Chapter Thirty Three
Thirty-Three
Three weeks later, Priya sat beside her parents in the auditorium, gripping the event program as she took in the scene around her.
The energy in the room was electric—contestants shifting in their seats, judges reviewing their notes, industry insiders scanning the room for the next breakout talent.
Large screens displayed the competing apps, rotating through their descriptions and logos.
This was the kind of room where careers were made.
Where people got noticed. Where everything Priya had been working toward finally had a chance to become real.
And then, from her left—
“Chai, beta?”
Priya turned just in time to see Mumma pulling a thermos and a steel glass out of her bottomless bag.
“Mumma!” Priya shot her a you cannot be serious look.
Puppa didn’t even bother looking up. “Seema, this is not the time or place for tea.”
“It’s eleven o’clock,” Mumma muttered, stowing the thermos back into her bag. A moment later, she retrieved a container and popped it open to reveal a stack of flatbreads.
“Thepla?” she asked.
“Seema!” Puppa hissed as the pungent smell of fenugreek and spices filled the air, heads turning in their direction. Priya sank into her seat, cringing.
Mumma sealed the container with a sharp click and crossed her arms. “So many people, and not one snack in sight! I know, I know.” She waved Puppa off before he could respond.
“It’s not that kind of gathering, but still.
Would a few pastries kill them? Instead, we have all these screens.
Tech zone, schmeck zone. Ato total no-snack zone. ”
“Shh,” Puppa silenced, as the lights dimmed and the event began.
The host stepped up to the podium and introduced the judges, highlighting their contributions to the tech industry.
He described the success stories of past winners.
Some had turned their prize money into full-fledged businesses, some had secured major funding, and others had partnered with top companies to leave their mark on the virtual world.
As the speech wrapped up, a tide of anticipation swept through the crowd.
It was time to reveal the winners. All eyes turned to the giant screen onstage to see which app would take the top spot.
Priya held her breath. This was it. The moment she had been working toward.
And then, loud enough to be heard over the stillness, Mumma’s stomach let out an unholy growl. She coughed and reached for a water bottle, feigning a dry throat.
A few chuckles rippled through the audience. Priya pressed her lips together, willing herself not to react.
The screen in front of her flickered, names shifting, rankings updating. And then…Priya’s heart slammed into her ribs. There it was. Her app. Lit up among the top three.
Beside her, Puppa’s eyes flared with pride, though he quickly smoothed it over with a measured smile. Mumma, on the other hand, gave nothing away. Drawing attention wasn’t the Solanki way—and years of running a funeral home had trained them to keep their reactions contained.
The speaker leaned into the mic, his smile wide as the murmurs died down.
“Every year, we see brilliant minds walk through these doors, but only one entry can take the top spot. As always, it was a tough decision. I’m thrilled to announce that this year’s winner is…
” He let the silence stretch for just a beat as the screen refreshed.
Her name popped up the exact moment he said it aloud.
Priya’s stomach flipped. Oh my god. He actually said my name! She blinked at the screen again, almost needing confirmation. That’s me.
Puppa nearly jumped from his seat, looking like he might actually cheer. Mumma’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes growing wide.
“Ketla mayla? How much?” she asked, leaning over Puppa to squeeze Priya’s hand. Because for Mumma, the payout was the real headline.
Priya let out a shaky breath, half laughing, half in shock.
“Seema.” Puppa pried Mumma’s hands from Priya’s lap, his eyes twinkling. “The man is still talking.” He gestured toward the podium, where the speaker was detailing why Priya’s app had caught the judges’ attention.
“This app transforms the funeral planning experience,” the man said. “It centralizes everything a family needs into one easy-to-navigate platform, eliminating the stress of researching dozens of sites separately.”
He clicked the remote, and the app’s interface appeared on the screen.
