8 hours ago
Chapter 1: The Pre-Dawn Pickup
The air at 4:45 AM was a sharp, damp cold that Avi hadn't quite adjusted to since moving back. He stood by the gate of his family home, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, feeling the bite of the misty cold against his face. The streetlights cast long, flickering shadows on the quiet residential road of their hometown - a place that still felt like a half-remembered dream to him, a landscape he had once known so well but which had now changed so much that he felt like a stranger.
His parents were inside, finishing their tea with the rushed efficiency of seasoned travelers and double checking the window locks. Avi had slipped out early, driven by a need for the pre-dawn silence. Being back to the hometown after several years of being away due to his father’s work, meant being perpetually surrounded by the large, well-meaning machinery of the extended family. He was constantly navigating a sea of uncles who commented on how much taller he’d grown, aunts who probed his ‘future plans’, and a sprawling network of cousins who treated him with a mix of curiosity and distance.
When the private bus finally hissed to a stop at their gate, it was a hulking, indigo silhouette against the darkness. Avi climbed the steps first, his sneakers squeaking on the rubber floor mats. The interior was dim, a cavernous space lit only by a few small blue LED strips along the ceiling and the orange glow from the driver’s dashboard instruments. It was mostly empty, save for a few elderly relatives who had been picked up first; they were already slumped in the front rows, their soft snores blending with the low thrum of the idling engine.
Avi moved toward the back, seeking the sanctuary of the lonely shadows. The high backed luxury seats were in a 2x2 layout. He chose a window seat on the left side, leaning his forehead against the cool, vibrating glass. He watched his parents board, carrying bags of snacks and flasks of coffee, settling a few rows ahead of him. He found himself hoping he would be left alone as the bus kept on picking up the rest of the extended family, that he would be partially shielded from the social expectations of the day.
Ten minutes later, the bus pulled up in front of a brightly lit house a few streets over. This was the stop for his maternal uncle’s family.
Through the window, Avi saw his aunt, Shilpa, and her son, Sanjay, waiting under the porch light. Perhaps his uncle was busy as always and wasn’t going to join them. Sanjay looked exactly as Avi remembered from their childhood summers - lanky, slightly slouched, and now always tethered to his headphones. But Shilpa... Avi felt a familiar, dull thud in his chest.
She was wearing a simple but elegant saree of deep plum, a dark pashmina shawl wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the morning chill. Even in the harsh, unflattering glare of the streetlamp, she looked radiant. There was a grace to her movements - the way she adjusted her shawl, the way she stepped over a puddle - that seemed almost too polished for five in the morning. She possessed a timeless quality that made her stand out from the other women in the family, who usually favored loud colors and heavy gold.
As they boarded, Avi instinctively looked away, staring hard at the dark reflection of his own face in the glass, his heart hammering a rhythm he didn't want to acknowledge. He fully expected them to sit in the middle section near his parents, where the chatter was already beginning to bubble. He heard Sanjay’s footsteps pass by, and then, a softer rustle of silk fabric.
The seat beside him dipped, the cushion groaning under a new weight.
"It’s too early for a Sunday, isn't it, Avi?"
The voice was low, melodic, and much closer than he expected. He turned his head slowly, his neck feeling stiff. Shilpa aunty was sitting right next to him, her knee just inches from his. She wasn't looking at the dozens of empty seats in front of her, nor at her son, who had settled three rows back without a second glance. She was looking directly at Avi, her dark eyes reflecting the faint blue light of the cabin, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Aunty," Avi managed, his voice sounding thin and raspy in the quiet bus. "I... I thought you’d sit with... the others. My mom is right up there... And Veena aunty... Grandma Lakshmi has also come..."
"They’re all going to talk about new necklaces, temple rituals, and whose kids are getting which ranks," she whispered, leaning in slightly. A faint, pleasant, intoxicating scent hit him. "I think I’d rather sit with you. You don't mind, do you? Or am I interrupting your privacy?", she asked with a playful smile.
"No," Avi said quickly, his pulse skipping. "No, I don't mind at all... Isn't uncle coming?"
"No, he has some client meeting".
Avi nodded.
The bus lurched forward again, and picked up several more families along the way. Finally the driver switched off the interior blue lights, plunging the cabin into near-total darkness. The world outside became a blur of dark shapes of trees, fileds and farms, and the occasional glowing porch lights of sleeping houses in the outskirts and villages. For a long time, they didn't speak. The only sound was the muffled groan of the heavy diesel engine and the wind whistling through the window seal. But Avi was hyper-aware of her. He could feel the warmth radiating from her arm where it brushed against his hoodie, a constant, low-voltage contact that made it impossible for him to relax.
