly, head bowed, she organized her bag for tomorrow.
She lay down and used the same old trick : Vicks near her eyes, the burn forcing sleep. Even sleep was hostile in this house, but the burn was familiar now.
Next morning
She woke to the same routine. The house was already awake, but no one spoke. She left for the bus stand alone, her school bag heavier than yesterday.
This morning it rained heavily, and raindrops clung to the road, muffling sound. She folded her hands and greeted Nisha.
Nandini : "Namaste, Aunty."(greetings Aunty)
Nisha : Namaste, beta. Kaisi ho aur school ka pehla din kaisa tha?"
 [Namaste. How are you, and how was your first day at school?]
Nandini : Achha tha. [It was good.] 
she said with smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Nisha Aunty's brow furrowed just a little. She glanced at Shashank, who was kicking a pebble near the bus stop. Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes were sharp with motherly concern.

Nisha : Aur ye pareshaan to nahi karta na tumhe? [And he doesn't trouble you, right?]
Nandini followed her gaze to Shashank. He looked back and gave her a quick, goofy grin.
Nandini : Nahi aunty. [No, Aunty.] She smiled, a little real this time.
In the bus, Shashank turned to her, his eyes bright. He held out a chocolate, the wrapper crinkling.
Shashank: "Hey, have this chocolate."
Nandini looked at it, then at him, confusion softening her brow.
"Is it your birthday today?"
Her tone was soft, uncertain. He shook his head, smiling.
"Nope. Mere dadaji aaye the kal shaam ko to vo laaye the mere aur mere friends ke liye."
Nandini nodded slowly. "Ohkk..."
She kept looking at the chocolate, her fingers not moving. The silver foil caught the pale morning light. Shashank extended it again, closer. She accepted it hesitantly, her touch light, as if it might be taken back.
The conversation flowed. His words were easy, unguarded. He told her about his first days at school, how he cried, how he got lost. He spoke about the games he played, gully cricket with a torn tennis ball.
He spoke about his dadu, whom he loved the most, his voice dropping to something tender when he said the word.
She ate the chocolate in small bites, letting it melt. The sweetness was startling. When it was done, she folded the wrapper into a neat square and slid it safely into the side pocket of her bag, like it was something precious.
They reached school. He walked her to her classroom door, waited until she stepped in, then ran to his own.
In the quiet stretches of the school day, Nandini used her alone time to think. The contrast sat heavy in her chest.
Shashank, a boy she'd known for two days, tried to talk to her, to make her comfortable in this new place. His dadu sent chocolates for him and his friends.
Meanwhile, her own self-proclaimed family gave her silence, or silenced her. A stranger offered assurance, sensing she was new and scared. Her own family offered strictness, calling it discipline, as if she were something wild that needed taming.
How could a boy she barely knew offer her a chocolate without a second thought, while her own family despised her food choices and measured each biscuit? The question sat in her throat, unanswered. 
The morning conversation with his mother made her realise where these traits of his came from. It was surely from his mother, from a family that felt secure, loved, and full of assurance.
The way Nisha Aunty's eyes crinkled when she teased him, the way her worry was wrapped in warmth. That was the root of his ease.
The school bell rang, sharp and final, pulling her back from her thoughts. The sound sliced through the courtyard, scattering pigeons and daydreams alike.
He joined her outside her class, his bag slung over one shoulder, hair ruffled from the wind. They walked to the bus together, his steps falling into rhythm with hers without trying.
During these bus conversations, something in Nandini began to shift. Slowly, like ice thawing at the edges. She started to engage, really engage.

Her hands stopped clutching her bag so tightly. She spoke about herself, in fragments at first. That she liked the smell of old books. That she hated loud whistles. That she missed the sound of temple bells at dawn and her home.
And he.....he never questioned or despised her choices and lifestyle. He just tilted his head, curious. His eyes held no judgment, only quiet interest.
When she went silent mid-sentence, lost in thought, he didn't fill the space with noise. He waited. His hands stayed still on his lap, his posture open, giving her room.
He was genuinely curious, leaning in, like her words mattered. Understanding, nodding when she struggled to explain a few things. Respectful, never pushing when she pulled back, never mocking when she opened up.
With him, there were no sharp edges to brace for. No sudden coldness. Just the steady hum of the bus, the warmth of the sun through the window, and a friend who listened like listening was a kind of kindness.
She smiled a bit more, and this time it wasn't forced. It touched her eyes, softening the guarded look she always wore.
The bus rattled past neem trees and tea stalls, and for those twenty minutes, the weight on her chest felt lighter.
She had finally found a genuine friend.
Her safe space.
Her secure corner.
Even if it was only for a small amount of time in a day, it was hers. And in that window seat, with the city blurring past and his laughter beside her, she could breathe......
.
.
.
.
.

Will be continued in next chapter.....
Thank you.💙