04-12-2025, 11:17 PM
(This post was last modified: 26-12-2025, 01:34 PM by nivithenaughty. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
PART 4
The weeks had settled into a careful new rhythm, but the satin nightie never saw daylight again.
Friday morning Rajan was home, freshly showered and dressed for the day in his usual office wear: light-blue half-sleeve shirt neatly tucked into grey trousers, company ID dangling from the lanyard, car keys already in his hand. He sat at the dining table with his coffee, scrolling through the day's schedule on his phone.
Leka stepped out of the bedroom in her standard modest churidar, dupatta pinned high, but her chin was up. She had clearly rehearsed this.
“Appa, can I buy a few kurtis and leggings of my own? Just normal ones. Everyone in college wears them. I look… old.”
Rajan's thumb stopped mid-scroll. The familiar tightness crept into his jaw. “We have spoken about this before—”
Karthik walked in from the kitchen, college bag slung over one shoulder, and jumped in without hesitation. “Appa, even my friends tease her. They call her ‘aunty' behind her back. She's nineteen. Let her dress like other college girls, please.”
Indhu placed the steel tiffin box on the table and spoke quietly but firmly. “Rajan, too much restriction is only making her unhappy. You can see it. It will start affecting her studies again. She tells me everything—who she talks to, where she goes. I keep an eye on her every day. Nothing will go wrong.”
Rajan looked up slowly. Three pairs of eyes waited: Leka hopeful, Karthik protective, Indhu calm and unyielding. For once the entire house stood together.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
“You all seem to have forgotten what happened two years ago,” he said, voice low. “Late-night calls, marks falling, that auto boy—”
“That was two years ago,” Indhu cut in gently. “She has grown up. She is honest with me now. I promise you, I will watch her.”
Silence stretched. Rajan glanced at his watch, then at the three faces that refused to back down.
“Do whatever you want,” he said finally, standing up. “Everyone in this house has already decided without me.”
He picked up his laptop bag, walked out, and the company-allotted Indigo started a moment later. Only when it was a long trip did he ever take the bus; for Trichy today the car would do. The gate clanged shut behind him.
Leka let out a small, disbelieving squeak and threw her arms around Indhu.
“Shopping tomorrow?” she whispered, eyes shining.
“Tomorrow morning,” Indhu laughed, the sound light and startled out of her. “T Nagar. Early train. Karthik, no excuses—you're coming too.”
Karthik grinned wide, fist-bumping Leka. “Finally my sister will stop looking like my class teacher.”
Leka swatted him, laughing, and for a moment the house felt bright and wide open.
Saturday suddenly looked like freedom wrapped in new fabric.
--------------------------------------------
The last bell hadn't even finished ringing when Karthik slipped out to the college ground, found his usual spot under the neem tree, and sat alone with a stupid grin he couldn't wipe off. He had stood up to his father this morning. For Amma. For Leka. For all three of them. The pride felt warm in his chest, better than scoring a century in gully cricket.
A shadow fell across the grass.
“Someone's shining brighter than the sun today,” Anu said, dropping beside him with her lunch bag. She was in the same class, his closest friend since sixth standard—short hair, sharp eyes, and a crush on him so obvious that even the teachers teased her. Karthik never encouraged it, but he never pushed her away either.
“What happened? You look like you won a lottery,” she asked, nudging his shoulder.
He told her everything in a rush—how the three of them had finally faced Appa, how they were going shopping tomorrow, how he had never seen Amma smile like that.
Anu listened, eyes wide. “Karthik, that's… actually really sweet. You're a good son. And brother.”
He shrugged, embarrassed but pleased.
She bit her lip. “Tomorrow you're going shopping with your mom and sister, right? Do you even know what's in trend for women these days?”
He laughed. “Zero idea. I just know Amma looks beautiful in everything.”
Anu's eyes sparkled. “Give me your phone. Quick.”
He hesitated only a second—phones were banned, but Anu was careful. She dbangd her shawl over both their shoulders like they were sharing a textbook, opened Chrome incognito, and started scrolling.
“Look—these are the new shimmer leggings. Super comfortable and they catch light when you walk.” She zoomed in on a pair in rose-gold. “Your sister would look fire in these.”
