“Thank you, Mr. Aditya,” he says proudly. “You are very kind.”
I laugh softly. She wasn’t exaggerating. He really does speak like a miniature adult.
“You’re welcome, Neel.”
Divya watches him with a soft smile. Then she says quietly, “I’m getting married to him.” But there’s uncertainty in her voice. Like the sentence still feels strange even as she says it. Neel’s smile disappears immediately. His eyes move slowly between his sister and me. Then he walks closer. Very slowly. Very deliberately. He stops directly in front of my chair. His small chin lifts slightly as he tries to look intimidating.
“Do you like my sister?” I glance briefly at Divya. Her eyes widen in horror.
I nod calmly. “Yes.” Neel studies my face carefully.
“You will take care of her?”
“Yes.”
He frowns. “The bank man makes her cry.”
“Neel!” Divya gasps. But he ignores her. His gaze remains locked on mine.
“Will you take care of him?” For a second I don’t understand the question. Then I realize what he means. Will I stop him. Will I protect her.
I smile. “Yes.”
His expression relaxes slightly. “Okay.”
Then he adds very seriously, “But if you hurt my didi, I will kick you.”
I chuckle. “That sounds fair.”
He holds up his pinky finger. “You promise?”
I hook my finger around his without hesitation. And as I do—I glance up at Divya. She looks like she’s two seconds away from crying.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “pinky promise.”
4. SHARED BED AND THOUGHTS
DIVYA
By the time Aditya finishes carrying the second suitcase inside, the sun has already dipped low enough that the small living room glows in that soft orange light I’ve always loved.
The house suddenly feels different. Not bigger. Not smaller. Just… aware. Like the walls themselves know that someone new has stepped into the life we’ve been quietly living here for years.
Aditya sets the suitcase down beside the old wooden cabinet near the door and straightens slowly, glancing around the room with quiet curiosity.
“This is it,” I say, suddenly feeling strangely nervous.
Why am I nervous? This is my house. I’ve lived here my entire life. But for some reason in this moment when Aditya is looking around, I am hyper aware of every little imperfection.
The crack near the ceiling. The uneven paint on the wall Neel and I tried to fix ourselves last summer. The slightly crooked shelf where my father used to keep his books.
“It’s small,” I add quickly. “But it’s comfortable.”
Aditya turns toward me, his expression calm. “It’s nice.” The way he says it makes it sound like he actually means it.
Neel darts past us suddenly, nearly knocking into Aditya’s arm as he runs toward the small bedroom hallway. “Didi! I’m showing him the good room!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “There is no good room, Neel.”
