Dec 1–Dec 15, 2015
"Homecoming"
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The Winter Hills
The mountains near Mussoorie had changed with the season. By December, the air grew sharper, crisper, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke. The valley where once only wild grass swayed was now crowned by something new: a mansion that rose out of the slope like it had always belonged there.
Mist hugged the ground in early mornings, swirling around the estate's walls. Beyond the gates, young orchards stretched in neat rows, their branches bare but promising fruit in future years. At the heart of the 100-acre spread stood the house — not a palace in ostentation, but a blend of modern glass, mountain stone, and the warmth of Himalayan wood.
Inside, lights glowed softly. Heat radiated through underfloor systems powered by the hidden arc reactor. And within those walls, for the first time, laughter and footsteps would echo not of workers or engineers, but of family.
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The Final Touches
The MC walked through the halls on the morning of December 2nd. Workers were still polishing railings, hanging drapes, and arranging furniture. He paused in the kitchen, the exact replica of his childhood home's — from the mustard-colored tiles to the slightly uneven window sill his mother always used to place flower pots on.
His hand brushed over the counter. Memory hit him like a wave — his mother rolling chapati dough here when he was a boy, humming old Bollywood songs under her breath. The smell of ghee, the crackle of a tawa, the small arguments between his parents about whether the salt was too much.
This wasn't just design. It was resurrection.
> "It's ready, Aarya," he whispered.
"They will be happy here," Aarya replied in her calm, melodic tone from the embedded house system. "This is not just a mansion. It is a memory reborn."
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The Arrival
On December 5th, the MC drove his parents up the winding road. The sun was dipping behind the ridges, painting the sky in amber and violet. His father sat quietly in the front seat, gazing at the forest road that had once been nothing but rock and dirt. His mother, in the back seat, clutched her shawl tightly, eyes wide at the sight of the estate gates.
When they opened, flanked by stone-carved lions and rising ironwork, she gasped softly.
> "Beta… this… this is ours?"
The MC smiled gently, keeping his eyes on the path.
> "Yes, Ma. This is home now."
As the car rolled up the drive, lights came alive across the mansion's façade. The glow spilled onto the courtyard where staff stood waiting to welcome them — caretakers, gardeners, cooks. Each had been carefully chosen, background-checked, and sworn to discretion.
For his parents, though, it was overwhelming.
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The First Step Inside
The front doors swung open. His parents stepped into the foyer, where high ceilings met with carved wooden beams, and a chandelier glittered like falling stars. The warmth of heated floors chased away the mountain chill.
His mother touched the wall, fingers trembling.
> "It feels alive," she whispered.
Then she turned toward the kitchen, recognizing it immediately. Tears welled in her eyes. She stepped inside and touched the counter as if it were sacred.
> "How did you—?"
The MC interrupted softly, voice low with emotion.
> "I remembered everything, Ma. Every corner, every smell, every color. This house… it carries our story."
His father, usually reserved, placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder. No words — just a squeeze, filled with pride.
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The Pooja
December 7th, before the official move-in, a small Griha Pravesh (house entry ceremony) was held. A local pandit was invited, his chants filling the halls with echoes older than memory. The smell of incense drifted through corridors, mixing with marigold garlands hung across doors.
His mother lit the lamp first, her hands steady despite tears. His father poured the water, the copper kalash reflecting the firelight. The MC stood behind them, holding the thali, silently mouthing the mantras he remembered from childhood.
When the pandit placed tilak on his forehead, he closed his eyes. For a brief moment, it wasn't a mansion with secret labs and arc reactors. It was simply home, sanctified by the presence of his parents' love.
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Side POV – A Houseworker
Meena, one of the new staff hired to help maintain the estate, watched quietly from the kitchen doorway. She had served in rich homes before — glassy mansions in Delhi, crass displays of wealth in Gurgaon. But this felt different.
She noticed how the family stood close together, not like master and servants, but like a circle unbroken. She whispered to another worker:
> "This house is not just for show. It's built for them. For their hearts."
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Road of Dreams
After the pooja, the MC led his father to the balcony overlooking the valley. Below, the newly constructed road carved by his TBM stretched like a ribbon down the slope, smooth and straight, connecting the estate directly to the main highway.
His father raised his eyebrows.
> "This road… how?"
The MC allowed himself a faint grin.
> "Efficient machines, Papa. You'll never have to climb the old muddy path again."
He didn't mention the TBM's laser drills or the secret tunnels branching beneath the mountain. To his parents, it was enough that their son had given them comfort in their old age.
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A Dinner of Memories
That night, the family ate their first meal in the new house. His mother insisted on cooking herself, shooing away the staff. She stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming just as she used to. The MC sat at the dining table, watching her silhouette as though time had rewound itself.
The aroma of dal, rice, and hot rotis filled the air. No gourmet feast could compare.
His father, spoon in hand, chuckled softly.
> "A house worth billions, and still your mother won't let anyone else cook."
The MC laughed, genuine and unguarded.
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Closing Scene
Later that night, the MC stood alone on the balcony. Snowflakes drifted silently from the sky, melting as they touched the warm stone of the estate. Behind him, his parents slept peacefully in their new rooms, hearts full.
He leaned on the railing, watching the road below shimmer faintly in moonlight.
> "They're safe. They're happy. That's all that matters for now," he murmured.
But deep inside, he knew this peace was fragile. Beyond the valley, the world was already watching — governments, corporations, spies. And soon, he would have to face them.
For tonight, though, the MC allowed himself the rarest luxury of all: a sense of belonging.
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