Raj turned to his wife, a gentle concern etched on his face. "Make coffee for Bani and tea for the rest of us."
His wife nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, while Raj turned back to his daughter. Without another word, he placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her toward her room. Her brother followed closely behind, his usual teasing demeanor replaced by a quiet understanding. There was no need for words—Bani already knew this was going to be a serious conversation.
As she sat down on the edge of her bed, she noticed her father taking the chair nearby, his movements slow and deliberate. Her brother settled beside her, a rare stillness in his posture. The silence between them felt heavy, carrying an unspoken weight that made her stomach tighten.
A few minutes later, their mother entered, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs of coffee and a pot of tea. Her brother, ever thoughtful, stood up to take it from her hands before she could struggle with the load. He moved with practiced ease, first setting down the pot before pouring tea into cups. With careful precision, he handed a cup to their father, then another to their mother. Finally, he picked up the remaining coffee cups—one for Bani and one for their mother—before taking a tea cup for himself.
Bani wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic, the rich aroma of coffee filling the space between them. Her brother had made it just how she liked—strong and sweet. A small comfort amidst the unease swirling inside her.
Her father's eyes flickered between her and the vegetables once more. He opened his mouth, then closed it, struggling to piece together what she was telling him. It defied everything he knew, everything that was logical. And yet, standing before him was his daughter—not fearful, not uncertain, but calm. Certain.
"You're saying these vegetables came from inside you?" he asked again, as if repeating the words might make them easier to grasp.
"From the land inside me," she corrected gently. Her voice was firmer now, as though speaking the truth aloud made it feel more solid. "It's a part of me. And I've been using it—harvesting crops. But it's not something I can fully explain."
Her father let out a slow breath, his thoughts still racing. None of this made sense. Yet, as much as he struggled to understand, one thing was undeniable—Bani believed in what she was saying. There was no fear in her voice, no uncertainty in her eyes.
Raj took a slow sip of his tea before placing the cup on the side table. His gaze softened as he looked at Bani, but there was something unreadable in his expression. He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped together.
"Bani," he began, his voice calm yet firm.
Bani sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers gripping the coffee mug. Her father sat across from her, his expression serious yet patient. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, making the moment feel heavier. Her heart pounded. This was it—the moment she had feared yet longed for.
Taking a deep breath, she began, her voice soft but firm.