Page 144 of The Redemption
He bursts out laughing.
“I told you,” he says proudly. “My sons keep telling me that I’m an excellent father.”
“Yeah.” I smile. “Now I can actually see why.”
Just then, Ayaan and Meher walk out of the villa together.Well… correction.Meher is dragging Ayaan out. Because the man looks like he would rather go fight a war than sit through a peaceful family breakfast right now. The bruises from his fight with Raghav are still visible, and from his stiff posture,it’s obvious he hasn’t forgiven his brother. Meher, on the other hand, looks completely unbothered as she holds his wrist and pulls him towards the garden.
“I told you Paapa was planning something special,” she announces. “Just look at this. Live dosa counter and all. I was craving masala dosas, and here they are.”
Ayaan smiles at her indulgently as they approach us, and I quietly step aside for them.
“I hope you like dosas, Siya,” Meher says warmly.
Before I can answer, Mom speaks up first. “Oh, she may not be crazy about it, but I definitely am.”
“Wow. That explains why Aunty is helping Paapa then,” Meher replies, pointing towards the dosa counter. “Trust me, Paapa makes the best dosas in the family. One breakfast, and you’ll become his fan forever.”
I smile faintly at that before my gaze shifts to Ayaan.
“I need to talk to you,” I tell him quietly.
Ayaan looks slightly taken aback, but then he nods. Maybe because this is the first time I’m initiating a conversation with him. But before he can reply, Kailash Uncle claps his hands together.
“Enough serious faces in this house,” he declares. “Everybody sit down. The dosas are getting cold.”
Then he looks around.
“Where’s Raghav?”
Almost as if the universe hears him, he walks out through the villa doors and heads straight towards us. My entire body stills. He’s wearing yet another black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark jeans, a watch strapped around his wrist, and a phone in one hand.
I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. I’ve already seen his wardrobe. It’s an endless collection of black. As if the man hasdeclared war on every other colour in existence. Or maybe black simply belongs to him, the way darkness does.
He looks tired, as if he hasn’t slept properly. Not that I would know. The moment our argument over the couch ended last night, I threw myself onto the bed while he disappeared into the shower. By the time I woke up this morning, he was already gone. It seems he follows some absurdly early morning routine, unlike me.
And considering he’s been sleeping beside me for two nights now, it’s a little embarrassing that I still have no idea what he actually does after I fall asleep. I don’t believe he’d ever do anything inappropriate. He might have married me forcefully, but I’m sure he wouldn’t touch me without my consent. Still, that doesn’t stop the questions in my head. Does he stay awake for hours? Or does he simply lie there staring at me?
Urgh!
“There he is,” Uncle’s voice breaks my thoughts.
Raghav disconnects the call, and his eyes land on the elaborate breakfast setup spread across the lawn. He pauses for a beat, as if even he wasn’t expecting this. Then his gaze shifts to me, and he begins walking towards us.
Ayaan’s expression hardens. He looks away, irritated, and starts leading Meher towards the table to avoid his brother completely.
“What is all this?” Raghav asks, stopping beside Kailash Uncle, who looks almost offended.
“We are having breakfast together,” Uncle replies. “Sit down before the dosas get cold.”
Raghav exhales quietly. Then, without another word, he pulls out the chair beside mine and waits for me to sit, but I deliberately ignore it. Instead, I walk right past the chair he’s holding and pull out the next one myself, a little farther away from him.
For one brief second, his fingers tighten around the backrest of the chair he had pulled for me. The entire table notices it. But he doesn’t say a single word, nor does he react. He simply pushes the chair back in slowly and takes the seat beside mine anyway. Close enough for his presence to still feel suffocating.
Across from us, Ayaan sits beside Meher, annoyance still written all over his face. Kailash Uncle takes the chair at one side of the rectangular table, while Mom sits at the other end. The staff starts serving fresh dosas. Butter crackles over the hot surface, while the aroma of curry leaves, red chilli chutney, and ghee wafts through the air. It feels peaceful.
Until Ayaan ruins it…first.
“You don’t have to bother yourself about the security at the Mumbai house,” he says suddenly, tearing a piece of his dosa with unnecessary force. “I can handle this family’s protection myself.”
