She draws in a breath and with a look of understanding, she says, ‘I know it’s hard for you.’
‘The fact that you’re using the word hard tells me you know nothing about how hard it is. Use a thesaurus and find a better word.’
‘But you’re overdependent on her, Daksh. It’s not normal. You’ve got to let her live a little.’
‘Live a little? Do I keep her locked in the house? She goes everywhere and does everything. All I’m saying is that I don’t want her to go to Manali with people I don’t know. That’s it.’
‘She’s not three years old any more, Daksh. She’s eleven.’
‘Then why does she talk like she’s fifteen?’
‘Will you let her go when she’s fifteen?’
‘Eighteen is fair, I think.’
She steps close to me and holds my hand. ‘You need to trust her. She’s smart and intelligent—’
‘I know all that already. I trust her, I just don’t trust the world. How is that so hard to understand?’
‘If you don’t let her go, you’re going to make her hate you. You literally don’t want that.’
We have given the same advice multiple times in our podcasts. And, of course, doling out advice is far easier than following it.
I grunt. ‘Has she picked the word “literally” from you? It’s annoying.’
‘Literally every teenager speaks like this.’
I hear a shuffling of footsteps just outside. I bet Rabbani is out there, eavesdropping against the door. I walk two steps closer to the door.
‘My decision is final,’ I say a bit loudly so Rabbani can hear it too. ‘Manali’s not even that good. Half that place has eroded, the noodles are overrated, and it’s not even that cold. Delhi gets colder.’
Amruta also picks up on the sound of footsteps just beyond the door. She approaches and pulls it open. Rabbani retreats quietly. With a soft click, Amruta shuts the door once more.
‘It’s not final because I have not told you the final piece of the puzzle. This trip is not only going to be good for them but for us. It’s a win-win.’
‘No matter—’
Noticing the glint in her eye, I choose to stay silent.
She says, ‘I’m giving you a chance to be twenty-eight.’
‘I’m already twenty-eight. If you’re like that vampire billionaire on Instagram who wants to stop ageing, then we can talk.’
‘To be twenty-eight for real,’ she says, her voice dripping with excitement.
‘What does that mean?’
She steps close.
‘You and I, we take a holiday. Without the kids. I have enough Marriott Bonvoy points. Just imagine, we will be just like everyone else. Two young people without a care in the world. We can party without having to come back to our rooms at nine.’
‘You are sleepy by nine,’ I remind her.
She holds my hands with both her tiny hands. Her eyes brim with hope and excitement. It’s like she’s already half there, on a beach, or a mountain, wherever she’s decided.
‘But it would be nice to have the option of getting drunk and being really hungover the next day and having nothing to do.’
‘That doesn’t sound like you, Amruta.’
