Piyush's mother glared at him. "Fine! Let her take her gold, her chain, her… whatever. But mark my words—she'll regret losing my son, the diamond of this family!"
Bani rose to her feet, her smile unshaken. "Don't worry. You can keep the diamond. I'm allergic to cubic zirconia."
As Bani and her brother stepped out into the cold evening air, her brother chuckled. "You know, you could've just ignored her."
Bani smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"
The crisp air felt freeing, like stepping out of a suffocating room into an open sky. Bani smiled to herself, feeling lighter than she had in months. Then again, she thought with amusement, perhaps it was just the lack of gold weighing her down.
As the bus rumbled onto the open highway, Bani leaned against the window, inhaling the crisp evening air. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink. For the first time in a long while, she felt light, unburdened—like a caged bird finally set free.
Outside, lush green fields stretched endlessly, dotted with small ponds reflecting the last rays of daylight. Coconut trees swayed gently as the breeze carried the scent of earth and distant flowers. It reminded her of childhood road trips, where the journey was just as exciting as the destination.
Vendors hopped on at different stops, carrying baskets of steaming-hot delicacies. A woman in a bright sari balanced a tray of crispy vadas and chutney, her bangles jingling as she handed them out. A young boy sold packets of spicy roasted peanuts, the aroma mixing with the scent of freshly brewed filter coffee.
Bani couldn't resist. She bought a plate of piping hot masala vadas, their crunchy texture a delight with every bite.
She took a deep breath. She had come so far.
As the bus swayed gently with the road, Bani closed her eyes and imagined her future. She saw herself standing tall, her hands strong from work, her heart light with hope. She saw her family laughing again, their worries melting like mist in the morning sun.
As the bus rolled forward into the quiet night, Bani felt no fear. The road ahead was long, but she was ready.
When they finally reached home, it was past 8:30. Tired but content, none of them wanted to cook. Her brother stepped out and returned with a warm parcel of soft, fluffy idlis and fragrant sambar.
As Bani dipped a piece of idli into the chutney, she smiled to herself. Life, she realized, was best enjoyed in these little moments—the unexpected flavors, the open roads, and the promise of new beginnings.
Her mother sighed in the room, counting notes in a box, tallying every bit of their dwindling savings. Bani clenched her fists.
and went to bed.
The next day first rays of the sun crept through the curtains, painting the walls with a golden glow. Bani's mother was already awake.