Siri's POV
It was Sunday, and the morning air carried that lazy sweetness only weekends know how to hold—the kind that softened the edges of everything, that wrapped even guilt in a blanket of gentle sunshine. The breeze was mild, threading through the neem trees above like a lullaby. I stood at the gate of Indu's house—Bhargav's house, now etched more permanently into my life than I cared to admit—and let my gaze linger on the familiar red-tiled roof for a moment longer than necessary.
It had been a while. Too long.
The metal of the gate felt cold beneath my palm, despite the sun. I hesitated before pushing it. The weight of unspoken apologies pressed down on my chest, coiled tight like vines around my ribs. Indu had come to see me when I was drowning—when Abhi's betrayal had carved a hollow in me so deep I feared I'd never claw my way out. She had shown up with mango juice, dry humor, and fierce affection. And I hadn't even crossed this gate since. Not once. Not even to say thank you.
My fingers gripped the latch harder than they needed to. It squeaked open, sharp and familiar.
"Hello?" I called softly, stepping inside.
The scent of turmeric and morning soap hung in the air—domestic and comforting. I stepped into the front yard, the stone pathway crackling faintly under my sandals.
A rustle sounded from the living room, a flutter of movement beyond the curtain of beads strung across the doorway. And then Indu appeared—arms folded, eyebrows raised with dramatic flair, the queen of sarcasm and sibling torment in her natural habitat.
"Well, well, if it isn't the long-lost stranger," she said, voice light but laced with something quieter. Something heavier. A shadow behind the grin.
I winced, guilt tightening its grip. "I deserve that," I admitted, stepping closer, arms slightly out like a peace offering. "I'm sorry, Indu. I should've come earlier. You were there for me, and I… I just—"
She turned away with an exaggerated pout, arms still crossed. "Save it. I'm mad at you."
I didn't let her pretend. I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms around her. She stiffened for a heartbeat—and then melted.
"I'm really, really sorry," I whispered into her shoulder.
She sniffed dramatically. "You better be."
We stood like that for a while, the quiet between us mending threads that had frayed from silence. Then she let out a long huff, a sound I hadn't realized I missed.
"Now that you're back in my good graces," she said, pulling back with a wicked glint in her eyes, "you have to tell me what's going on with my baby brother."
I blinked. "What?"
She leaned in, lowering her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't play dumb. I've seen you two. The terrace, the smiles, the way he looks at you like you hung the moon. And you? Blushing like a K-drama heroine every time he says your name?"
I could feel the color blooming in my cheeks like wildfire. "When the fu— hell did you see us?"
She raised one sharply arched brow. "Did you forget the distance between our homes? The walls are jumpable even by sixth-grade children. Come on, Siri. This is literally the worst neighborhood to hide in."
"We're just… friends now," I muttered, eyes darting away to the floor tiles as if they offered some sort of exit.
A rustling behind the sofa made my head snap up.
Bhargav.
He was seated on the far end of the couch, half-slouched and flipping lazily through his phone—except the smirk tugging at his lips made it clear he'd heard everything. He looked up slowly, one eyebrow raised, a ghost of mischief dancing in his eyes.
That look. It said: Really? Just friends?
My heart skittered somewhere behind my ribs. I avoided his gaze and nudged Indu with my elbow, eyes wide in a silent you're going to pay for this.
She just smirked wider and leaned toward me, whispering like a villainous sidekick. "I told you. You're practically married. Aren't you?"
"Stop it," I hissed, laughter threatening to burst through. She was impossible. And probably psychic.
Bhargav stood abruptly, like a wounded soldier in a poorly acted play—shoulders hunched, dragging his feet, making sure every step exaggerated his fake heartbreak. Theatrics worthy of a slow clap.
I turned and smacked Indu's arm. "See what you did?"
She doubled over laughing. "What I did?"
"I hate you," I grumbled, though I couldn't stop the grin that spread across my face.
"You love me," she sang, victorious.
I sighed, letting the laughter settle into a warm, slow comfort. "I really missed you," I admitted after a moment, tone softer now. "I should've come. You're the only one who stood by me after… everything with Abhi. You were there when I didn't even know how to be there for myself."
Indu's face softened. Her eyes—usually so quick with mischief—shimmered with something warmer. She reached out and pulled me in again, the embrace less teasing this time, more grounding.
"You don't need to thank me for that, Siri. I'll always be here."
"I mean it," I said against her shoulder. "You're my best friend. The only one."
She pulled back, hands still on my arms. "Then what's my younger brother to you? Your boyfriend?"
My jaw dropped. "Indu!"
She shrieked with laughter, and I lunged at her with another playful smack.
"You're impossible," I said, breathless from laughing. My sides actually ached.
We chased each other around the couch, feet thudding against the tiled floor like we were twelve again. Laughter echoed off the walls, bright and uncontained.
Then a familiar voice boomed from the hallway.
"Well, well, look who's here. What's my daughter-in-law doing in our house today?"
I froze mid-chase, like a deer caught in headlights. My heart did a backflip. "Uncle!"
Indu's dad was grinning ear to ear, his eyes dancing with mischief. Bhargav's mom stepped out behind him, drying her hands on the hem of her dupatta. Her smile matched his.
"He's absolutely right," she added, eyes twinkling.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I looked from one face to the next—Indu smirking, her dad winking, aunty following suit—and then finally at Bhargav, who had peeked out from his room, arms folded as he leaned against the doorframe, clearly enjoying the circus.
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "Oh my god."
But the smile wouldn't leave my lips. Not even if I tried.
Eventually, we all sat down. The house rang with laughter and the clatter of coffee cups, the comfortable chaos of a home alive with people who knew how to love loud and unfiltered. It felt… right. Like a part of me that had been silent for months was humming again.
I hadn't realized how much I missed this.
The teasing. The noise. The comfort.
I hadn't realized how much I needed to feel claimed by people who didn't demand apologies for my scars.
Later, as I stood by the door, ready to leave—the path to my own house just a short walk away—I turned to Indu.
"Abhi texted me," I said, voice quiet.
Her smile dropped. "When?"
"Last night."
Her posture straightened. "What did he say?"
"That he was sorry. That he missed me."
A beat passed.
"I blocked him."
"Good," she said immediately, arms crossing. "I warned that jerk after what he did. That's why he stayed quiet all these days."
I blinked. "You warned him?"
She nodded with steel in her gaze. "I told him if he ever tried to come near you again, he'd regret it. Guess he finally grew a brain. For a while."
"Oh." My voice was soft. "Thanks, Indu."
"Don't thank me." She stepped closer, looking me straight in the eye. "Just promise you'll never give him another chance to hurt you."
"I won't," I said, the words solid on my tongue.
"Good." She blinked hard. "Now go before you make me cry."
I smiled.
And then I stepped out, sunlight brushing across my cheeks, heart lighter than it had been in weeks.
To be continued...