Chapter 3: Behind Closed Doors

I was getting anxious in the living room, ready to call an ambulance, when the sounds stopped.

I almost dialled Ma, but decided to wait. I could hear the ticking of the wall clock, each second stretching into eternity. The fishy smell grew stronger, thick as the monsoon air.

I hurried to the bedroom door to wait.

I hesitated outside, biting my lip, hoping Rupa would open soon. I wondered if she’d fainted. I imagined her lying on the bed, unable to call for help.

Soon, the door opened.

Rupa’s face was slick with sweat, but she stood straight, breathing hard. She avoided my eyes, moving quickly.

A strong fishy smell hit me, almost making me gag.

It was overpowering—like the docks at Sassoon or the inside of an old fishing boat. I stepped back, covering my nose. My head spun for a second.

I peeked into the room and saw a pair of leggings lying on the floor, with milky-white liquid scattered around it. I had no idea what it was.

For a moment, I wondered if it was medicine, or some home remedy Ma had given her. But the sight unsettled me, and I turned away quickly.

“What are you looking at?” My sister pushed me back a few steps with one hand and handed me a foam box with the other.

She was stronger than she looked. Her grip was cold, almost clammy. I tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze.

“Take this and go—they’re waiting for you at the shop.”

Her voice was flat, tired. She looked past me, as if I wasn’t even there. I felt a lump form in my throat.

I could only carry the box and leave.

I left the house as quickly as I could, clutching the box. The smell seemed to cling to my clothes, following me down the stairs. The sun outside felt harsh, too bright for my mood.

But my sister’s panting and the scene I’d glimpsed in the bedroom kept replaying in my mind.

I tried to shake it off, but the memory stuck. The world outside felt unreal, like I was walking through a dream. Even the rickshaw drivers looked at me oddly, as if they could sense something was wrong.

Back at the shop, I handed the pomfret to Dad and casually said,

“I just saw Didi—her face was burning hot. Maybe she’s sick.”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice was strained. Dad barely glanced at me, busy checking the stock. Ma just muttered something under her breath, not meeting my eyes.

Dad’s face looked odd.

He wiped his brow with the end of his shirt, eyes darting around. For a second, I thought he was about to say something, but he just grunted and turned away.

“Why do you care about everything? When you’re ready to take over, you’ll understand it all.”

He sounded tired, almost defeated. I suddenly felt older, as if I’d aged years in a day.