Chapter 10: A Weekend at Home (6)

By the time her father returned home, it was late evening. The sun had long since set, casting the apartment in a dim, amber glow from the single bulb hanging in the living room. Chameli was in the kitchen, reheating the leftover dal for dinner. The faint sizzle of spices hitting the hot pan filled the air, mingling with the distant hum of traffic outside. She heard the door creak open and turned to see her father standing in the doorway, his shoulders slumped and his face etched with exhaustion. His shirt was wrinkled, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, as though he had been running or arguing—or both.

"How was your day?" Chameli asked, trying to sound casual as she stirred the dal. Her voice was steady, but her hands tightened around the ladle. She didn't want to pry, but the worry gnawed at her. She had spent the entire afternoon imagining the worst—her father being cornered by Kancha's men, or worse, coming home with news that they had to leave the apartment.

Her father forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Busy. But good. How about you?" He set his bag down by the door and walked over to the sink, splashing water on his face. The sound of the tap running seemed louder than usual, filling the silence between them.

Chameli hesitated, her gaze flickering to the stack of unpaid bills on the table. "It was fine," she replied, though the words felt hollow. She wanted to ask him about his day, about the business, about whether things were getting better. But she didn't. Instead, she served him a plate of food and sat down across from him at the table.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Chameli glanced at her father, noticing the new lines on his face and the way his hands trembled slightly as he ate. He looked older, more worn down than she had ever seen him. She wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, that they would get through this together. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. The words felt like a lie, and she didn't want to lie to him.

Finally, her father broke the silence. "Chameli," he said, his voice low and hesitant, "I know things have been… difficult lately. But I want you to know that I'm doing everything I can to fix this. Everything."

Chameli looked up, her heart aching at the desperation in his voice. "I know, Papa," she said softly. "I just… I worry about you. About us."

Her father reached across the table, his calloused hand covering hers. "You don't need to worry, beta. I'll take care of everything. I promise."

Chameli nodded, but the knot in her stomach didn't loosen. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he had a plan. But the fear in his eyes told a different story. She squeezed his hand, trying to convey all the things she couldn't say—that she loved him, that she was scared, that she didn't know how much longer they could keep going like this.

After dinner, her father retreated to his room, leaving Chameli to clean up. As she washed the dishes, she thought about the day, about the quiet moments and the unspoken worries. She thought about her mother, about the life they had once had, and about the uncertain future that lay ahead. The water ran over her hands, warm and soothing, but it couldn't wash away the heaviness in her chest.

When she finally went to bed, she lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was quiet again, but the silence felt different now—heavier, more oppressive. She closed her eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, like shadows in the corners of her mind, waiting for the light to fade before the sleep claimed her.