98. Home Sweet Home - III

After we stepped out of the store, all of us with shopping bags and tired legs, the next big debate began—what are we going to have for dinner?

"What do you want?" Amma asked, adjusting her dupatta and looking at me first.

"I don't know!" I groaned. "I'm torn between biriyani again or some cheesy street food."

Santhosh jumped in. "I want noodles! Or no—fried rice! Or maybe… idiyappam?"

Appa sighed. "So basically, none of us has any clue."

"I have an idea," I said, my face lighting up. "Let's do one thing—let's go have some chaat first, and while we're snacking, each person picks one dish for dinner. We'll mix and match like a food carnival!"

Appa laughed. "You and your creative solutions. Okay, let's go. First stop: pani puri."

We got into the car, and just a few minutes down the street, something caught my eye—a bright red glow, flickering flames, and a long queue. It was a chicken tandoori grill shop, freshly opened, and clearly a local favourite judging by the crowd.

"Appa, stop!" I called out suddenly, already unlocking the car door.

He pulled over, surprised. "What now?"

"That!" I pointed, already halfway out of the car. "I know what my dish is. I want grilled chicken and romali roti!"

I took ₹500 from my wallet and rushed toward the shop. The smell was enough to make my mouth water—the charred, smoky, perfectly spiced aroma of chicken roasting over open flames.

I ordered one full tandoori chicken and 8 romali rotis, asked them to add mint chutney and onion rings, and waited while watching the flames dance on the skewers. The parcel was ready in under 10 minutes. I returned to the car with the package in hand like I'd just won a trophy.

"My dinner is sorted!" I declared proudly, holding up the hot parcel like a prized possession.

"Now it's your turn," I teased the others. "Hurry up, because I'm already jealous of my own order."

Soon, we reached the chaat corner and things turned into a food competition.

"Pani puri first," Appa said, grabbing a plate.

"No, dahi puri is superior," Amma insisted.

"I'm voting for bhel puri," I added.

Santhosh couldn't decide and kept bouncing between stalls asking for tastes of everything. By the end of it, we had tried a bit of everything—crunchy, tangy, spicy, sweet—and finally sat in the car with full stomachs and even fuller hands from all the tissue-wiping.

When we were almost done with the chaat rounds, Appa declared, "Okay, I've chosen—kothu parotta. Spicy. Extra salna."

"I want egg fried rice with chicken manchurian!" Santhosh yelled from the back seat.

"I'll go for idiyappam with coconut milk, simple and soft," Amma said with a dreamy smile.

We nodded in agreement. Everyone's orders were accepted. And yes, it meant we were going to four different stalls next.

"We look like a family hosting a food expo," I laughed as Appa parked again.

One by one, we picked up everyone's orders. Spicy kothu parotta packed with lots of gravy. A box of fried rice topped with saucy chicken. Idiyappam layered carefully in banana leaves. And of course, my grilled chicken parcel was still steaming in the back seat.

Finally, we reached home with bags full of food and hearts full of joy. Amma rushed to set the dining table while I went to change into my nightwear. Santhosh was already setting up the TV.

"Movie time!" he shouted.

"What are we watching?" Appa asked.

"Ethir Neechal!" Santhosh and I said in unison.

"Again?" Amma smiled.

"Always!" I said. "It's tradition."

And just like that, our food fest movie night began.

After the movie ended, the room fell into a warm, satisfied silence. The plates were half-empty, the lights dimmed, and the final credits rolled on the screen. I leaned against the pillow and stretched my legs on the sofa, feeling completely full—of food, comfort, and happiness. But Appa broke the silence with a calm question.

"Nila, what's your plan for tomorrow?" he asked, his voice soft. "Do you want to leave in the morning or go with Sastika and her dad after lunch?"

I paused, biting the inside of my cheek. That question had been rolling in the back of my head the whole day, but I hadn't allowed myself to think too hard about it. I didn't want this little vacation to end.

"What's your plan, Appa?" I asked, turning to him.

"I have a few meetings in Chennai on Tuesday," he replied. "I thought I could drop you back at school tomorrow morning, then head that way. But if you're going with Sastika's dad, I can adjust."

I hesitated. "What if I… take a day's leave?" I said hopefully.

Santhosh, who had been lazily fiddling with the TV remote, suddenly sat up. "Akka! Can you do that? Will they let you?"

I shrugged. "I'm outside school now. I can't really wait around for permission. If I don't turn up, they'll assume I'm still with my parents. I'll just inform them."

Appa frowned a little. "Kanna, that's not a good mindset to have. You need to be responsible with leave, okay?"

I nodded, not wanting to argue. "Fine, I'll inform them, Appa. I'll call the warden and let her know."

Appa reached for his phone. "I'll call and speak, just to be sure. I'll say you're feeling tired and need one more day to rest. We'll let them know whether you're coming on Tuesday or Wednesday."

I waved my hand. "Don't, Pa. It's already late. You can call tomorrow morning after breakfast."

Santhosh pumped his fists. "Yes! Two more days with Akka!"

Amma, who had been collecting empty cups from the table, laughed. "Enough talking. Everyone, go to bed now. You've all had your fun. Let's not push the night longer."

We nodded and began moving towards our rooms. Appa switched off the lights, Santhosh ran ahead to brush his teeth before me, and Amma followed behind with a blanket folded over her shoulder.

As I walked toward my room, I felt that familiar ache again—the bittersweet pull between home and school. But tonight, the sweet part was winning. I had two more days to be a daughter, a sister, and just plain old Nila. No warden, no assembly, no magazine deadline.

Just me, home, and peace.

And I was going to make the most of it.