“Imagine being able to find exactly what you need based on your location, cultural background, religious beliefs, and personal wishes—from traditional burials and cremations to aquamations and eco-friendly choices. Need live streaming? Multilanguage support? A florist? A grief counselor? Just set your preferences and browse through profiles that include photos and reviews.”
The slides kept shifting, each one showcasing another feature. The speaker walked the audience through the customization options, virtual memorial spaces, the calendar tool, and private chat rooms.
Priya heard the words, but they drifted past her, distant and blurred.
Suddenly, she was eight years old again, standing under the glare of the school auditorium lights.
She hopped off the stage, excitement buzzing through her—eager to show Mumma and Puppa her gold medal.
But they gravitated toward Ravi, hands folded, voices full of praise.
Priya’s steps faltered, confusion twisting inside her.
Afterward, Puppa had explained caste to her.
Congratulating Ravi wasn’t about ignoring her.
It was about acknowledging the place Ravi’s family held in the community.
Priya had nodded like a good daughter, but something had shifted inside her.
There were lines in the world she hadn’t seen before that day.
She told herself it didn’t matter. That she would work harder, climb higher, push further, until she was no longer standing in anyone’s shadow, waiting to be seen.
And now here she was, in an auditorium filled with the sharpest minds in the industry, her name glowing on a screen for the world to see.
She had done it. She had arrived.
A lump formed in her throat as she listened to the final words of the presentation: “…a solid revenue model…strategic advertising…scalable for international expansion.”
The speaker paused, scanning the audience before continuing. “And now, I would like to invite one of our judges to present the award to this year’s winner, Priya Solanki. Priya, please join us onstage.”
The room erupted, but Priya could barely move. Get up. Get up. This is your moment.
“Priya,” her father nudged.
From the corner of her eye, Priya caught her mother’s animated gesture, encouraging her to rise.
As Priya stood, the applause grew, rolling through the room like thunder.
It sounded like it belonged to someone bigger, someone greater—but it was for her.
Each step toward the podium felt surreal, like she was moving through a dream.
But the weight in her hands was real when she accepted the award—solid and heavy with meaning.
In that moment, Priya felt like she was standing up there not only for herself but for every person who had ever reached for more and refused to let go.
She turned toward the audience, lifting her trophy high. Mumma and Puppa shot to their feet, their cheers cutting through the noise. There were no reserved claps, no subtle nods. They were beaming, their excitement spilling out, raw and unfiltered.
As Priya’s eyes swept over the crowd, an ache tightened in her chest.
Ethan.
Without him by her side, she felt like a galaxy missing its brightest star.
She instinctively reached for the pendant he had given her, and felt a quiet glow burn within her, as if she had a star of her own, shining steadily—hidden yet enduring.
It had carried her through the moments when no one was watching, because real growth happened away from the spotlight. In its own time, in its own space.
“Congratulations, Priya,” the judge said. “Please tell us about your app in your own words.”
Priya’s heartbeat was calm now. No hesitation, no second-guessing. She set the trophy down, her fingers lingering over the cool metal for just a second before turning to the audience.
“Thank you,” she said. “While it may seem like I created Moksha, the truth is that, in many ways Moksha created me. Moksha isn’t just the name of this app.
It’s also the name of the funeral home that my parents run, the place that shaped my childhood.
The word itself comes from the Sanskrit term for liberation or freedom. ”
Her voice softened as she continued. “My app is a tribute to the work my parents have done every single day, treating every family, every loss, with the same level of dignity, regardless of wealth, background or…as of late, species.”
Priya waited for the laughter to settle.
“Moksha is my way of carrying that legacy forward. It’s about making space for every person’s story, ensuring they get a farewell that truly reflects them.
Because no matter how different our lives are, in the end, we all walk through the same door.
Death treats us with the same profound equality.
When we cross that threshold, we leave all the labels, all the division behind. ”
She took a slow breath. “For me, Moksha is more than an app. It’s a promise to help people navigate something inevitable with dignity, peace, and choice, all from the privacy of their own homes.”
