Chapter 9: Samosas and Summer Thunder

That night, Arjun didn’t leave. He just squatted outside my door.

But since he wasn’t corporeal, his whole back went through the door.

At first glance, it looked like the door was wearing a school uniform—pretty creepy.

But he didn’t realize it at all, still saying, "Go to sleep, Meera."

Honestly, I wasn’t scared either.

Because I remembered a summer vacation when he also sat outside my door all night.

I was thirteen that year.

My parents were fighting over divorce.

One cried, "Did you ever love me?"

"All these years, did you ever care about me for even a day?"

The other looked annoyed.

"Our marriage was an accident."

"If you hadn’t gotten pregnant, I wouldn’t have broken up with Asha."

They argued and cursed.

No one noticed when I ran out the door.

Back then, I was introverted, friendless, with nowhere to go, so I wandered to a small shop near the colony.

The old lady there was kind.

She never asked hard questions, just greeted me, "Beta, want to watch TV? Come on."

I forgot what was on TV that day. I only remember sitting there for a long, long time.

From noon to dusk.

From blazing sun to the air thickening with the scent of coming rain.

Arjun showed up then.

He called out, "Dadi, ek bottle vinegar dena."

He was surprised to see me.

We chatted a bit.

After paying, he was about to leave, then stepped back and, acting cool, tilted his chin at me.

"Meera, my family’s making samosas today."

"Come eat with us."

The memory flooded back with the scent of frying oil and coriander, the image of Arjun’s lopsided grin, and the safe warmth of a home that wasn’t mine but felt like it could be, even if only for one night.