Her brows furrow slightly. “Okay. Then what do you want?”
“I want you to make me the same bracelet.”
She grins. “I can do that.”
I smile back at her, but beneath that smile, my secret thrums inside me like a second heartbeat I can’t control. I am such a coward. I know I can’t confide in her, and so I hide behind the blind belief that this bracelet can somehow fix what I can’t. But I guess that’s how we humans work—pray, hope, and cling to anything that makes us feel safe when everything else starts to fall apart.
When I realize I’ve been staring at her too long, I quickly try to wipe the panic from my face, but it’s too late. In the next moment, she cups my face with one hand and asks softly, “Hey, is something wrong?”
Her gaze is knowing, the one that makes me want to spill everything without her even asking.
But not this time. Not when I know my mess will only drag my sister down with me. I know she’d face it willingly, but she doesn’t deserve to. I won’t allow it.
I shake my head and lean into her, resting my head on her shoulder. “I hate that you won’t be there with us. I am going to miss you.”
She wraps an arm around me and rests her cheek on top of my head. “I will miss you too,” she murmurs. “But I promise, I’ll make your birthday unforgettable. You’ll see.”
I smile, and I am just about to say something when Mom’s voice cuts through the room, firm with that familiar warning tone that says,I’ve called once already; don’t make me call again.
“Kavya!”
I lift my head just as Kavya rolls her eyes.
“I’d better go before Mom decides to launch a full search party,” she says with a grin, standing up and smoothing the crease on her kurta.
She takes a few steps towards the door, then pauses and turns back to me. Her gaze lingers, and for a heartbeat, I almost… almost want to ask her to stay a little longer. But I don’t. I simply smile, swallowing the words that sit heavy in my throat.
“You’re going to have the best time, lil sis.” She smiles as she opens the door and steps out, closing it softly behind her.
The moment I am alone, I turn to glance back at the laptop, and my jaw tightens.
I need a closure. I can’t keep going like this. Once I’m back from this trip, I’ll meet him. It’s time to close this chapter once and for all.
With a long breath, I rise to my feet and look around. My queen-size bed is a quiet mess—half-unpacked clothes, skincare bottles scattered everywhere, tangled wires of the charger, and a few of my favorite books lying open. I crouch down and unzip my suitcase, double-checking everything inside. Two pairs of jeans, three summer dresses, sunscreen, my phone, and Kavya’s hoodie, the one she gave me, and I never travel without. But then my breath hitches when my eyes land on my journal. The one that holds all my secrets.
I slowly take the journal out, knowing I can’t take it with me. Turning to the nightstand, I open the drawer and tuck it inside. As I close the drawer, a heaviness settles over me. Some battles, I guess, are meant to be fought alone.
???
I sit in the backseat of our red Honda City, watching the trees blur into green smudges outside the window. The wind ruffles my hair through the half-opened glass, and there’s a playlist of old Hindi songs playing softly from the radio.
Sitting in the front are my parents, my dad, Ramesh Grewal, and my mom, Smita. His eyes focused on the road while Mom is reading out directions from her phone in that school-teacher voice she’s mastered over the years.
They’ve always been a perfect team. Just… solid.
Dad is a chartered accountant who’s spent years working long, tireless hours to give us a comfortable life. The kind of man who wears neatly ironed shirts even on Sundays at home, not because he has to, but because that’s just who he is. He’s not big on words, yet he’s never missed a parent-teacher meeting, never forgotten a birthday, and somehow always made sure the bills were paid on time.
Mom, on the other hand, is always immaculate, her sari always neatly pinned, her hair tied in a low bun. She’s been teaching at the same school for fifteen years, believing with her whole heart that teaching is the noblest job there is. And being the perfect Mom, she never did anything halfway. She packed our tiffins like we were off to feed an army, not just attend a few hours of school.
What I admire most is that, even though they came from middle-class roots, from a world where marriages were arranged, love still found its way in as they grew old together. Over the years, I watched Dad make tea for her when she stayed late grading papers, and Mom pressing his kurta before his audits. That’s when I realized real love isn’t about grand gestures. It’s about remembering how someone likes their chai.
“Are you okay, Nishu?” Mom asks, her warm smile breaking through my thoughts as she glances back at me.
I nod. “Just… thinking.”
Dad glances at me through the rearview mirror. “Missing Kavya?” he asks before adding, “We are missing her too.”
“I know,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around my knees. “It feels weird, going on a family trip without her.”