Slowly, as the swaying of the bus became a hypnotic lullaby, he felt a weight settle on his shoulder.
Shilpa aunty had leaned over. Her head rested firmly against him, her hair tickling the side of his neck. He could hear her breathing evening out into the slow, deep rhythm of sleep. Avi froze, his own breath hitching in his throat. He felt like a statue, terrified to move or even adjust his posture, fearing that any slight shift would break the fragile, impossible spell of the moment.
With her head on his shoulder, years of memories began to surface with vivid clarity. He thought back to being fourteen, standing in the cramped kitchen of her old house during a festival, watching her move with a fluid, effortless beauty. He had been unable to say a word to her then, paralyzed by a crush that felt too big for his adolescent body. She had been his first secret, his first real understanding of the word ‘beautiful’, the first and constant queen of his fantasies, and he had spent years admiring her from the periphery of family gatherings, never daring to bridge the gap.
He began to analyze the two times he’d seen her since his return to the hometown. A month ago, at a crowded family dinner, he had caught her staring at him from across the table while he was talking to an uncle. When their eyes met, she hadn't looked away. She had held his gaze, her eyes tracking the new lines of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders, her expression intense and unreadable.
And then there was the afternoon she had visited his house. He had been coming out of the bathroom after a shower, shirtless, wearing just a towel, only to find her lingering in the narrow hallway. She hadn't apologized for the intrusion; instead, she had looked him up and down - a slow, appreciative scan that had made his skin prickle with a heat that wasn't from the water. At the time, he’d brushed it off as his own awkwardness, a projection of his old feelings.
But now, with the physical weight of her head on his shoulder and the soft, undeniable contact of her saree against his arm, he didn’t know what to think. The social dynamic seemed to have shifted. She wasn't treating him like the 'little Avi' who used to hide in the corners of her living room anymore.
He looked down at her in the dim, shifting light of the sunrise. She looked peaceful, almost vulnerable in sleep, but the sheer boldness of her choice to sit here - of all places - sent a shiver through him. It was a cold morning, but Avi felt as though he were standing too close to a fire, unsure whether to step back or let himself burn.
The air at 4:45 AM was a sharp, damp cold that Avi hadn't quite adjusted to since moving back. He stood by the gate of his family home, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, feeling the bite of the misty cold against his face. The streetlights cast long, flickering shadows on the quiet residential road of their hometown - a place that still felt like a half-remembered dream to him, a landscape he had once known so well but which had now changed so much that he felt like a stranger.
His parents were inside, finishing their tea with the rushed efficiency of seasoned travelers and double checking the window locks. Avi had slipped out early, driven by a need for the pre-dawn silence. Being back to the hometown after several years of being away due to his father’s work, meant being perpetually surrounded by the large, well-meaning machinery of the extended family. He was constantly navigating a sea of uncles who commented on how much taller he’d grown, aunts who probed his ‘future plans’, and a sprawling network of cousins who treated him with a mix of curiosity and distance.
When the private bus finally hissed to a stop at their gate, it was a hulking, indigo silhouette against the darkness. Avi climbed the steps first, his sneakers squeaking on the rubber floor mats. The interior was dim, a cavernous space lit only by a few small blue LED strips along the ceiling and the orange glow from the driver’s dashboard instruments. It was mostly empty, save for a few elderly relatives who had been picked up first; they were already slumped in the front rows, their soft snores blending with the low thrum of the idling engine.
Avi moved toward the back, seeking the sanctuary of the lonely shadows. The high backed luxury seats were in a 2x2 layout. He chose a window seat on the left side, leaning his forehead against the cool, vibrating glass. He watched his parents board, carrying bags of snacks and flasks of coffee, settling a few rows ahead of him. He found himself hoping he would be left alone as the bus kept on picking up the rest of the extended family, that he would be partially shielded from the social expectations of the day.
Ten minutes later, the bus pulled up in front of a brightly lit house a few streets over. This was the stop for his maternal uncle’s family.
Through the window, Avi saw his aunt, Shilpa, and her son, Sanjay, waiting under the porch light. Perhaps his uncle was busy as always and wasn’t going to join them. Sanjay looked exactly as Avi remembered from their childhood summers - lanky, slightly slouched, and now always tethered to his headphones. But Shilpa... Avi felt a familiar, dull thud in his chest.
