Chapter 3: Claiming Space, Stirring Storms

"Are you sure?" I asked Ananya, my voice flat but unyielding. Dadi’s lessons flickered in my mind—never accept less than you deserve.

Ananya hesitated, eyes shining red, whispering, "Mm." Her hands trembled, clutching her dupatta. Silence weighed on us like a thick blanket.

"No one forced you? You really want to give me this room of your own free will?" I pressed.

She darted a glance at our parents, bit her lip, and whispered, "No."

I didn’t stop. "And you won’t regret it later?"

Her face twisted in pain, but she forced herself: "I won’t, but..."

Before she could finish, I turned to Maa and Papa Mehra. "And you two? Are you absolutely sure you support her decision? If I take this room, you won’t hold it against me, right?"

Their forced smiles answered for them: "We won’t."

"Good." I pushed my suitcase inside. "This is my room now."

Their faces twisted in discomfort. Maa’s lips pressed thin, Papa’s jaw set, Kabir’s confusion deepened, Ananya’s eyes flooded with tears. Only the wall clock ticked on, still stuck at the wrong time.

Ananya broke down, sobs muffled by her palms, her pain filling the room. Maa Mehra glanced at the gods’ calendar, eyes flicking over Ganpati and Durga as if praying for a miracle.

Maa Mehra pleaded, "Ritu, Ananya is used to living here..."

Her hand reached out, but I stepped back. I wasn’t here to play the villain in their family drama. "I’m tired from the journey. If there’s nothing else, I’d like to rest."

The message was clear. They filed out, looking as if they’d swallowed karela. Even Kabir, usually full of retorts, stood blinking.

Only Kabir lingered, mouth open, as if trying to decode a puzzle.

"Still not leaving? Want to help your only sister get her room back?" I asked, arms crossed, noticing for the first time how much we resembled each other. Maybe, in another life, we’d have fought over TV remotes or shared tiffin in school.

Ananya hovered in the hall, hope flickering in her eyes. The scene was pure Doordarshan melodrama.

But Kabir just scratched his head: "Uh, that’s it?"

He looked so lost I almost laughed—a memory of a neighbour’s silly son, always late to the punchline, bubbled up. My laughter was more bittersweet than mocking.

Kabir finally puffed up, indignant. "You’re too much, yaar! Always trying to start drama. Ananya’s not like that, okay?"

He wagged a finger at me, echoing every filmi villain. "She really wants to give you the room. Stop using your dirty mind to suspect her."

I glanced at Ananya, pale and silent. "Yes, yes, you’re right," I replied, nudging Kabir gently with my foot. "Bas, ho gaya, Kabir. Now go, before I swap your room next."