We all sat on the floor. The tenant was also sitting with us for dinner, and we all ate together. Mom gave him roti, and he took it. Everything felt like family. His eyeglasses made him look smart, but he didn't glance at me even once. He seemed fully focused on his dinner, like he had never eaten such a delicious meal before.
"Tej, take more rice," Mom insisted.
My eyes were lowered—I didn't look at anything, but I heard everything.
"Babu, come eat!" Mom shouted.
Babu was busy on a call with his friend. "Okay, okay," he replied casually.
He always takes money from me but never returns it... that bast—
"Shh, don't talk while eating," Papa cut him off.
Mom gave him an annoyed look again.
I smiled awkwardly—just enough for everyone to notice. They all looked at me... even the guy with glasses.
I quickly put on my expressionless face again.
It was so embarrassing... when you suddenly laugh and everyone looks at you like you're a stranger.
It feels even worse when they're your own family—because they know you're not the type to laugh easily. But I laughed... because in that moment, something felt funny and oddly familiar.
After eight long months, I had finally come back home. Seeing my family together again, all of us complete—it was overwhelming in the best way. This moment, right now, felt like one of the most memorable ones. It made me feel at ease. It made me relax.
And in that comfort, I lost control—
Control over the version of myself I created, the one I wear every day...
From the moment I step out of bed, to the moment I lie back down—
That carefully built personality I use to survive the world.
After we finished dinner, I went to the kitchen, grabbed my plate, and took everyone else's plates to wash.
Tej was sitting on the couch, watching TV with my father. I looked at him for a moment—he looked so relaxed, like he truly felt comfortable here.
But how can someone be so at ease in someone else's home?
And yet... here I am, not even feeling comfortable in my own home.
His legs were stretched out on the couch, and he smiled brightly when India hit a six.
It was a cricket match—one my father and he were watching together, completely lost in it like old friends.
I took some snacks from the kitchen cupboard, placed them on a plate, and set it on the table in front of them. Without looking at either of them, I quietly walked back to my place.
They ate quietly. I went back to my room, grabbed my blanket, and tried to sleep.
But the sound of the TV kept disturbing me.
I came back from the city to escape the noise...
But here too, it had followed me.
Even home doesn't feel quiet anymore.
I opened my novel and started reading it when someone knocked on my door. It was my mother.
"Come eat ice cream?" she asked gently.
I really didn't want to sit with them...
It was my alone time.
Still, I came out, took my ice cream.
I took the ice cream from the table—
The same table where Tej and Papa had been sitting for a long time.
They were still there, still watching TV, still talking.
Everything was just as it had been...
Except I felt out of place, like a guest in my own home.
I somehow feel jealous of him—my papa—how casually he relaxes with a stranger, and with me, he just walks off like I don't exist. My mom keeps asking him if he wants more food, I came back home after 8 months... shouldn't they at least pretend to be happy? Shouldn't they show some love to me?
Showing love is a difficult task — I can understand them. Night fell in my room, and after a long time, I slept like a baby — without worrying about tomorrow, without having to fight with myself to fall asleep.
The morning came without an alarm — my mother's voice was enough to wake me up.
I could hear her in the kitchen, making breakfast, going about her routine.
Still half-asleep, I got up and walked to the bathroom.
Without thinking, I opened the door and stepped inside.
As I rubbed my eyes and looked up at the mirror, I froze.
Tej was already inside, holding his towel.
I quickly looked down, my heart skipping a beat.
What... what just happened?
I rushed out of the bathroom and back to the hall, my face burning.
Shit! How could this happen to me?"
All the worst-case scenarios life could offer — it's like they line up just to embarrass me, one by one, deeply and perfectly.
I sat on the couch, waiting for him to come out.
Mom kept glancing at me from the kitchen.
Papa had already left for his work site, and Babu was probably still asleep in his bed.
He finally came out... but without even looking at me, he walked straight upstairs.
I wanted to say sorry for my mistake — but how?
How do you apologize when your voice feels stuck in your throat?
I entered the bathroom and washed my face with soap.
Anger pulsed through my veins.
Is he pretending to ignore me? But why? Why only me?
I climbed the stairs, heading to the tiny room on the roof where he was staying.
I knocked on the door.
No reply.
Without waiting even a second, I pushed the door open.
He was lying on the bed, the room thick with smoke.
He opened his eyes, but his expression was unreadable.
I stood there, frozen like a statue.
Finally, I found the courage to speak.
"I'm sorry."
The moment I said it, a wave of discomfort hit me — the air was heavy, almost choking.
I left quickly. It was hard to breathe in there.
The more I think about it, the more embarrassed I feel.
Maybe it's better if I just avoid eye contact with him... or not go in front of him at all.
Outside, the sun had risen beautifully.
Papa was already working hard in the fields.
I picked up the food basket and headed toward the farmland.
The plants had grown tall. The sky was a clear, endless blue.
Since childhood, I've seen my father work relentlessly.
He never took a single day off for himself — not even during heavy rain.
Sometimes I wonder... is he doing all this for himself? Or for us? His family?
At my office, I work hard too — trying to take at least a little burden off his shoulders.
But life doesn't go the way you want it to.
What I wish for and what actually happens... they're never the same.
"Go wake Babu up," Mom told me while unpacking the food.
He walked toward me, coming from the direction of home, while I was heading back.
We were face to face for a brief moment... but he didn't stop, didn't even glance at me.
He simply walked past, heading straight toward the farmland behind me.
I walked quickly, frustration building inside me — because of him... or maybe because of everyone.
Why does it feel like everyone ignores my existence?
And why does that hurt the most?
In my life, no one has ever truly shown me affection.
Am I really just craving someone's attention? Is that what this is?
But then again... why does it ache so much when no one sees you?
Does he think I'm desperate — like some girl chasing his attention?
A part of me hates that thought... yet it won't leave.
I looked out from my window.
He was in the field, working alongside my papa.
They were talking.
He smiled.