He led her across the street, into the electronics store. The air inside was cool, crisp, with the soft hum of display lights and a faint scent of polished glass and metal. Rows of headphones, earbuds, laptops, and gadgets lined the walls, gleaming under the spotlights.
Shruti blinked at him. "What now?"
"Headphones," he said, heading for the display.
"For what?"
"For life, madam."
Before she could argue, he pointed at a sleek pair of white AirPods.
"These for you."
She groaned. "Arjun, I don't need—"
"And these," he added, tapping on a pair of matte black noise-cancelling headphones, "for me. I'll need these when you're blasting music while I'm trying to study."
She crossed her arms. "You're spoiling me unnecessarily."
"Good." His voice was quiet but sure, his eyes soft. "Let me."
She opened her mouth to protest again but stopped, seeing the sincerity in his gaze.
The salesperson approached, boxing the gadgets efficiently. "Anything else, sir?"
Arjun glanced at Shruti, as if considering adding more just to see her reaction, then smirked. "Nope. If I buy one more thing, she'll leave me stranded on the road."
Shruti laughed despite herself. "Tempting."
As they stepped back into the fading light, the soft glow of the street lamps began to flicker on. The bag with the AirPods felt oddly precious in her hands.
"I'll use them every day," she said, her voice quieter now.
Arjun unlocked the Thar, glancing at her with a smile that reached his eyes. "Good. And when people ask where you got them, tell them: My husband spoils me silly."
She slid into the passenger seat, cheeks warming in the gentle evening breeze. "I'll say: My husband is a showoff."
"As long as I'm your showoff."
He started the engine, the low hum filling the comfortable quiet between them. The city lights blinked to life one by one, as if the streets were slowly waking for the night shift.
And they drove on, the day's memories sitting softly between them — books, temples, gadgets, laughter… and the beginning of something that felt more and more like home.
Arjun, drawn by a tug of thought he hadn't voiced all day, turned toward his father's room. The door stood slightly ajar, a slice of yellow light spilling out across the floor.
He stepped closer, the familiar scent of sandalwood soap, faded cotton shirts, and old books filling his nose — the comforting scent of home.
Inside, his father stood by the bed, sleeves rolled up, folding shirts with practiced efficiency. The half-packed suitcase sat open on the bed, looking both ready and reluctant to leave. A notepad rested nearby, checklist scribbled in neat, no-nonsense handwriting, half the items already ticked off.
For a moment, Arjun leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, watching.
"You know, Appa," he said, tone light, "you could've just hired someone for this. You're making the suitcase feel guilty."
His father looked up, eyes twinkling beneath bushy brows. "And miss the chance to practice my origami skills? Never."
Arjun snorted, stepping inside. "At least let me help before you start folding your old T-shirts into swans."
"My old T-shirts would make very sad swans," his father quipped, but his smile softened as he set a shirt down.
Arjun grabbed the next one, shaking it out with a snap. "I actually forgot you were leaving tomorrow. Shows how distracted I've been."
His father shrugged, casual as always. "Don't sweat it. You had temples to conquer, wife to spoil, gadgets to buy…"
"Ah, so you were spying on us today."
"Hard not to notice when two people come home carrying half of Vizag," he teased, settling into the chair with a small sigh. "Go on, show me those famous folding skills of yours. Let's see if I taught you anything useful."
Arjun smirked and started folding, deliberately slow at first, then getting into the rhythm. The room filled with the soft swish of cloth and the occasional creak of the chair.
"So," his father said after a beat, "you two had fun today? Or did she make you climb so many temple steps your legs are ruined forever?"
Arjun chuckled, folding a shirt and setting it down with exaggerated precision. "My knees filed a formal complaint somewhere near Kanaka Mahalakshmi Temple. But yeah… it was a good day."
"I can tell." His father leaned back, watching him. "You look… lighter. Happier."
Arjun raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "And here I thought you'd say I look exhausted."
"Oh, you look like you'll sleep for twelve hours. But you look good, Arjun."
