CHAPTER 51! COME HOME
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Two days hadn't erased what Aadhira had seen. They had only taught her how to carry it without letting anyone notice.
Every time she closed her eyes, the dark coppery stain was still there, but she was functional.
She could smooth down the skirt of her dress, speak without her voice trembling, and wear a mask convincing enough for her son.
Today was Ayaan's parent-teacher conference.
The morning sun filtered through the tinted windshield, painting warm golden streaks across the car seats.
For thirty seconds, it was quiet. The kind of soft, uninterrupted quiet Aadhira hadn't known in two days.
She reached over, adjusting the collar of Ayaan's tiny blue uniform shirt, her thumb brushing his cheek.
Ayaan giggled, ducking his head.
"Mama, stop! It tickles!"
Aadhira's lips curled upward-a genuine, unforced smile that briefly reached her eyes.
"Hold still, sweetie. We want you looking sharp for Miss Shruti."
"I am sharp!" Ayaan pulled a crinkled sheet of paper from his bag, holding it up proudly between the front seats.
"Look! I drew our dog on the back of my notebook! Miss Shruti put a star on it and said it looks like a real monster!"
"It's a very impressive monster, Ayaan," she murmured, watching him through the rearview mirror.
Ayaan kept talking, his voice a bright, melodic chatter about recess and gold stars, but the sound began to blur at the edges.
The car drifted forward, yet Aadhira's mind lagged behind, trapped in the memory of forty-eight hours ago.
"Mama?"
Aadhira didn't answer. Her fingers tightened around the leather strap of her purse.
Ayaan waved the crinkled paper directly in front of her face, his small brow furrowed.
"Mama? Did you see the star?"
Aadhira snapped back, forcing air into her lungs. She smoothed a hair that wasn't out of place on his forehead.
"I see it, baby. It's beautiful."
For one fragile stretch of road, they were ordinary. A mother, her son, and a Sunday morning untouched by blood, fear, or the man waiting at the school gates.
She almost believed it.
Then the car slowed down. The security guard lifted the painted iron barrier with a metallic clatter.
Children streamed past in neat blue uniforms, dragging oversized wheelie bags behind them.
Aadhira put her hand on the door handle, her skin suddenly clammy. Outside, the natural rhythm of the morning had fractured.
Parents walking down the stone walkway were veering wide to the left, splitting like water around a heavy rock. No one had asked them to.
Children were pulled closer to their mothers' sides; a pair of teachers stopped mid-conversation, their eyes fixed on the entrance.
Aadhira followed their gazes.
Aryav stood beneath the stone pillars as though the crowd had been built around him rather than the other way around. Completely still against the rushing tide, he leaned slightly back, flanked by two men in dark suits.
Before she could unlatch her side, the locks clicked open automatically.
"Ayaan-"
Too late. The boy pushed his door open and darted into the morning crowd. "Papa!"
Aryav didn't move until the boy reached him. Then, with practiced ease, he caught Ayaan around the torso, absorbing the child's momentum without taking a step back.
He straightened Ayaan's crooked collar, the heavy signet ring on his finger flashing briefly in the morning sun.
"Shoelace," Aryav said smoothly.
Ayaan stopped bouncing on his heels. Without a word of protest, he dropped into a neat kneel on the pavement, his small fingers busily looping the white lace back into a tight double knot.
Aadhira stepped out of the car, her legs stiff, and closed the heavy door.
Aryav's gaze rose to meet hers over the boy's head. He took in her pale skin, the rigid line of her jaw, the faint dark circles she had tried so hard to conceal with powder.
He offered no greeting, but his eyes never left her.
"Come on, Papa! Mama's too slow!" Ayaan beamed, scrambling up with his lace secured.
He grabbed Aryav's right hand first. Then he reached back, his tiny, open palm stretching toward Aadhira, wiggling his fingers impatiently.
Aadhira hesitated. Her foot remained planted on the asphalt, her eyes darting from her son's small, hopeful face up to Aryav.
His expression didn't shift, but his unblinking stare tracked her hesitation.
"Mama!" Ayaan called again, a slight tug in his voice.
Aadhira swallowed the dry lump in her throat and stepped forward, wrapping her fingers around Ayaan's left hand.
A heavy silence hung over their heads as they walked.
To Ayaan, they were a family.
To Aadhira, they were two people bound to the same man.
The corridor smelled of floor wax, wet umbrellas, and poster paint. Inside the classroom, the ceiling fan hummed lazily overhead.
Miss Shruti looked up from a stack of progress reports. The moment her eyes landed on Aryav framed in the doorway, her posture changed.
