The early morning sun stretched lazily across the Vizag skyline, casting golden slants of light through the airport's glass facade. Inside, the departure terminal carried that quiet hum unique to early flights — the gentle whirr of suitcase wheels against polished floors, the faint crackle of the intercom, and the soft murmur of passengers exchanging goodbyes.
Shruti stood between Arjun and his father, both men unusually quiet for a Sunday morning. The digital display above blinked its unchanging message: Mumbai – 11:00 AM – On Time.
Ten minutes left.
Arjun shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rocking slightly on his heels. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm against his thigh.
He cleared his throat. "Appa… are you sure you packed everything? I mean — toothbrush? Razor? That weird Ayurvedic oil you always swear by?"
His father looked at him, one brow arching with mock indignation. "Yes. Yes. And yes. And it's not weird, it's effective. If you had joints that crack like fireworks every time you bend, you'd be bathing in it too."
Shruti pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to hide her laugh.
"You're lucky I'm even letting you go," Arjun muttered, crossing his arms. "House is going to feel empty."
"I'm going for work, not disappearing to the Himalayas," his father teased.
"Still." Arjun sighed. "Who's going to give me unwanted advice on how to chop vegetables properly? Or remind me how to mop a floor like a civilized human being?"
His father grinned. "Shruti will handle that now."
Arjun turned to her with mock horror. "Please don't. I'm already on probation."
Shruti raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. "Probation? I didn't even start yet. Wait till I start inspections."
His dad chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Perfect. See? You're in safe hands, kanna."
A small pause followed — the kind that settled in when words started to run out and reality began to set in.
Arjun glanced at the gate, then back at his father. "Promise you'll call once you land?"
"Of course."
"And don't skip meals like last time. I mean it."
His father placed a hand on Arjun's shoulder. "Are you my father now?"
"Maybe. Someone's got to look after you."
Shruti smiled gently, stepping closer. "We'll miss you, Dad."
His father turned to her, his expression softening. "And I'll miss you both. But I'm proud. The two of you — you're already doing good. I can leave easily knowing that."
Arjun swallowed, his throat tight with the weight of unspoken emotion.
His father picked up his bag and smiled at them, that steady, reassuring smile that had seen Arjun through every scraped knee, every bad result, every storm.
"Take care of each other," he said simply.
Arjun nodded, voice low. "Okay."
Arjun looked down for a moment, scuffing his shoe against the polished floor, then glanced up with a crooked smile. "Appa… are you sure you're going to be okay? Alone in Mumbai again? No wild parties or biker gangs joining your friend circle?"
His father huffed out a laugh, adjusting the strap of his duffle. "Oh yes. That's exactly what I'm planning. Me and a gang of 60-year-olds tearing up Marine Drive on Harley-Davidsons."
Shruti grinned, folding her arms as she watched them.
Arjun leaned in, lowering his voice like it was a serious inquiry. "You're sure? No secret double life I should know about?"
His father gave him a look — half fond, half long-suffering. "I've done the Mumbai-alone thing for years, Arjun. I'll be fine. And now, I won't be worrying about you setting the house on fire trying to make tea."
"I mastered tea last month, thank you very much," Arjun retorted, mock-offended.
His father raised an eyebrow. "Ah yes. The great tea achievement. Your mother would be so proud."
Arjun gave a sheepish grin, then pretended to look hurt. "Don't get emotional, Appa. I know you'll miss me."
"Emotional? I'll miss my peace and quiet, that's for sure."
Shruti let out a quiet snort, glancing at Arjun with mock sympathy.
Arjun bumped his dad's shoulder lightly. "Still, before you go… give me some shocking news. Just once."
His father narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Like what?"
Arjun wiggled his brows mischievously. "Like you found someone to marry again. You know. So I can finally have a stepmom who makes me fancy lunches and nags you more than I do."
His father's face froze for a beat before he groaned. "What is wrong with you?"
Shruti burst out laughing, covering her mouth as passersby gave them curious glances.
"I'm serious," Arjun continued, enjoying himself now. "You could bring home someone who loves shopping, and I finally get a younger sibling to boss around. Win-win."
His father rolled his eyes and turned away dramatically. "This right here… this is why I'm leaving. The house needs a break from your nonsense."
Arjun grinned. "Ah, so it's true. You're running away from your only son."
"If I ever marry again, it'll be just to escape your jokes. Poor woman, though. Imagine marrying me and inheriting you."
Shruti wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. "Arjun, let him go before he changes his mind and cancels his flight."
His father pointed at her, nodding. "See? She's the voice of reason. Arjun, you should try listening to her sometime."
His dad chuckled. "Shruti, if he annoys you too much, just send me a voice note. I'll handle him from Mumbai."
"I'm going to make a dedicated folder," she said solemnly. "Labelled: Evidence."
Arjun gasped, placing a hand on his heart. "Shruti? Betrayed in public."
Shruti smirked. "Oh, I've been saving up complaints. I'm just getting started."
"You two are ganging up on me," Arjun muttered, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.
