Chapter 3: Parathas and Goodbyes

I turned away and busied myself.

My hands found comfort in the familiar: stacking parathas, checking the tiffin, folding a napkin. The routine steadied my breath, the sound of steel on steel anchoring me.

It was Shradh. Few people went out, parathas were hard to sell, and leftovers stared at me from the counter—a reminder of both waste and want.

I sighed, resigned to another frugal day. Even the street dogs seemed subdued, and the usual bustle outside was replaced by a hushed quiet.

I lowered my head and began packing my tiffin.

The smell of ghee made my eyes sting. I wiped them on the end of my dupatta, pretending the world hadn’t changed in a single afternoon.

No one saw the face I was about to cry with.

I turned away, letting my hair fall forward, grateful for the small privacy the kitchen offered. Outside, Arjun’s voice was already fading as he retreated.

Arjun called out, voice cold: “Bas karo, Meera. Ye parathe khaas nahi hai; tumhe khana bhi nahi hai.”

His words stung—a dismissal of the small acts of care that had bound us. I remembered my mother’s hands teaching me to knead dough, the pride she took in every perfectly round roti. I stared at my hands, flour clinging to my fingers, and for a moment felt the ache of generations.

I ignored him and continued to pack on my own.

Let him talk. My pride would not let me abandon the food I’d made, even if it meant eating cold leftovers in the dark.

At the bottom of the box was a letter I’d picked up from the post office.

Papa’s familiar handwriting greeted me. I pressed the envelope to my chest, breathing in the faint scent of sandalwood and betel.

It was from Papa. He’d opened a trade route between Rajasthan and the western border, inviting me to join him in trading.

His words carried hope and pride. He’d always believed I could do more than just manage a kitchen.

With the letter came a border permit.

A small slip of paper, but in my hands, it felt like a passport to a bigger world.

I am not without a place to go.

A sense of calm settled over me, like the first cool breeze after a scorching day. There was a world beyond Arjun’s indifference.

I can go beyond the border to trade. From then on, the sky is high and the world is wide, and we will part ways, each seeking our own happiness.

As I looked at the faded border permit, I felt the first flutter of hope in weeks. Maybe, just maybe, happiness lay in places I had never thought to look.