“Pot, meet kettle.”
A sigh escapes me. I nod once. I will let her go this time. “Fine. But message me when you get home.” She looks at me for a second, like she’s not sure if I’m serious.
“I mean it,” I add.
“I will.” Her voice is softer now. “Thanks… for the coffee company.”
She turns to go.
And I stand there, coffee still warm in my hand, wondering why it suddenly feels like the office is too quiet again.
Like she took something with her when she left.
And I don’t know if I’m letting her in. Or if she’s already in and I’m just now realizing it.
I take a sip. It’s sweet. Warmer than usual. And for once, I don’t mind.
CHAPTER 15
ADITI
There’s traffic, of course. It’s Mumbai—if I ever get to work without at least three auto drivers attempting vehicular murder, I’ll know I’ve left the city. I miss Jaipur sometimes. I am not saying it's the calmest city ever, but at least there's no nonstop noise because Mumbai is always alive.
I sit in the back of a cab, the seatbelt digging into my ribs, the driver humming some old Kishore Kumar song I vaguely recognize. It’s early, and the sunlight’s filtering in through the smog. I pull my blazer tighter over my top, legs crossed, phone in hand.
My phone buzzes, and I expect it to be an email from Abhimaan. The man has no sense of time boundaries—last night I got a file at 12:27 AM labeled “Urgent.”
But instead, it’s a video call. Group Video call from my family. I hesitate for a split second. Not because I don’t want to talk to them. I do. But these calls tend to start sweet and end in an emotional session because I miss all of them so much.
I swipe to answer.
The screen lights up with three squares—Anika, looking far too put-together for 8 AM because she loves to sleep andeveryone knows that; Bhabhi smiles softly, her hair in a loose braid, and in her lap is Rudrani.
Rudrani Malhotra, all of three years old and running this family like she pays the rent. She squishes her chubby cheeks close to the camera, a piece of her breakfast paratha hanging out of her tiny mouth. “Buaa!”
My heart lurches. God, I miss her.
“Good morning, Miss Boss Baby,” I say, grinning. “Why is your face already covered in butter?”
She giggles, showing me her tiny teeth. “Paraaa!”
“She’s refusing to eat anything else,” Shivani says in her usual gentle tone. “I tried toast, banana… even dahi.”
“She yelled at the banana,” Anika mutters, sipping from her coffee mug as she smiles gently.
“She said, and I quote,” Bhabhi adds, barely hiding her laughter, “‘This is not food. This is jail.”
Anika laughs. "Well, as much as she could, I love her broken language." I laugh so loud the driver glances at me through the rearview mirror.
“Honestly? She’s got a point though.” I raise an eyebrow because I don't get proper breakfast here. I mean, I do eat pancakes or chillas because they are easy to make, and breakfast is a must for me, so I understand where she comes from.
“Don’t encourage her,” Anika warns.
“Why not? She’s clearly the smartest one in the family.” I shoot back.
Rudrani waves a greasy hand at the camera. “Buaa come?”
Oh no. That voice. That tone. It always tugs at my heart. Shit. See, this is why I don't like video calls. I hate breaking this little girl's heart; it feels like a sin.
