The auto rickshaw rattled through the busy streets, weaving past the evening rush. Ayaan sat beside Dev, his fingers absently scratching at his neck—a spot where a small cut or scratch had formed.
Dev, who had noticed it earlier, stole another glance but didn't comment. Instead, his eyes drifted toward a large poster plastered on a street wall.
"Annual Singing Competition – One Week to Go!"
A smirk played on his lips as he nudged Ayaan.
"You know, Ayaan, you should totally participate. Heard you're quite the singer," Dev teased.
Ayaan blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts. His gaze fell on the poster, and a memory stirred—their first meeting.
Before he could dwell on it, Dev continued, "Maybe you and Isha should form a duo. Or better yet, Rohit can be your background dancer."
Ayaan, still lost in thought, responded with a quiet "Hmm."
His fingers slowed their absent scratching as his focus returned to the competition details. One week.
Would she be there? Would he get to talk to her again?
Before he could think further, Dev nudged him again, this time motioning ahead.
"Look sharp, we're almost there."
Ayaan followed his gaze.
Through the blur of streetlights and passing cars, he saw it—his home.
--------
As the auto came to a stop in front of Ayaan's house, Dev let out an exaggerated, dramatic sniffle.
"Ayaan… I'll miss you so much, bro," he wailed, pretending to wipe away tears.
Ayaan rolled his eyes, gripping Dev's shoulder firmly. "Shut up. Your house is literally on the next street. I regret seeing your stupid face every day. Auto driver, please do me a favor—just throw this weirdo into the nearest lake."
The auto driver chuckled. "Hehe."
With a shake of his head, Ayaan stepped out, and the auto started moving again.
As it rolled away, Ayaan glanced back and saw Dev sticking his middle finger out of the auto, grinning like an idiot.
He sighed and chose to ignore it. Taking a deep breath, he turned back toward his house.
Home.
As he stepped inside, a strange sense of calm washed over him.
------
As Ayaan stepped inside, a familiar noise filled the air—loud, chaotic, yet oddly comforting.
The rapid tapping of buttons. The occasional frustrated groan.
Even without looking, he knew exactly what it was.
"Tsk… this spoiled brat is still the same."
Rohan, his younger brother, was deeply engrossed in a game, yelling at the screen as if his life depended on it.
But the moment Rohan caught sight of Ayaan, he immediately paused the game.
With an exaggerated grin, he turned towards the kitchen and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"MOM! LOOK WHO FINALLY REMEMBERED HIS HOME! OUR NATIONAL HERO, AYAAN, HAS RETURNED!"
Ayaan's eye twitched in irritation. His fingers curled into a fist.
"You little—"
He took a step forward, ready to give Rohan a well-deserved punch—
CLANG!
A sudden clatter echoed from the kitchen. Ayaan turned his head just in time to see his mother standing still, a kitchen utensil slipping from her hand.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, in a voice that was neither too warm nor too distant, she finally spoke—
"Welcome back."
Ayaan stared at her, taking in the sight of the woman he hadn't seen in 1.2 years.
Her presence was the same as he remembered—cold, yet soft in a way that only a mother could be.
He let out a quiet breath, his clenched fist relaxing.
"I'm back."
--With that, Ayaan reunited with his family.