The familiar click of the lock felt almost too loud in the quiet hallway. Aarya pushed the door open slowly, half-expecting the stale silence of the house to swallow her. The air inside was cool, a faint trace of the sandalwood incense her mother had probably lit in the morning still lingering.
She stepped in, closing the door behind her, the sound of the latch sliding into place echoing like a small sigh. Her school bag slipped off her shoulder onto the nearest chair with a soft thud. Without even taking off her shoes, she made her way to her room, her fingers brushing the wall along the narrow passage, as if reacquainting herself with the space.
The first thing she did after tossing her shoes aside was head to the bathroom. The mirror caught her reflection slightly flushed cheeks from the walk home, stray strands of hair escaping her braid, and eyes that carried the faint shadows of a long day. She turned on the tap, splashing cold water onto her face, the shock of it pulling her into wakefulness. The warm scent of soap filled the air as she washed her hands and face, then patted her skin dry with a towel.
Fresh clothes felt like a small comfort. She changed into a loose cotton t-shirt and soft pajama bottoms, tied her hair into a messy bun, and for the first time since she'd left school that day, she allowed herself to exhale.
Her phone buzzed faintly on the desk a reminder she'd promised her mother she'd call once she got home. She picked it up, dialing without hesitation.
"Hello, Ma?" she said when the line clicked.
There was background noise the hurried shuffle of footsteps, the faint beeping of hospital machines. Her mother's voice came through, warm but rushed.
"Aru, I can't come home tonight. There are too many emergency patients. I'm going to have to stay until morning."
Aarya leaned back against the wall, her voice softening. "It's okay, Ma. I understand."
Her mother's work was unpredictable, but Aarya had grown used to it. Being the daughter of a nurse meant learning early that love often came in hurried conversations, shared cups of tea before a shift, and the quiet pride of knowing your mother's hands saved lives. Her mother was a principled woman steady, committed, and unwavering. If she said she couldn't come, it wasn't because she didn't want to; it was because someone out there needed her more.
"Make sure you eat something, alright? And don't stay up too late studying," her mother added, her voice almost drowned by the noise around her.
"I will. You take care too," Aarya replied, and after a few more words, they hung up.
For a moment, she stood in the stillness of her room, phone in hand, listening to the faint hum of the ceiling fan. A little smile crept onto her lips. If her mother couldn't be here, she could at least make the evening a little warmer for her father.
"Hmm," she murmured to herself. "I should make Papa's favorite. Maybe something special."
She padded to the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator to take stock of what they had. The familiar jars of homemade pickles lined the side shelves, fresh vegetables sat neatly in a basket, and a container of marinated chicken the kind her father loved waited in the corner. Her hands moved almost automatically, taking out ingredients, setting them on the counter.
By the time her father's key rattled in the lock, the smell of sizzling onions and spices was already drifting through the air.
The door swung open and he stepped in, his presence filling the room instantly. He spotted her in the kitchen and leaned against the doorway with an exaggerated grin.
"Well, look at this. My daughter actually came home and decided to play chef. Should I be worried or honored?"
Aarya turned, rolling her eyes with a small laugh. "Welcome home, Papa."
He stepped inside fully, shrugging off his jacket and setting his bag on the sofa. "So… you make new friends yet? Or are you still terrorizing the old ones?" His voice carried that familiar sarcastic lilt, teasing but never cruel.
She shook her head, smiling despite herself. "I'm not a kid anymore, Papa. I'll be eighteen next month."
"Oh, excuse me," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Almost eighteen. My mistake. Clearly, you are a sophisticated, mature adult who doesn't need her father to remind her about eating, sleeping, or… I don't know… not burning down the kitchen."
"Very funny," she muttered, stirring the pot.
"So, how's the studying going?" he asked, stepping closer now, his voice softening just a fraction. "You know, your mum and I told you follow your dreams. You didn't have to take Humanities with Maths, but you insisted. Brave choice."
"I know," she replied, glancing at him.
"You're a bookworm, smart young lady," he continued, but his eyes narrowed just a bit, his tone playful. "Still… you finding it difficult? Afraid your friends might judge you for not taking the 'cool' subjects? You know, the ones that apparently make you 'somebody' in this world?"
She put down the ladle and faced him fully now, leaning against the counter. "Papa…"
He raised an eyebrow. "What? I'm just saying. You used to have those so-called friends. But now, you're all in different schools, different classes. Lost touch, haven't you? People move on. And that's fine. Just… don't waste time thinking about what they say or think about your choices."
Her lips quirked. "You sound like Ma."
"Oh, I am Ma," he said, tapping his temple. "Except I'm funnier. And probably right more often."
She chuckled. "You also have no filter. Now I know why Ma's always angry with you."
"Hey! I speak the truth," he protested, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. "But fine, sorry, Miss Almost-Eighteen. I'll try to behave."
"You don't need to be sorry," she said, turning back to the stove. "Just wash the dishes when we're done."
He froze for half a second, squinting at her. "Ahh… so that's what this is. You've been acting all mock-angry from the start because you wanted me to wash the dishes."
Aarya hid her smile, pretending to focus on her cooking. "Maybe."
"Young lady," he said, shaking his head in mock disapproval, "you can't outsmart me. I invented being smart in this house."
"Right," she said, drawing out the word.
"Alright, alright," he conceded, walking to the sink. "I'll wash the dishes. But only because you made my favorite."
"Deal," she replied.
"And now," he added with a smirk, "go to your room before you start assigning me laundry duty too."
She laughed, shaking her head. "Goodnight, Papa."
"Goodnight, Aru," he said, his voice soft but warm.
And as she headed to her room, the clinking of dishes and the low hum of his whistling followed her down the hall a sound that felt like home.