Karthik's eyes widened. He tried to picture Leka, then—unintentionally—his mother's long legs in that soft shine. His throat went dry.
Anu kept going, voice low and excited. “A-line floral dresses are huge now. This one has a square neck and flared hem—perfect for Chennai heat. Or these co-ord sets with crop jackets…”
Images flashed: soft cotton, pastel colours, subtle shimmer, cuts that followed curves without clinging too much. Karthik's brain overloaded. He wasn't listening to the names anymore; he was seeing Amma twirling in the hall, the fabric brushing her knees, the neckline showing the delicate line of her collarbone, the way she would smile when she realised she looked young and free.
“Karthik… Karthik!” Anu snapped her fingers. “Earth to hero. Did you understand anything or are you just staring?”
He blinked, cheeks burning. “Too much at once. But… thank you. Really.”
She smiled, softer this time. “Anytime you have doubts, message me, okay? Day or night.” She handed the phone back, fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary, then stood up as the bell rang.
The rest of the day was a blur. Teachers spoke; Karthik nodded without hearing. Between classes he kept opening the browser in secret, searching “best kurtis for moms”, “shimmer leggings online”, “A-line dresses for Indian women”. Every thumbnail sent the same jolt through him: Amma in soft rose, in midnight blue, in that coffee-brown satin that still haunted his dreams.
By the time the final bell rang, his head was spinning with fabric names and cuts and colours he had never cared about before.
Walking home under the fierce July sun, bag heavy on one shoulder, he finally asked himself the question that had been hovering all day.
Why am I doing this?
For Amma, obviously.
But why does my heart race when I imagine her in these clothes?
Why does the thought of her feeling beautiful because of something I helped choose make me feel… hot inside?
The answers didn't come. Only more pictures in his head: his mother laughing in a new dress, twirling for him alone, thanking him with that soft smile.
He reached the gate, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.
Tomorrow they would buy new clothes.
Tomorrow everything would feel a little more possible.
And somewhere inside him, something new had already begun to burn.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The evening light turned orange-gold across the small hall as the three of them sat around the low teak table, plates of onion pakoda still steaming between them. Leka had taken over Indhu's phone and was swiping through shopping apps with the speed of someone who had waited years for permission.
“Amma, look at this lavender kurti with mirror work! And this black legging has a little shimmer on the sides, not too much, just enough to catch light when I walk.” Her voice was bright, almost breathless. “And for you, this soft peach co-ord set, the jacket is cropped but not too short, promise!”
Indhu leaned over, eyes widening at the prices, then laughing softly. “Dei, slow down. We have to see the material first. And nothing sleeveless for me, okay? Your father will have a heart attack.”
Leka pouted, then immediately brightened. “Fine, three-quarter sleeves. But we are getting at least five sets each, right?”
Karthik sat cross-legged on the floor, pretending to scroll through his physics textbook while secretly watching his mother's face. Every time a new picture appeared, her eyes lit up in a way he had never seen before: unguarded, almost girlish. The sight made something warm and fierce bloom in his chest. He said nothing. He wanted tomorrow to be a complete surprise.
Rajan walked in at nine-thirty sharp, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, company lanyard still around his neck. The moment he stepped inside, the lightness in the room dimmed by a degree.
“I have to leave tonight itself,” he announced, dropping his laptop bag on the sofa. “Trichy site visit at seven tomorrow. Driver is coming at eleven-thirty. I'll be back Wednesday or Thursday.”
Indhu nodded from the kitchen doorway. “Food is ready. Come eat first.”
They ate in near silence: rice, sambar, potato roast. Rajan asked Leka about college attendance, asked Karthik about his unit test marks. The answers were polite, short, careful. When the plates were cleared, Rajan disappeared into the bedroom to pack.
Karthik's mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow. Money. Amma had whispered earlier, while folding clothes, “I have only seven thousand saved in my purse, kanna. I was planning to ask your father in the morning, but now…” Her voice had trailed off, worried. Karthik had seen the fear in her eyes: the fear of another fight, another lecture about “wasting money on vanity.”
He couldn't let that happen.
He waited until Rajan was zipping the suitcase, shirts folded with office precision.
