“We’re having this conversation,” she snaps, the hurt cracking through. “Do you know what it’s like for a mother to lose both her children in one accident? One dead and the other burying himself in another country, away from us. Tell me, Sidharth, when will you stop punishing yourself and us?” Her voice wavers at the end, and it punches straight into my chest.
My mother, Pranali, has always been the strongest woman I know. But after my sister’s death, she hasn’t been the same. Her brown eyes still carry a grief that refuses to fade, and her once bright, full-of-life smile now feels rehearsed. She’s aged overnight, the grey strands more visible in her short hair, her voice softer, almost weary, as if she’s grown tired of the world. And my father, Manoj, the once unshakable businessman, now moves through his days in silence, following the same routine. As if life hasn’t given him much to live for anymore.
I couldn’t bear to watch them like this. So I did what cowards do. I left.
“Ma, you know I’m not trying to punish you. You know how much I hate seeing you hurt.”
“Then why are you still there?” she asks, almost pleading now. “Every day I keep thinking, today you’ll book a ticket. Today, you’ll come back home, to us.”
“I can’t.” My voice hardens. I know I’m being rude, but I just don’t want to get into a conversation about why I can’t come back to the city where I blame myself for losing my sister. “I have my business here.”
She sighs defeatedly. “You always say that.” There’s a pause. Then, she ventures softly, “What about settling down? Have you even thought about it?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “We’re not discussing that either.”
“Sidharth—”
“I have to go, Ma,” I interrupt gently, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “But I’ll visit soon.” I finally say the words, knowing they’ll give her the peace I’ve been depriving her of.
“Soon?” she asks, her voice laced with hope, like that one word is a promise she’s been waiting to hear.
I let out a breath, the guilt sinking in. God, I feel like the worst son for pushing my parents away when they need me the most. It’s time to step up. Time to make things right. I need to visit my parents. They deserve that much, at the very least.
“Promise,” I whisper finally.
Before she can ask when, I end the call and let the phone fall to the bed beside me.
I sit there for a while, debating when I should visit, especially now, with Nisha in the picture.
Just then, an alert pings on my phone. I glance at the screen.
Physiotherapy: Nisha – 4:30 PM.
“Another war,” I murmur, somewhere between a sigh and a muttered curse, dragging a hand across my jaw. I grab my car keys from the side table and slip my phone into my pocket. Time to remind the stubborn woman, yet again, that taking help isn’t a sin.
???
As I pull into the driveway of her home, the sight in front of me makes my jaw clench, hard enough to crack.
Nisha is standing at the edge of the footpath in ripped jeans and that same checkered T-shirt, her hair tied back in a ponytail as she taps away on her phone. I don’t even need to look at the screen to know she’s booking a cab. Again.
We’ve had the same damn fight three times already this week, and by the look of her now, round four is about to begin.
I take a deep breath, reigning in my temper the way I’ve learned to do with her, and kill the engine. Stepping out of the car, I march towards her.
“Cancel the cab,” I say evenly, trying to mask the irritation storming through me. “We’ve been over this.”
She doesn’t even look up, her fingers scrolling across her screen. “I’m not doing any such thing.”
I arch a brow. “You are literally about to sit in a stranger’s car when I’m standing right here.”
She glares at me. “And I’m literally capable of doing that without your permission.”
“You need to stop this…” I say, exhaling sharply. “This habit of pushing me away. You should’ve realised by now that it’s not working.”
She scoffs and crosses her arms. “Well, sorry if it bruises your ego, but I’m perfectly capable of handling myself without your help. I don’t need a knight in shining armour.”
“I know you don’t need saving, Nisha. But—” I don’t even get to finish. She cuts me off mid-sentence.
