As I saw him I greeted him, "Good evening Dad, It's nice to See you" taking Father bag from him and put it to sofa.
" Oh, You have come early, Good".
"Hey, how was your day?" Mom asked as he stepped inside.
"Same as always… hectic," he replied with a little smile, shrugging off the day's fatigue.
He had bring something with him and handed over to mom instructing mom to eat in break fast.
And I know it must be some sweet product, because I know him well.
Then his eyes flicked toward me. "And it looks like someone has been keeping Mom busy. Hey boy, did you help her? Don't you know she came from the office too?"
"I did," I replied, a little defensively but with a grin.Although it was pure lie.
Mom gave him a quick, playful glare. "You started lecturing him as soon as you saw him? Won't you give him some rest?" Her tone wasn't harsh—it wasn't even a scold.
It was the kind of glance filled with gentle authority, tempered by warmth and love.
Love. That's what it was. The love of a mother—for her child, for her husband, for her family.
Everything she did, every word she spoke, every small glance or gesture, carried it. And in that moment, watching them both, I felt the comforting pulse of home—the kind of ordinary, everyday love that made life feel safe, steady, and immeasurably warm.
A little laughter filled the dining table as we settled in, the aroma of the freshly cooked meal adding to the cozy atmosphere.
Conversations drifted from small happenings in the neighborhood to light teasing between Mom and Dad. Then, as expected, Dad turned his attention to me.
"So, how's work? Tell me a little about the company," he asked, carving a piece of his dinner.
I gave him a rough idea of the services the company provided—how they developed apps and websites for restaurants, local businesses, and public services, always aiming for convenience and efficiency.
I mentioned the touchscreen ordering systems, the way analytics helped businesses improve, and how every small detail was designed to enhance user experience.
"I've heard a lot about that company," Dad said, nodding thoughtfully. "People always say it provides top-quality services. Some companies focus on quantity, but quality? Not so much. Listening to you, it really sounds true." He smiled.
"No wonder that old guy suggested it to you. I'll have to call him over for dinner one of these days. It's good to know you're learning from a place that values real work."
I nodded, feeling a small surge of pride.
It was reassuring to see that Dad understood the essence of my work, even if he didn't know all the technical details.
The conversation drifted naturally into stories about clients, neighborhood happenings, and the little quirks of office life, but the warmth of that exchange—the shared respect and laughter—lingered with me longer than any story or technical detail ever could.
"Let's leave office work at the office," Mom interjected gently, a small smile playing on her lips. "Don't bring it home. Tonight is for family, for us."
Her words had an almost magical effect.
Dad nodded in agreement, leaning back slightly. "You're right. Let's enjoy tonight. Work can wait for tomorrow."
The hum of work, the deadlines, the stress of the past six months—it all seemed to fade for a moment.
We laughed softly, the conversation drifting to lighter topics: the upcoming festive season, neighbors' plans, and small memories from when I was a child.
I felt a sense of ease settle over me, the kind only home and family could bring.
Even after months of independent living in Denube, the warmth of this household reminded me why home always had its own rhythm—a rhythm of care, laughter, and simple togetherness that no office, no matter how engaging, could replicate.
The dinner continued with chatter, light teasing, and occasional bursts of laughter. Mom passed plates around with quiet efficiency, Dad shared small anecdotes from his day, and I chimed in with little stories from Denube.
The stories were simple, ordinary, but in their simplicity lay comfort—the kind that reminded me of roots, of belonging, and of the beauty in everyday life.
The evening had been light, filled with laughter and gentle conversation, but the tiredness of the day was catching up with me.
A soft dizziness made me realize it was time to call it a night.
"I'm going to head to bed," I said, standing up and stretching slightly. "Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad."
"Good night, James," they replied in unison, their voices warm and familiar.
"Our son is now grown up" , said Dad to Mom.
"How much he grew up he will always be our son, and you knowing he is grown up , don't you lecture him always", Mom scolded.
" O ,come on, that's not lecturing, that is called A father's love to their child, can't you See", countered Dad emotionally.
I walked to my room, the comfort of home wrapping around me like a soft blanket.
The aroma of dinner still lingered faintly in the air, and the faint hum of the ceiling fan added a soothing rhythm to the room.
As I lay down, I felt a quiet contentment—tired, yes, but happy.
The city, the office, and everything outside could wait. Tonight was just about home, family, and the gentle comfort of belonging.
With that thought, I let sleep take over, the familiar walls of my room providing a sense of safety and warmth that only a hometown could offer.
Next morning
It was a public holiday, and for once, there was no rush, no alarms, no office work waiting for me.
Everyone in the house seemed unusually relaxed.
Dad was reading the newspaper in the living room, Mom was humming some old tune from her college days, and I had just woken up, stretching lazily before heading downstairs.
As I was halfway down the stairs, I heard Mom's excited voice from the kitchen.
"James! James, come here!"