“Appa,” Karthik said quietly, stepping into the bedroom, “can I take your credit card tomorrow? Just for the shopping. I checked everything online. We won't cross twelve thousand, I swear. I'll show you every single bill when you come back.”
Rajan paused, one hand on the suitcase flap. “Twelve thousand? For clothes?”
“Trust me, Appa. Good brands, but not crazy. Leka needs college wear. Amma also hasn't bought anything new in two years.”
Rajan looked at his son: tall, earnest, eyes steady. The boy had never asked for pocket money, never failed a subject, never given him tension. He exhaled through his nose, reached into his wallet, and pulled out the card.
“Limit is high, but don't cross fifteen. Message me the total tomorrow night. Understood?”
Karthik's fingers closed around the card like it was made of fire and gold. “Thank you, Appa. Promise.”
Rajan ruffled his hair once, awkward but genuine, then wheeled the suitcase out. The company car's headlights swept across the front wall at eleven twenty-eight. The gate clanged. Silence rushed back in.
Karthik stood in the dark hallway for a moment, heart hammering. Twelve–fifteen thousand on the card: enough for good everyday kurtis, leggings, a few co-ord sets Rajan would see and grudgingly approve.
But the special things: the ones he had bookmarked at 2 a.m. when the house was asleep, the ones that made his breath catch when he pictured his mother in them, those would come from money Rajan would never know about.
He stepped onto the balcony, cool July night air brushing his face, and dialled his grandmother in Coimbatore.
“Paatti…” he whispered the moment she picked up.
“Dei Karthik, why so late? Everything alright?”
“I need help, Paatti. A surprise for Amma. Can you send ten thousand to her account right now? Please? I can't explain, but it's important.”
His grandmother laughed softly, the sound warm and indulgent. “For my first grandson? Already sending. Tell your mother I said she deserves the world.”
Less than two minutes later Indhu's phone buzzed on the dining table: ₹10,000 credited. Karthik darted in, heart in his throat, opened the notification shade, deleted the message, cleared the history, and slid the phone back under her pillow exactly where it had been.
Lights out at twelve-fifteen.
The big bed felt different tonight: charged, expectant.
Leka climbed in first, already half-dreaming, wearing her usual long pale yellow nightie. “Amma… lavender… and something in wine colour…” she mumbled, burrowing into her pillow.
Indhu slid into the middle in her safe blue-check cotton nightie, hair loose on the pillow, the faint scent of Ponds cream and jasmine oil drifting around her. She reached over and switched off the bedside lamp.
Karthik took his place on the right, the credit card tucked into the pocket of his shorts, the secret ten thousand burning in his mind like a second heartbeat.
They lay in the dark, the AC humming low.
Leka's sleepy voice floated up again. “Amma, do you think they'll have that style with the little mirror work on the sleeves…?”
Indhu smiled into the darkness. “We'll find something beautiful, kanna. Sleep now. Tomorrow is a big day.”
The whispers slowly faded. Leka's breathing evened out, soft and trusting. Indhu turned onto her side, facing Karthik without realising it, one hand resting on the sheet between them.
Karthik lay wide awake, eyes open in the dark.
In his head he walked through tomorrow like a movie: the crowded T Nagar streets, the air-conditioned showrooms, Leka squealing over every rack, and Amma, his beautiful, quiet Amma, standing in front of mirrors in colours she had never dared before.
With Appa's card: safe, pretty, everyday things.
With Paatti's money: the midnight-blue satin nightie set he had saved in a private tab, the rose-gold shimmer leggings that would make her legs look endless, the sleeveless wine-red A-line dress with tiny mirror work along the neckline that would make her feel twenty-five again.
He pictured her face when she realised she didn't have to choose. When she realised her son had made sure she could have everything she secretly wanted.
The thought sent heat racing through his body, sweet and confusing and unstoppable.
He turned toward her in the dark, close enough to feel the gentle warmth radiating from her skin, the faint rise and fall of her breathing under cotton.
Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow I'll watch her become the version of herself she's been hiding for twenty years.
With that vow humming in his blood, Karthik finally let sleep pull him under, the biggest, quietest smile on his face, the credit card and the secret ten thousand safe against his heart.
