17-01-2026, 01:40 PM
Chapter 2
The following morning, the atmosphere shifted from the lazy indulgence of the night before back to the steady rhythm of their happy small family middle-class stability. The apartment was filled with the hum of a ceiling fan that had a slight, rhythmic wobble and the soft glow of sunlight filtered through peach curtains.
Anand Sharma sat in his favorite leather recliner, a newspaper folded neatly on his lap. His face was lined with the easy-going creases of someone who had spent most of his life laughing. Though the paper was open to the financial section, his eyes were actually fixed on Rohan, who was currently sprawled on the Persian rug trying to fix a tangled pair of gaming headphones.
"You know, Rohan," Anand remarked, his voice carrying that deep, melodic resonance, "the new neighbor finally moved in this morning. A young fellow. I saw him grappling with a chest of drawers in the hallway. The fellow has a lot of boxes, and most of them look like they’re filled with art supplies and large canvases."
Rohan didn't look up, but his grin returned. "An artist? I hope he isn't going to paint graffiti on the walls. That's just what this building needs to lower the property value, Dad. Or.. may be it will increase it.. Who knows.. Was he wearing a beret? Did he have paint on his clothes"
"He looked a bit more like a sleep deprived graduate student", Anand chuckled. "But he has a good face. Sturdy. Respectful. When I offered to hold the door, he thanked me like I’d handed him property papers."
From the kitchen, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a heavy knife stopped. Meera appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a floral apron. At forty-two, she possessed a beauty that was timeless. Her dark mass of hair was gathered up and tied in a loose updo, and a bead of sweat was appearing on her brow. Her movements were deliberate, carrying the quiet authority of a woman who was the undisputed heart of her family.
"If he's just moved in, he won't have his kitchen set up," Meera said, her brow furrowing with maternal concern. "The poor boy is probably sitting amidst cardboard boxes. Anand, did you at least invite him for tea?"
"I did better than that, my dear," Anand said, winking at Rohan. "I told him we were having a small feast tonight - lamb curry and your saffron rice - and that it was an ancient building tradition to feed the new arrival. He tried to refuse, quite shyly, but I didn't give him much of a choice. I practically dragged his consent out of him."
"Mmmm, delicious! You are a good neighbor, Dad", Rohan said, grinning, already dreaming of the feast.
Anand chuckled.
The following morning, the atmosphere shifted from the lazy indulgence of the night before back to the steady rhythm of their happy small family middle-class stability. The apartment was filled with the hum of a ceiling fan that had a slight, rhythmic wobble and the soft glow of sunlight filtered through peach curtains.
Anand Sharma sat in his favorite leather recliner, a newspaper folded neatly on his lap. His face was lined with the easy-going creases of someone who had spent most of his life laughing. Though the paper was open to the financial section, his eyes were actually fixed on Rohan, who was currently sprawled on the Persian rug trying to fix a tangled pair of gaming headphones.
"You know, Rohan," Anand remarked, his voice carrying that deep, melodic resonance, "the new neighbor finally moved in this morning. A young fellow. I saw him grappling with a chest of drawers in the hallway. The fellow has a lot of boxes, and most of them look like they’re filled with art supplies and large canvases."
Rohan didn't look up, but his grin returned. "An artist? I hope he isn't going to paint graffiti on the walls. That's just what this building needs to lower the property value, Dad. Or.. may be it will increase it.. Who knows.. Was he wearing a beret? Did he have paint on his clothes"
"He looked a bit more like a sleep deprived graduate student", Anand chuckled. "But he has a good face. Sturdy. Respectful. When I offered to hold the door, he thanked me like I’d handed him property papers."
From the kitchen, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a heavy knife stopped. Meera appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a floral apron. At forty-two, she possessed a beauty that was timeless. Her dark mass of hair was gathered up and tied in a loose updo, and a bead of sweat was appearing on her brow. Her movements were deliberate, carrying the quiet authority of a woman who was the undisputed heart of her family.
"If he's just moved in, he won't have his kitchen set up," Meera said, her brow furrowing with maternal concern. "The poor boy is probably sitting amidst cardboard boxes. Anand, did you at least invite him for tea?"
"I did better than that, my dear," Anand said, winking at Rohan. "I told him we were having a small feast tonight - lamb curry and your saffron rice - and that it was an ancient building tradition to feed the new arrival. He tried to refuse, quite shyly, but I didn't give him much of a choice. I practically dragged his consent out of him."
"Mmmm, delicious! You are a good neighbor, Dad", Rohan said, grinning, already dreaming of the feast.
Anand chuckled.
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