There was a pause, comfortable like an old sweater.
"You sure you've got everything?" Arjun asked, eyeing the checklist.
"Unless you plan to sneak into my suitcase and double-check my toothbrush, I think I'm good."
Arjun grinned. "Tempting. Could use a break from college."
"You'd last two hours in Mumbai traffic and beg to come home," his father said with a laugh.
"Fair."
Arjun folded the last shirt and zipped the suitcase shut with a small flourish.
"There. No swans. Just solid, boring packing."
"Boring works," his father said, pushing himself up from the chair. He clapped a hand on Arjun's shoulder. "Thanks, partner. Now come on — let's see what Shruti's planning for dinner, before I end up surviving on airplane food tomorrow."
Arjun's lips twitched. "She's probably plotting my next temple trip."
"I'll pray for you," his father said, already heading for the door.
And together, they left the room — two friends, two men, the suitcase forgotten for now, the night ahead theirs to share.
Later that night, as moonlight filtered through the curtains and painted soft silver patterns on the floor, the house settled into a hush. The distant hum of the ceiling fan filled the stillness.
Arjun sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against them. His mind spun with thoughts he hadn't voiced, his heart weighed down by guilt he hadn't meant to carry.
From the bathroom came the soft sound of Shruti wringing out her hair. The door creaked gently as she stepped out, towel draped over one shoulder, her hair damp and curling at the ends.
She froze for a second, seeing him sitting there — shoulders slightly slouched, eyes on the floor, so unlike his usual easy self.
"Arjun?" she called softly, walking toward him, the anklet on her foot chiming faintly in the quiet. "What's wrong? Why are you so quiet?"
He didn't look at her right away. His gaze remained fixed on a spot on the floor, his voice low.
"I forgot, Shruti. I forgot Appa's leaving tomorrow. I didn't even check if he needed anything. Didn't ask if he packed his medicines, or if he's okay with the flight. I was so caught up with... all this. The shopping. The temples. Us."
Shruti sat beside him slowly, her saree rustling as she settled close. She studied his profile — the slight furrow between his brows, the way his jaw was clenched like he was holding in more words than he could say.
"He's not upset," she said gently.
Arjun ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "I know. That's what makes it worse. He's always... always the one holding everything together. And I didn't even notice him packing till tonight. Mumbai's so far. He'll be alone there, Shruti."
She reached out, her fingers sliding over his hand, warm and steady. Her thumb brushed against his knuckles, grounding him.
"You forgot something else," she said softly.
He finally turned, puzzled, searching her face.
She smiled — that small, reassuring smile that seemed to smooth the edges of his worry.
"You forgot that he raised you. Alone. After Amma was gone. You were his whole world, Arjun. He knows how to take care of himself. He's stronger than you're giving him credit for. And he knows how much you love him. Distance doesn't change that."
Arjun swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in his eyes. "I just... I feel like I should be doing more."
"You are doing enough," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "You're his son. That's enough."
He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slowly relaxing as the tension ebbed away.
"Appa was right, you know," he said, voice lighter now. "You're good for me. You balance out all my panicking."
She chuckled softly. "Someone has to."
He turned to her fully, the smile finally reaching his eyes. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For this. For making me stop and breathe."
She didn't answer, only shifted closer, resting her head lightly against his shoulder. The quiet wrapped around them, warm and safe.
After a while, she murmured, "Come. Lie down. Sleep. You'll need your energy tomorrow to send him off with a proper smile."
Arjun hesitated, then nodded. He lay down slowly, exhaling long and deep, as if the act of lying beside her eased something inside him.
Shruti followed, pulling the blanket up over them both. In the faint light, he turned his head toward her, his lashes casting shadows across his cheeks.
"Will you stay close like this tomorrow night too?" he asked, half-teasing, half-hopeful.
"Every night," she said, her voice soft as the night air.
And as the world outside stilled, no more temple bells, no more worries, just the shared quiet of two hearts side by side, they drifted into sleep — peaceful, together, ready for tomorrow.
To be continued...