The scent of fried besan and spices filled the air, wrapping Bani in the comfort of home. She took a bite of her favorite capsicum bajji, the crisp, golden crust crackling under her teeth, releasing the warmth of spiced stuffing. Outside, the late afternoon sun cast a honeyed glow through the window, catching the steam that curled up from cups of hot chai.
Her mother sat beside her, breaking apart a mirchi bonda with practiced ease, dipping it into coconut chutney before taking a bite. Her father, as always, ate with quiet focus, methodically tearing his bajji into smaller pieces before savoring each bite. Across the table, her brother scrolled through his phone, barely looking up, though his hand instinctively reached for another snack from the plate in front of him.
For a moment, Bani let herself settle into the warmth of this ordinary evening—the sounds of their home, the rhythmic tapping of her brother's fingers on his phone screen, the occasional clatter of plates, and the distant honk of a passing vehicle outside. She wanted to hold onto it. This sense of normalcy. This fragile balance.
But she also knew change was coming.
Between bites, she spoke, her tone deliberately casual, as if dropping an afterthought.
"Father... I was thinking about selling flowers."
Her brother hummed in response, barely acknowledging her words. Her father, still focused on his plate, didn't react immediately. But Bani saw the way her mother's hands hesitated just slightly over the bonda, the way her father's chewing slowed, processing her words.
"In a larger quantity," she added, her voice firmer now. She glanced at her brother, trying to catch his eye. "We talked about it, remember? This flower business fits into your concern—not attracting too much attention."
That made her father finally look up. "Hmm? What flowers?" He wiped his fingers on his dhoti, his expression unreadable.
Bani set her plate down. "I can grow flowers to sell."
There. She had said it.
Her father didn't react right away. He simply looked at her, and she couldn't quite tell if he was considering her words or dismissing them entirely.
"For that, we need some investment," she continued, her voice steady despite the weight in the air.
Her father frowned, the creases on his forehead deepening. "What investment, beta?"
Bani took a slow breath, knowing this was the hard part. "Father, we need a proper vehicle."
The room went still.
Her father's hand, which had been reaching for another piece of bajji, stilled mid-air. He looked at her as if he hadn't heard her right. "But we don't have..."
"I know we don't have it," Bani cut in gently. "We don't even have money to buy one." She leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table. "But you've seen it. If we want to do something bigger, some risk will be there."
Her mother sighed, wiping her hands on the edge of her saree. "Risk is fine, but how will we manage? We're already struggling with debt."
Bani met her father's gaze, unwavering. "I was thinking… let's pledge some gold and get a loan."
Silence settled over the table, thick and heavy.