Saturday was coming.
And everything was about to change again.
-----------------------------------------
The weeks had settled into a careful new rhythm, but the satin nightie never saw daylight again.
Friday morning Rajan was home, freshly showered and dressed for the day in his usual office wear: light-blue half-sleeve shirt neatly tucked into grey trousers, company ID dangling from the lanyard, car keys already in his hand. He sat at the dining table with his coffee, scrolling through the day's schedule on his phone.
Leka stepped out of the bedroom in her standard modest churidar, dupatta pinned high, but her chin was up. She had clearly rehearsed this.
“Appa, can I buy a few kurtis and leggings of my own? Just normal ones. Everyone in college wears them. I look… old.”
Rajan's thumb stopped mid-scroll. The familiar tightness crept into his jaw. “We have spoken about this before—”
Karthik walked in from the kitchen, college bag slung over one shoulder, and jumped in without hesitation. “Appa, even my friends tease her. They call her ‘aunty' behind her back. She's nineteen. Let her dress like other college girls, please.”
Indhu placed the steel tiffin box on the table and spoke quietly but firmly. “Rajan, too much restriction is only making her unhappy. You can see it. It will start affecting her studies again. She tells me everything—who she talks to, where she goes. I keep an eye on her every day. Nothing will go wrong.”
Rajan looked up slowly. Three pairs of eyes waited: Leka hopeful, Karthik protective, Indhu calm and unyielding. For once the entire house stood together.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
“You all seem to have forgotten what happened two years ago,” he said, voice low. “Late-night calls, marks falling, that auto boy—”
“That was two years ago,” Indhu cut in gently. “She has grown up. She is honest with me now. I promise you, I will watch her.”
Silence stretched. Rajan glanced at his watch, then at the three faces that refused to back down.
“Do whatever you want,” he said finally, standing up. “Everyone in this house has already decided without me.”
He picked up his laptop bag, walked out, and the company-allotted Indigo started a moment later. Only when it was a long trip did he ever take the bus; for Trichy today the car would do. The gate clanged shut behind him.
Leka let out a small, disbelieving squeak and threw her arms around Indhu.
“Shopping tomorrow?” she whispered, eyes shining.
“Tomorrow morning,” Indhu laughed, the sound light and startled out of her. “T Nagar. Early train. Karthik, no excuses—you're coming too.”
Karthik grinned wide, fist-bumping Leka. “Finally my sister will stop looking like my class teacher.”
Leka swatted him, laughing, and for a moment the house felt bright and wide open.
Saturday suddenly looked like freedom wrapped in new fabric.
--------------------------------------------
The last bell hadn't even finished ringing when Karthik slipped out to the college ground, found his usual spot under the neem tree, and sat alone with a stupid grin he couldn't wipe off. He had stood up to his father this morning. For Amma. For Leka. For all three of them. The pride felt warm in his chest, better than scoring a century in gully cricket.
A shadow fell across the grass.
“Someone's shining brighter than the sun today,” Anu said, dropping beside him with her lunch bag. She was in the same class, his closest friend since sixth standard—short hair, sharp eyes, and a crush on him so obvious that even the teachers teased her. Karthik never encouraged it, but he never pushed her away either.
“What happened? You look like you won a lottery,” she asked, nudging his shoulder.
He told her everything in a rush—how the three of them had finally faced Appa, how they were going shopping tomorrow, how he had never seen Amma smile like that.
Anu listened, eyes wide. “Karthik, that's… actually really sweet. You're a good son. And brother.”
He shrugged, embarrassed but pleased.
She bit her lip. “Tomorrow you're going shopping with your mom and sister, right? Do you even know what's in trend for women these days?”
He laughed. “Zero idea. I just know Amma looks beautiful in everything.”
Anu's eyes sparkled. “Give me your phone. Quick.”
He hesitated only a second—phones were banned, but Anu was careful. She dbangd her shawl over both their shoulders like they were sharing a textbook, opened Chrome incognito, and started scrolling.
“Look—these are the new shimmer leggings. Super comfortable and they catch light when you walk.” She zoomed in on a pair in rose-gold. “Your sister would look fire in these.”
