20-10-2025, 12:07 AM
(This post was last modified: 24-10-2025, 11:00 AM by lee.jae.han. Edited 7 times in total. Edited 7 times in total.)
## Update 9: The Family Question and the Shared Secret (Avi and Madam)
The warmth of the black coffee still lingered, a slightly bitter, sophisticated burn in my throat. Madam watched me from across the low table, her expression still unreadable, like a mask perfectly set.
Madam tilted her head, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “So Avi, how was the coffee?”
“It was good,” I admitted, the unusual taste still new on my tongue.
“I told you that you would like it,” she said, a faint, proprietary smile touching her lips.
“Yes.”
She leaned forward, her elbows on the low table, invading the small space between us. Her eyes seemed to pin me in place. “Avi, can I ask you something personal?”
I was surprised by the directness of her gaze. “Yes, why not?” I replied.
She kept her voice deliberately casual, but her tone was inquisitive. “Who all lives in your house right now?”
I listed them off, counting on my fingers. “My uncle, my chachis, my Dadaji—though he’s staying in an ashram now because he’s sick—and me.”
Her voice suddenly hushed, and her eyes briefly held a gentle, practiced sadness. “And your parents?”
“They’re no longer in this world,” I spoke the familiar, hollow words, which always felt like I was reciting a very old fact.
She sighed, the sympathy washing over me. “I’m sorry, Avi.”
I shrugged off the expected pity. “It’s okay.”
She shifted slightly, changing the topic completely. “I once saw you in the market with two women,” she said, her eyes tracking something unseen on the far wall.
“Yes, they were my chachis.”
She raised an elegant eyebrow, a silent question in the gesture. “You have two chachis?”
“No, I have three. My uncle married three times,” I explained simply, giving her the full account.
She lowered her gaze to her hands, thinking. “Why did he marry three times?”
“Suman Chachi and Seema Chachi couldn’t have children,” I explained simply, repeating the known family reason. “So my uncle married a third time.”
“So your third Chachi has a child, then?” she asked, her voice calm but persistent.
“No, none of my chachis have any children,” I clarified.
I noticed a tiny, subtle flicker in her eyes then, a strange, knowing spark that vanished instantly before I could place it. It was a look of understanding, maybe even connection, to the quiet life of my house.
“So your chachis must love you very much, then,” she said, her voice warm, but the previous question—the silent observation of a household with no children—hung heavy in the air.
“Yes, all my chachis love me very much,” I confirmed, feeling a wave of familiar comfort and pride in their affection.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the intense focus on my family life. “What about your family, Madam?”
She looked away for a long moment, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with a perfectly manicured finger, seemingly weighing her words. “My family? I have a husband and a son.”
I prodded gently. “They both live in the city, I guess?”
“Yes,” she said, finally meeting my gaze. “They live in the city. I’ll be joining them in about a month.” She seemed content with the thought.
I glanced toward the window, where the afternoon light was turning a deep, golden color. “What’s the time, Madam?” I asked, seizing on the distraction.
She looked at her wrist. “4:30 p.m. Why, do you have somewhere you need to rush off to?” she asked, surprised by my urgency.
“Yes, I have to go to the ground to play cricket,” I said, grabbing the perfect, plausible excuse.
She stood up abruptly. “Okay, go. But come back tomorrow.” She paused at the door, her gaze becoming serious, almost conspiratorial. “And if anyone asks, especially your uncle or your chachis, just tell them you were studying hard for your exams.”
“Okay, Madam,” I agreed quickly, nodding to solidify the new shared lie.
I left her house and went straight home to drop off my small bag, but my mind was already racing ahead. The cricket ground was my stated destination, but my true goal was clear and intoxicating: I was waiting for Mona to show up at the storehouse. The thought of her presence pulled me forward with an undeniable urgency. My heart pounded a dull, thick beat against my ribs, a visceral reaction to the anticipation of seeing her again. The blood throbbed hot in my ears, making me dizzy with impatience.
-----
The warmth of the black coffee still lingered, a slightly bitter, sophisticated burn in my throat. Madam watched me from across the low table, her expression still unreadable, like a mask perfectly set.
Madam tilted her head, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “So Avi, how was the coffee?”
“It was good,” I admitted, the unusual taste still new on my tongue.
“I told you that you would like it,” she said, a faint, proprietary smile touching her lips.
“Yes.”
She leaned forward, her elbows on the low table, invading the small space between us. Her eyes seemed to pin me in place. “Avi, can I ask you something personal?”
I was surprised by the directness of her gaze. “Yes, why not?” I replied.
She kept her voice deliberately casual, but her tone was inquisitive. “Who all lives in your house right now?”
I listed them off, counting on my fingers. “My uncle, my chachis, my Dadaji—though he’s staying in an ashram now because he’s sick—and me.”
Her voice suddenly hushed, and her eyes briefly held a gentle, practiced sadness. “And your parents?”
“They’re no longer in this world,” I spoke the familiar, hollow words, which always felt like I was reciting a very old fact.
She sighed, the sympathy washing over me. “I’m sorry, Avi.”
I shrugged off the expected pity. “It’s okay.”
She shifted slightly, changing the topic completely. “I once saw you in the market with two women,” she said, her eyes tracking something unseen on the far wall.
“Yes, they were my chachis.”
She raised an elegant eyebrow, a silent question in the gesture. “You have two chachis?”
“No, I have three. My uncle married three times,” I explained simply, giving her the full account.
She lowered her gaze to her hands, thinking. “Why did he marry three times?”
“Suman Chachi and Seema Chachi couldn’t have children,” I explained simply, repeating the known family reason. “So my uncle married a third time.”
“So your third Chachi has a child, then?” she asked, her voice calm but persistent.
“No, none of my chachis have any children,” I clarified.
I noticed a tiny, subtle flicker in her eyes then, a strange, knowing spark that vanished instantly before I could place it. It was a look of understanding, maybe even connection, to the quiet life of my house.
“So your chachis must love you very much, then,” she said, her voice warm, but the previous question—the silent observation of a household with no children—hung heavy in the air.
“Yes, all my chachis love me very much,” I confirmed, feeling a wave of familiar comfort and pride in their affection.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the intense focus on my family life. “What about your family, Madam?”
She looked away for a long moment, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with a perfectly manicured finger, seemingly weighing her words. “My family? I have a husband and a son.”
I prodded gently. “They both live in the city, I guess?”
“Yes,” she said, finally meeting my gaze. “They live in the city. I’ll be joining them in about a month.” She seemed content with the thought.
I glanced toward the window, where the afternoon light was turning a deep, golden color. “What’s the time, Madam?” I asked, seizing on the distraction.
She looked at her wrist. “4:30 p.m. Why, do you have somewhere you need to rush off to?” she asked, surprised by my urgency.
“Yes, I have to go to the ground to play cricket,” I said, grabbing the perfect, plausible excuse.
She stood up abruptly. “Okay, go. But come back tomorrow.” She paused at the door, her gaze becoming serious, almost conspiratorial. “And if anyone asks, especially your uncle or your chachis, just tell them you were studying hard for your exams.”
“Okay, Madam,” I agreed quickly, nodding to solidify the new shared lie.
I left her house and went straight home to drop off my small bag, but my mind was already racing ahead. The cricket ground was my stated destination, but my true goal was clear and intoxicating: I was waiting for Mona to show up at the storehouse. The thought of her presence pulled me forward with an undeniable urgency. My heart pounded a dull, thick beat against my ribs, a visceral reaction to the anticipation of seeing her again. The blood throbbed hot in my ears, making me dizzy with impatience.
-----
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