She was wearing a simple but elegant saree of deep plum, a dark pashmina shawl wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the morning chill. Even in the harsh, unflattering glare of the streetlamp, she looked radiant. There was a grace to her movements - the way she adjusted her shawl, the way she stepped over a puddle - that seemed almost too polished for five in the morning. She possessed a timeless quality that made her stand out from the other women in the family, who usually favored loud colors and heavy gold.
As they boarded, Avi instinctively looked away, staring hard at the dark reflection of his own face in the glass, his heart hammering a rhythm he didn't want to acknowledge. He fully expected them to sit in the middle section near his parents, where the chatter was already beginning to bubble. He heard Sanjay’s footsteps pass by, and then, a softer rustle of silk fabric.
The seat beside him dipped, the cushion groaning under a new weight.
"It’s too early for a Sunday, isn't it, Avi?"
The voice was low, melodic, and much closer than he expected. He turned his head slowly, his neck feeling stiff. Shilpa aunty was sitting right next to him, her knee just inches from his. She wasn't looking at the dozens of empty seats in front of her, nor at her son, who had settled three rows back without a second glance. She was looking directly at Avi, her dark eyes reflecting the faint blue light of the cabin, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Aunty," Avi managed, his voice sounding thin and raspy in the quiet bus. "I... I thought you’d sit with... the others. My mom is right up there... And Veena aunty... Grandma Lakshmi has also come..."
"They’re all going to talk about new necklaces, temple rituals, and whose kids are getting which ranks," she whispered, leaning in slightly. A faint, pleasant, intoxicating scent hit him. "I think I’d rather sit with you. You don't mind, do you? Or am I interrupting your privacy?", she asked with a playful smile.
"No," Avi said quickly, his pulse skipping. "No, I don't mind at all... Isn't uncle coming?"
"No, he has some client meeting".
Avi nodded.
The bus lurched forward again, and picked up several more families along the way. Finally the driver switched off the interior blue lights, plunging the cabin into near-total darkness. The world outside became a blur of dark shapes of trees, fileds and farms, and the occasional glowing porch lights of sleeping houses in the outskirts and villages. For a long time, they didn't speak. The only sound was the muffled groan of the heavy diesel engine and the wind whistling through the window seal. But Avi was hyper-aware of her. He could feel the warmth radiating from her arm where it brushed against his hoodie, a constant, low-voltage contact that made it impossible for him to relax.
Slowly, as the swaying of the bus became a hypnotic lullaby, he felt a weight settle on his shoulder.
Shilpa aunty had leaned over. Her head rested firmly against him, her hair tickling the side of his neck. He could hear her breathing evening out into the slow, deep rhythm of sleep. Avi froze, his own breath hitching in his throat. He felt like a statue, terrified to move or even adjust his posture, fearing that any slight shift would break the fragile, impossible spell of the moment.
With her head on his shoulder, years of memories began to surface with vivid clarity. He thought back to being fourteen, standing in the cramped kitchen of her old house during a festival, watching her move with a fluid, effortless beauty. He had been unable to say a word to her then, paralyzed by a crush that felt too big for his adolescent body. She had been his first secret, his first real understanding of the word ‘beautiful’, the first and constant queen of his fantasies, and he had spent years admiring her from the periphery of family gatherings, never daring to bridge the gap.
He began to analyze the two times he’d seen her since his return to the hometown. A month ago, at a crowded family dinner, he had caught her staring at him from across the table while he was talking to an uncle. When their eyes met, she hadn't looked away. She had held his gaze, her eyes tracking the new lines of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders, her expression intense and unreadable.
And then there was the afternoon she had visited his house. He had been coming out of the bathroom after a shower, shirtless, wearing just a towel, only to find her lingering in the narrow hallway. She hadn't apologized for the intrusion; instead, she had looked him up and down - a slow, appreciative scan that had made his skin prickle with a heat that wasn't from the water. At the time, he’d brushed it off as his own awkwardness, a projection of his old feelings.
But now, with the physical weight of her head on his shoulder and the soft, undeniable contact of her saree against his arm, he didn’t know what to think. The social dynamic seemed to have shifted. She wasn't treating him like the 'little Avi' who used to hide in the corners of her living room anymore.
He looked down at her in the dim, shifting light of the sunrise. She looked peaceful, almost vulnerable in sleep, but the sheer boldness of her choice to sit here - of all places - sent a shiver through him. It was a cold morning, but Avi felt as though he were standing too close to a fire, unsure whether to step back or let himself burn.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)