Before the banter could spiral further, the boarding call echoed across the terminal: "Final call for passengers on the 11:00 Mumbai flight. Please proceed to Gate 3."
The atmosphere shifted, the lightheartedness giving way to that inevitable moment of parting.
His father hoisted his duffle, giving it a slight swing onto his shoulder. "Well. That's me."
Arjun stepped forward and pulled him into a brief, firm hug — not too long, not too sentimental, just enough.
"Don't eat too much spicy food, old man. Your stomach can't handle it," Arjun said, smirking even as his voice softened.
His father patted his back. "Look who's talking. Don't burn down the kitchen, and don't let Shruti catch you snacking at midnight."
Shruti raised her hand like she was swearing an oath. "I'll be watching."
His father laughed, adjusting his bag one last time. "Good. Take care of him, Shruti. And both of you — behave."
Arjun gave a mock salute. "No promises."
With one final grin at them, his father turned and walked toward the gate, his figure blending into the crowd of travelers, the duffle bag bobbing at his side.
Arjun and Shruti stood for a while, watching the glass doors close behind him.
After a moment, Arjun exhaled. "Well… now what?"
Shruti slipped her hand into his. "Now we go home. And I start that complaint folder."
He groaned. "Great. My life is over."
And together, they turned from the terminal, stepping out into the bright morning light, ready for whatever came next.
---
In the car, the city's morning hum seemed far away. Arjun sat with his arms folded across his chest, his back pressed into the seat. His gaze stayed fixed on the passing scenery—shops opening their shutters, schoolchildren crossing streets, tea stalls coming to life—but he didn't seem to see any of it. The soft thrum of the engine was the only sound between them at first.
Shruti kept glancing at him, reading the little signs—the way his shoulders were set, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers rested on his lap, unmoving, as if he didn't trust them to fidget without giving something away. His breathing was steady, but his eyes didn't blink often, like he was holding too much inside.
She reached over, resting her hand lightly on his arm. "Arjun?"
He didn't look at her yet. "Hmm?"
"Are you still worried?"
A slow nod. "Yeah. Even if I don't want to be."
Shruti squeezed his arm gently. "He's strong. And he raised you strong. That says everything."
Arjun finally turned his head, the weight in his eyes softening when they met hers. "I feel like I didn't say enough. I kept joking. I should've said more serious things. Things that mattered."
"You did," she said quietly but firmly. "You hugged him. You checked his bag three times. You fussed over his charger. You asked him if he'd be okay. You said everything, Arjun. Just not all in words."
He let out a breath, some of the tightness in his chest easing. But he still frowned slightly. "I don't know. I just… I worry he'll come home tired. Or fall sick and not tell me so I don't stress."
Shruti tilted her head. "That's exactly what you would do."
He blinked. "Huh?"
She smiled, soft but knowing. "You'd hide it too, if it meant protecting him from worry. You're more alike than you think."
That drew a faint grin from him, a small upward tug of his lips. "Yeah? Maybe that's why we argue so much. Too similar."
"Definitely."
Arjun stared out of the window again, the city a blur of movement. After a beat, his grin widened, a glimmer of his usual mischief surfacing. "I just hope he doesn't burn the kitchen trying to cook again. Remember last time? That blackened dal?"
Shruti laughed, her shoulders shaking. "I remember. And I remember how you heroically offered to order food instead of eating it."
"I saved the family that day. True hero."
"He probably thinks the same about you," she teased. "Praying you don't burn the kitchen while making your famous toast."
" You're rude," Arjun said, pretending to look offended. "I make excellent toast."
"Burnt bread doesn't count as excellent, Arjun."
"Hey! It's art. Charcoal-infused. It's a trend."
She giggled, shaking her head. "If you say so."
He exhaled, leaning his head back against the seat, finally letting the tension drain a little from his frame. His hand found hers where it rested on his arm, fingers curling gently around hers. His voice was softer now. "Thanks, Shruti. For today. For coming with me. For… everything."
She shrugged lightly but smiled. "Anytime. We're in this together now, aren't we?"
"Yeah." He nodded, the word feeling heavier, more real than before. "We are."
The words settled between them, not just an agreement but a quiet promise—unsaid but understood. The kind that didn't need to be dressed up with big speeches or grand gestures. The kind that just was.
Outside, the city grew louder—the honk of buses, the chatter of pedestrians, the rattle of auto-rickshaws. But inside the car, it was still. Peaceful. Like something in both of them had gently shifted. Not quite sadness, not quite joy. Just that bittersweet ache of holding onto something deeply loved and letting it go, trusting it would be okay.
Arjun glanced at her again, squeezing her hand one more time. "You're kind of brilliant, you know that?"
Shruti raised a brow, pretending to be unimpressed. "Only kind of?"
He chuckled, the sound easy now. "Fine. Very brilliant."
"Better," she said, grinning.
And as they merged into the flow of the city, with the day stretching ahead of them, that quiet, shared understanding stayed—steady as the road beneath their wheels.
To be continued...