Looking around the auditorium, Priya let herself absorb the moment—the eyes watching her, the energy buzzing around her. “Thank you all for believing in me and making this vision a reality.” Lifting her trophy again, she locked eyes with her parents and smiled. “To Moksha!”
“There she is!” Puppa exclaimed when Priya emerged from a whirlwind of cameras and handshakes.
“Our Priya.” Mumma took Priya’s hands in hers. “A shining bacon.”
“Beacon,” Puppa corrected.
Mumma only squeezed Priya’s hands tighter. “You’ve filled our hearts today, beta,” she said, her voice quavering with pride. “Here, feel.” She placed Priya’s hand on her chest. “See how round and puffed up it is—like the perfect rotli.”
Priya chuckled. Mumma’s gesture was more than a moment of pride.
It was her way of inviting Priya back into her heart.
There was an unspoken rule in the Solanki family.
Parents didn’t apologize to kids. They simply pulled the threads tighter after every fray—an extra piece of dessert, a softened tone, a hand pressed over the heart.
Priya wrapped her arms around Mumma and gave her a hug.
“Hello?” Puppa piped up, his voice expectant.
Smiling, Priya pulled him in, too, the hug growing into a tangle of arms and hearts.
“All this…it’s beyond anything we imagined,” he said. “Companies offering you jobs, partnerships, opportunities…”
He stepped back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “I get it now, Priya. All this time, we couldn’t figure out why you kept fighting, why you wouldn’t just do as you were told. But you weren’t meant for the life we imagined. You were meant for something we never dared to reach for ourselves.”
Priya blinked back her tears, the pressure to justify her choices lifting.
Mumma reached for her, squeezing her arm. “We thought we were guiding you, keeping you safe. Even after the divorce, we wanted you to be with someone, so you’d never have to face life alone. But you are strong, Priya. Strong enough to stand on your own.”
“Oh, Mumma…” A soft sob escaped Priya. “You know what would make this moment absolutely perfect?”
“What, beta?”
“Chai and thepla.” Priya tilted her head toward Mumma’s tote.
Mumma’s eyes lit up. “Really? You think it’s okay now?” She glanced around as if they were sneaking food into a theater. The event had nearly wrapped up—booths coming down, banners rolled up, people heading out.
“Come.” Priya reached for her mother’s hand.
They found a quiet bench nestled behind tall plants, away from the fading chatter of the day.
Mumma pulled out the thermos and poured the chai into steel glasses.
Priya held it by the rim and breathed in the rich swirl of ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, and cloves.
Passing the container of theplas between them, they tore off pieces with their fingers.
The combination of spiced tea and soft theplas felt like a quiet kind of healing.
Mumma wiped her hands and turned to Priya. “Give me the key.”
“What key?” Priya asked.
“The coach house key,” Mumma said, holding out her hand.
Priya’s heart sank. Asking for the keys back could only mean one thing. Mumma expected her to move back into the apartment. Had all of this—her independence, her space—been temporary?
She placed the key in Mumma’s hand, swallowing back the knot of disappointment. All of her progress had just been dialed back.
Mumma took the key, but instead of putting it away, she dug into her purse. A second later, she pulled out a charm, attached it to the key, and placed it back in Priya’s palm.
“Today is a new beginning,” she said. “May it be free of obstacles ahead.”
Priya’s breath caught as she looked at her palm.
A tiny Lord Ganesh key chain dangled from the key, just like the one Mumma had given Ethan.
It wasn’t just a charm. It was a blessing, a silent acknowledgment that Mumma had finally accepted her choice to live in the coach house.
Priya had won something greater than her parents’ permission. She had earned their trust.
As her thumb glided over the charm, it felt like a thread tying her to Ethan.
She wondered if he ever thought about her.
Did her name ever drift through his mind in the quiet moments before sleep?
Or had he banished her to the corners of his mind, still refusing to look at her?
Was she now an untouchable relic, distanced and set apart from the rest of his memories?