( Tanya's POV )
There's a special kind of heaviness in humid evenings — the kind that sticks to your skin, sneaks into your hair, and somehow still finds a way to feel like home when you know a warm kitchen is waiting for you.
The air clung to my skin like cling film, the kind that refuses to peel away no matter how much you curse at it. Humidity in August is personal—it wants you frizzy, sweaty, and regretting every decision to leave the house.
Vihaan, Kavin, and I strolled toward the parking space, still carrying the faint smell of wet clay on our hands. My hair, which had started the day behaving itself, now stuck in little strands to my cheeks. Great. By the time I reached home, I'd look like a puffball. Frizz and I had a long, toxic relationship.
The parking lot's streetlight flickered once, twice, like it couldn't decide whether to do its job. Vihaan was still mid-sentence about some silly pottery mishap when we reached the point where his route split off. Kavin slowed his bike just enough for Vihaan to pedal alongside for a few extra steps. Subtle. Too subtle for most people to notice, you know the kind—blink and you'd miss it. But I didn't blink. My brain was already highlighting it in neon yellow.
"See you, then," Vihaan said, one hand in his pocket, the other giving a lazy wave. Kavin's return wave was slower, like his arm wasn't quite ready to drop.
They both smiled — not big, not obvious, just… soft. Lingering. I could practically hear my inner commentator going, Ohhh, interesting.
I didn't say anything out loud. Not yet. My thoughts are much louder in my head anyway, and right now they were having a full-on gossip session while my mouth politely said, "See you, Vihaan!"
Kavin and I pedalled through Chaitanya Enclave's quieter streets, the smell of wet earth and faraway cooking drifting in from the open windows we passed in comfortable silence, the kind where you don't have to fill the air because the cicadas are already doing it for you.. He dropped me off in front of our little yellow house, where Nani and Nanu were perched outside in the garden with their evening tea like they were the king and queen of the block.
"Tanu! Aur yeh kaun? Arre, Kavin beta!" Nani's face lit up like a diya, as soon as she spotted him, all crinkled eyes and overflowing warmth,
"Kavin beta, dinner yahin khalo aaj ( have dinner here today )," Nanu added, half-standing from his chair. The man's definition of 'inviting' was basically 'not taking no for an answer'.
Kavin chuckled, hands raised "Thank you, Nanu, but I should head back. Mumma will wonder where I've disappeared to."
"Oh, mumma-shumma! Tell her Tanya's Nanu-Nani kidnapped you," Nani teased, her bangles jingling as she gestured towards the door. "We'll feed you quickly. You'll still reach before the owls come out." grandma huffed.
Kavin laughed but shook his head. "Next time, pakka. ( Next time, for sure )"
"You said that last time also," Nanu grumbled in mock disappointment, then winked at me when Kavin wasn't looking.
I hid a smile. She'd been trying to feed all my friends since the day I was born. Kavin politely declined again, and they settled for chatting with him about school, the weather, and the general state of the universe. Grandpa slipped in a joke about how the only thing heavier than this humidity was Kavin's schoolbag
I stood there grinning like a fool as they bantered, warmth seeping into me like the smell of Nani's cooking drifting from inside. Eventually, Kavin waved and pedalled off, calling a cheerful "Goodnight!" over his shoulder.
My grandparents and I headed in, the familiar creak of the front door greeting us.
Inside, Nani ordered, "Go wash up, bachhe," already untying her dupatta's knot like a general preparing for battle.
"Let me help—" I began, but Nanu popped his head into the hallway and declared, "No, no. Go wash up. " he grinned "You already stink from outside; don't make the kitchen stink too."
"Excuse me?!" I gasped in fake outrage, which only made him chuckle.
Ten minutes later, after a quick shower and a battle with my hairbrush, I was back downstairs in clean pyjamas. The table was already set like a food magazine spread.
Nani had made bhindi ki sabzi — glossy okra stir-fried with onions and just the right hit of spice — parathe hot off the tawa, and tadke wali daal whose smell alone could make anyone weep happy tears. A pot of steaming white rice sat in the middle, looking deceptively plain until the daal touched it.
We tucked in immediately. The first bite of paratha with daal was so good I made an involuntary "Mmm!" sound. Nanu echoed with an exaggerated "Aaaah," and Nani shook her head like she hadn't been cooking us into food comas our whole lives.
The warmth wasn't just from the food—it was in the way they both leaned in when I talked, the way our laughter bounced off the walls without ever feeling too loud. Between bites, I told them about the pottery workshop — the clay, the mess, Vihaan's terrible attempt at a vase that looked more like a collapsing mushroom. Nanu laughed so hard he almost choked on his paratha.
"And Kavin?" Nani asked, sly as ever.
"He was good," I shrugged, then added casually, "I think he and Vihaan might end up being more than just friends, you know."
Both of them exchanged a look. Then came the ooohs and aaahs, like I'd just told them I'd spotted a movie star at the market. "Don't start making wedding guest lists yet," I laughed, "I'm just saying… the vibe is there."
"Oh ho, Tanu ki detective skills ( Hmm, Tanu' s detective skills )," Nanu teased.
"Don't make it a thing," I warned, but I was smiling too.
After dinner, I helped Nanu with the dishes while Nani settled in front of her favourite comedy show. The kitchen was warm, smelling faintly of dish soap and leftover spices, our laughter bouncing off the tiled walls as we worked.
By the time we were done, my hair had become unruly again from the steam, but I didn't care. It felt good here — safe, familiar.
Upstairs, I was just pulling out my books for the upcoming test when Nani appeared with a glass of warm haldi wala doodh ( Golden Milk ). She set it on my nightstand with a soft clink like it was a secret gift.
"Don't study too late," she said, smoothing my hair with a hand that always smelled faintly of fabric softener.
"Okay, Nani," I murmured. She kissed my forehead, smelling of turmeric and home, and left.
I sat there for a moment, sipping the milk and smiling faintly to myself, the hum of the ceiling fan mixing with the faint sounds of her TV show downstairs. Somewhere in the distance, the cicadas were still humming, the air was still humid, and maybe—just maybe—there was something brewing between two boys I knew. But for now, all that mattered was this: the milk was warm, the bedsheets were cool, and my world, in this moment, felt perfectly full.