Chapter 4: Bedtime Truths and Unspoken Sorrows

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“Mum isn’t that kind of woman.” I clenched my fists, looking seriously at Arjun. “Mum really loved Papa. She never forgot you.”

My voice rang out—small but stubborn, refusing to let his harsh words be the last about Amma.

Arjun was stunned for a moment, his mocking smile deepening. “Did she teach you to say this?”

He stared at me with a strange look, half-amused, half-resentful. I shook my head.

“No...”

I sniffed, trying not to cry again.

“No one knows what kind of person Meera Sharma is better than I do.” His expression was cold. “Except for Vikram, she never truly loved anyone.”

He spoke as if closing the final chapter on Amma’s life, not knowing the chapters I had lived.

My face burned from holding back tears.

I wanted to shout, to argue, but my throat closed up. Amma always said, “Let people think what they want, beta. You know the truth.”

I can’t say Mum was a survivor, and being with Uncle Vikram was just to live.

My mind spun with grown-up secrets I only half-understood. I pressed my lips together, trying to stay strong.

How can I make Papa believe Mum really loved him?

I remembered Amma’s last words: “One day, Anvi, you will show them my heart.”

With a heavy heart, I lay down in bed.

The blanket smelled faintly of naphthalene balls. I curled up, wishing Amma could tuck me in just once more.

Arjun tucked me in. “I’m right next door. Knock if you need anything, okay?”

He hovered, smoothing the sheets, but wouldn’t meet my gaze. I noticed the deep lines of exhaustion around his eyes.

“Got it.”

My voice was small, but I tried to sound brave.

The bandage on his wrist was seeping blood, the wound refusing to heal.

The sight made my heart thump with worry. I remembered Amma’s words: "When people are sad, be extra gentle, beta."

Is Papa hurt?

I worried about it.

I lay awake, listening to the ticking clock and the distant barking of stray dogs.

Ten minutes later, I stood at the master bedroom door.

My feet made no sound on the floor. I hesitated, then knocked softly, hoping he wouldn’t be angry.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

My knuckles tingled from the cold as I waited, shivering.

Arjun opened the door, his eyes red, face tense. “What’s wrong?”

He rubbed his forehead, looking more tired than ever, as if sleep was a forgotten friend.

“Papa, can I come in and sleep with you?”

My voice trembled. Amma always let me sleep with her when I was scared.

“No.”

His answer was quick, almost automatic. But I pressed on, desperate.

I pressed my palms together, pleading softly. “Please? I’ve been away from Mum since I was little...”

I looked up at him, eyes wide, the way Amma said melted even the toughest hearts.

“...Come in.”

He stepped aside, running a hand through his hair, giving up the fight.

He made a bed on the floor, letting me sleep on the bed alone.

He spread an extra razai for me, carefully tucking the corners. I watched him with sleepy gratitude.

To keep me from falling, he even left a small night light on.

The soft orange glow cast gentle shadows on the wall. For a moment, I felt safe.

“Papa, aren’t you going to sleep with me?”

I patted the empty space beside me, hopeful.

“A grown girl should avoid sleeping with her father.”

He mumbled, adjusting his pillow on the floor.

I sat up in surprise. “So you admit you’re my papa now?”

I couldn’t help the hopeful smile on my lips.

Arjun closed his eyes, refusing to look at me. “All the more reason a strange man shouldn’t.”

He spoke softly, as if the words were more for himself.

I lay back down, disappointed, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a photo frame turned face down on the nightstand.

The glint of Amma’s photo in the half-dark made my heart ache. I remembered how she kept my school pictures under her pillow.

It was Mum’s photo.

I reached out to touch it, but stopped, not wanting to intrude.

“Papa, you miss Mum a lot too, don’t you?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Arjun paused, his tone stiff.

He stiffened, eyes darting to the window.

“...No.”

His voice was flat, but his hands trembled.

Really?

I rolled over, staring at the ceiling. The silence in the room was louder than anything I’d ever heard.

Then why, after Mum died, did you also lose all will to live?

I wondered if, maybe, he too had his own silent sorrows.