She straightened her papers twice, adjusted the frame of her glasses, and swallowed noticeably before rising from her chair.
"Ah... Mr. Singhania. Mrs. Singhania. Please, come in," she said, her voice a fraction higher than normal as she gestured toward the two wooden chairs opposite her desk.
Miss Shruti's eyes flickered toward him before returning hurriedly to her papers. Aadhira noticed.
Of course she did.
Lately, she noticed everything about him. She hated that most of all.
Aryav stepped into the room. He didn't speak. He pulled back a chair with a slow, deliberate scrape against the white floor tiles, then held the backrest, waiting.
For one suspended second, her body locked, paralyzed by the uncertainty of whether she was even allowed to hesitate in front of him.
Then she stepped past him and sat down.
Only then did Aryav take the seat beside her. He crossed one long leg over the other, resting his forearm on the wooden armrest.
Aadhira forced her hands to lie flat in her lap. "We wanted to know how he's been doing." she said, her voice steady.
Miss Shruti kept her eyes fixed firmly on her notepad.
"Academically... he's exceptional. He finishes every worksheet well ahead of the class, and his reading comprehension is far beyond his age group."
She paused. Her pen hovered over the paper, tapping a nervous beat against the blotter. "Emotionally... there is one concern."
Aadhira's back went rigid.
"What concern?"
"He isn't disruptive," Miss Shruti said carefully, avoiding Aryav's direction. "In fact, he's very polite. Almost too polite. Children his age usually argue over toys or complain when they lose a game. Ayaan apologizes immediately. He even asks permission before throwing away a broken crayon."
Aryav's thumb slowly began to rotate the heavy signet ring on his pinky finger. The metal clicked once against his knuckle.
"Go on," Aryav said.
"If another child takes his blocks, he doesn't react. He just walks away and sits near the fence during recess," Miss Shruti replied.
"When someone raises their voice in class, he apologizes before they've even accused him of anything."
Aadhira felt a cold wave settle in her stomach. She couldn't remember the last time Ayaan had laughed at home without checking her face first to see if it was safe.
Down on the floor, Ayaan was building a tower out of colored wooden blocks.
At the teacher's words, his tiny hands froze around a red cube. He didn't look up.
"Mama, I will do best again," Ayaan whispered softly to the floor, his small voice trembling.
"Papa... don't be mad."
The tower tipped sideways, scattering colored blocks across the floor with a series of quick, hollow clatters.
Nobody picked them up.
The signet ring stopped turning beneath Aryav's thumb.
Aryav had watched men beg with guns pressed to their heads. He had watched them die. He had never looked into eyes that frightened him.
Until now.
"Stand up, Ayaan," Aryav said. The command was low, quiet, and absolutely firm.
Ayaan immediately let go of the remaining blocks and stood straight, his arms pinned to his sides, his chin down.
Aryav crouched in front of his son, brushing a speck of chalk dust from the boy's knee. "Look at me."
Ayaan lifted his head, his wide eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Did you do something wrong?" Aryav asked, his voice smooth and devoid of heat.
Ayaan shook his head quickly.
"Then don't apologize." Aryav held his gaze, letting the instruction sink in.
"Not for someone else's fault. Ever."
Ayaan pulled his shoulders back. Aryav lingered for one silent beat before standing back up to his full height and straightening his cuff.
Aadhira stood up, leaning down to touch Ayaan's head. "Ayaan, sweetie, go wait for me right outside the door, okay? Right by the artwork board."
"Okay, Mama," Ayaan murmured, scrambling up and scurrying into the hallway.
Miss Shruti cleared her throat.
"Mr. Singhania, this isn't something we should overlook."
Aryav looked at her.
"I won't."
Miss Shruti lowered her eyes, unable to hold his stare.
Aryav turned on his heel and stepped toward the exit. He reached Aadhira, his hand settling briefly at her waist as he guided her through the doorway.
The moment they cleared it, he let go.
Ayaan was standing by the wall, staring down at the scuffed tiles.
Aadhira knelt before her son, wrapping her hands gently around his small arms. "Baby..."
"I finished all my homework," Ayaan interrupted softly, his bottom lip trembling as he looked up into her face.
"I shared my crayons today, too. I didn't push anyone... I was good."
Aadhira's chest caved in. She pulled him close, buried her face in his neck, and squeezed her eyes shut against the prickling heat of tears.
Ayaan rested his cheek against her shoulder, his small fingers clutching tightly at the fabric of her sleeve.
"Mama..." he whispered very quietly into her ear.
"I'll be quieter tomorrow."
Aadhira drew back just enough to cup his face between her hands, lowering herself until they were eye level.