Karthik's eyes widened. He tried to picture Leka, then—unintentionally—his mother's long legs in that soft shine. His throat went dry.
Anu kept going, voice low and excited. “A-line floral dresses are huge now. This one has a square neck and flared hem—perfect for Chennai heat. Or these co-ord sets with crop jackets…”
Images flashed: soft cotton, pastel colours, subtle shimmer, cuts that followed curves without clinging too much. Karthik's brain overloaded. He wasn't listening to the names anymore; he was seeing Amma twirling in the hall, the fabric brushing her knees, the neckline showing the delicate line of her collarbone, the way she would smile when she realised she looked young and free.
“Karthik… Karthik!” Anu snapped her fingers. “Earth to hero. Did you understand anything or are you just staring?”
He blinked, cheeks burning. “Too much at once. But… thank you. Really.”
She smiled, softer this time. “Anytime you have doubts, message me, okay? Day or night.” She handed the phone back, fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary, then stood up as the bell rang.
The rest of the day was a blur. Teachers spoke; Karthik nodded without hearing. Between classes he kept opening the browser in secret, searching “best kurtis for moms”, “shimmer leggings online”, “A-line dresses for Indian women”. Every thumbnail sent the same jolt through him: Amma in soft rose, in midnight blue, in that coffee-brown satin that still haunted his dreams.
By the time the final bell rang, his head was spinning with fabric names and cuts and colours he had never cared about before.
Walking home under the fierce July sun, bag heavy on one shoulder, he finally asked himself the question that had been hovering all day.
Why am I doing this?
For Amma, obviously.
But why does my heart race when I imagine her in these clothes?
Why does the thought of her feeling beautiful because of something I helped choose make me feel… hot inside?
The answers didn't come. Only more pictures in his head: his mother laughing in a new dress, twirling for him alone, thanking him with that soft smile.
He reached the gate, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.
Tomorrow they would buy new clothes.
Tomorrow everything would feel a little more possible.
And somewhere inside him, something new had already begun to burn.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The evening light turned orange-gold across the small hall as the three of them sat around the low teak table, plates of onion pakoda still steaming between them. Leka had taken over Indhu's phone and was swiping through shopping apps with the speed of someone who had waited years for permission.
“Amma, look at this lavender kurti with mirror work! And this black legging has a little shimmer on the sides, not too much, just enough to catch light when I walk.” Her voice was bright, almost breathless. “And for you, this soft peach co-ord set, the jacket is cropped but not too short, promise!”
Indhu leaned over, eyes widening at the prices, then laughing softly. “Dei, slow down. We have to see the material first. And nothing sleeveless for me, okay? Your father will have a heart attack.”
Leka pouted, then immediately brightened. “Fine, three-quarter sleeves. But we are getting at least five sets each, right?”
Karthik sat cross-legged on the floor, pretending to scroll through his physics textbook while secretly watching his mother's face. Every time a new picture appeared, her eyes lit up in a way he had never seen before: unguarded, almost girlish. The sight made something warm and fierce bloom in his chest. He said nothing. He wanted tomorrow to be a complete surprise.
Rajan walked in at nine-thirty sharp, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, company lanyard still around his neck. The moment he stepped inside, the lightness in the room dimmed by a degree.
“I have to leave tonight itself,” he announced, dropping his laptop bag on the sofa. “Trichy site visit at seven tomorrow. Driver is coming at eleven-thirty. I'll be back Wednesday or Thursday.”
Indhu nodded from the kitchen doorway. “Food is ready. Come eat first.”
They ate in near silence: rice, sambar, potato roast. Rajan asked Leka about college attendance, asked Karthik about his unit test marks. The answers were polite, short, careful. When the plates were cleared, Rajan disappeared into the bedroom to pack.
Karthik's mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow. Money. Amma had whispered earlier, while folding clothes, “I have only seven thousand saved in my purse, kanna. I was planning to ask your father in the morning, but now…” Her voice had trailed off, worried. Karthik had seen the fear in her eyes: the fear of another fight, another lecture about “wasting money on vanity.”
He couldn't let that happen.
He waited until Rajan was zipping the suitcase, shirts folded with office precision.
“Appa,” Karthik said quietly, stepping into the bedroom, “can I take your credit card tomorrow? Just for the shopping. I checked everything online. We won't cross twelve thousand, I swear. I'll show you every single bill when you come back.”
Rajan paused, one hand on the suitcase flap. “Twelve thousand? For clothes?”
“Trust me, Appa. Good brands, but not crazy. Leka needs college wear. Amma also hasn't bought anything new in two years.”
Rajan looked at his son: tall, earnest, eyes steady. The boy had never asked for pocket money, never failed a subject, never given him tension. He exhaled through his nose, reached into his wallet, and pulled out the card.
“Limit is high, but don't cross fifteen. Message me the total tomorrow night. Understood?”
Karthik's fingers closed around the card like it was made of fire and gold. “Thank you, Appa. Promise.”
Rajan ruffled his hair once, awkward but genuine, then wheeled the suitcase out. The company car's headlights swept across the front wall at eleven twenty-eight. The gate clanged. Silence rushed back in.
Karthik stood in the dark hallway for a moment, heart hammering. Twelve–fifteen thousand on the card: enough for good everyday kurtis, leggings, a few co-ord sets Rajan would see and grudgingly approve.
But the special things: the ones he had bookmarked at 2 a.m. when the house was asleep, the ones that made his breath catch when he pictured his mother in them, those would come from money Rajan would never know about.
He stepped onto the balcony, cool July night air brushing his face, and dialled his grandmother in Coimbatore.
“Paatti…” he whispered the moment she picked up.
“Dei Karthik, why so late? Everything alright?”
“I need help, Paatti. A surprise for Amma. Can you send ten thousand to her account right now? Please? I can't explain, but it's important.”
His grandmother laughed softly, the sound warm and indulgent. “For my first grandson? Already sending. Tell your mother I said she deserves the world.”
Less than two minutes later Indhu's phone buzzed on the dining table: ₹10,000 credited. Karthik darted in, heart in his throat, opened the notification shade, deleted the message, cleared the history, and slid the phone back under her pillow exactly where it had been.
Lights out at twelve-fifteen.
The big bed felt different tonight: charged, expectant.
Leka climbed in first, already half-dreaming, wearing her usual long pale yellow nightie. “Amma… lavender… and something in wine colour…” she mumbled, burrowing into her pillow.
Indhu slid into the middle in her safe blue-check cotton nightie, hair loose on the pillow, the faint scent of Ponds cream and jasmine oil drifting around her. She reached over and switched off the bedside lamp.
Karthik took his place on the right, the credit card tucked into the pocket of his shorts, the secret ten thousand burning in his mind like a second heartbeat.
They lay in the dark, the AC humming low.
Leka's sleepy voice floated up again. “Amma, do you think they'll have that style with the little mirror work on the sleeves…?”
Indhu smiled into the darkness. “We'll find something beautiful, kanna. Sleep now. Tomorrow is a big day.”
The whispers slowly faded. Leka's breathing evened out, soft and trusting. Indhu turned onto her side, facing Karthik without realising it, one hand resting on the sheet between them.
Karthik lay wide awake, eyes open in the dark.
In his head he walked through tomorrow like a movie: the crowded T Nagar streets, the air-conditioned showrooms, Leka squealing over every rack, and Amma, his beautiful, quiet Amma, standing in front of mirrors in colours she had never dared before.
With Appa's card: safe, pretty, everyday things.
With Paatti's money: the midnight-blue satin nightie set he had saved in a private tab, the rose-gold shimmer leggings that would make her legs look endless, the sleeveless wine-red A-line dress with tiny mirror work along the neckline that would make her feel twenty-five again.
He pictured her face when she realised she didn't have to choose. When she realised her son had made sure she could have everything she secretly wanted.
The thought sent heat racing through his body, sweet and confusing and unstoppable.
He turned toward her in the dark, close enough to feel the gentle warmth radiating from her skin, the faint rise and fall of her breathing under cotton.
Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow I'll watch her become the version of herself she's been hiding for twenty years.
With that vow humming in his blood, Karthik finally let sleep pull him under, the biggest, quietest smile on his face, the credit card and the secret ten thousand safe against his heart.
Saturday was coming.
And everything was about to change again.
-----------------------------------------
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