“Wash your hands,” Sarita murmured, without looking at either of them.
Abhinav squinted at Naina, then turned and walked away.
Naina watched him disappear into the corridor. Then slowly, she turned to her mother. Sarita was also looking in the same direction. Her expression was… not neutral. Not even close.
Naina leaned forward. Their eyes met. That was enough. Their shoulders shook, lips pressed tight to hold the sound.
They didn’t say a word. Because some things… you don’t name them. You let them grow. Especially when they’ve just begun.
Chapter 20
Day Three
Ekadashi kitchen duty began at three-thirty in the morning.
Abhinav arrived at three twenty-seven.
The kitchen did not welcome him. It collided with him.
Heat first, immediate, unapologetic. Light followed, far too sharp for that hour. Movement filled every corner, the kind that looks like chaos if you don’t belong to it.
Huge pots lined the counters. Knives flashed. Women rolling chapatis at impossible speed. Men sealing containers, stacking, calling out counts without ever losing rhythm.
At the center stood Devendra, clipboard in hand. Gauri checked each container before it closed. Rajan hovered, managing to collide with the same person twice.
At the doorway stood Abhinav.
Crisp trousers. White shirt. Polished shoes that had never faced a morning such as this.
Heads turned. Eyes moved over him. Shoes. Shirt. Face. Back again. No one spoke. But the pause was… noted.
Then Meera stepped out of the pantry. Clipboard in hand. Braid pulled tight. Red salwar kameez.
She saw him, gave a small nod and walked straight toward him.
He watched her come closer. No greeting. No acknowledgment beyond that first glance.
She stopped in front of him and took him in from head to toe. Her tongue clicked once.
She pointed toward a row of containers. “Those need to go to the vans. Twenty kilos each. Four trips. Ten per load.”
She had already turned. “Follow them,” she added, nodding toward the group heading out. “Don’t drop anything.”
And she was gone.
Abhinav stood still. Twenty kilos. Four trips. He looked at the containers. Looked at his shoes. Looked at the space where Meera had just been.
Then he bent. Picked one up. Walked out.
The boys around him struggled not to stare. Glances passed between them like a silent group discussion no one wanted to start.
“This way, Hukum,” one of them said, holding the door like his life depended on it.
Abhinav stepped through.
Lift. Carry. Stack. Return.
By the second trip, sweat formed at his temple. By the third, his sleeves were rolled further. By the fourth, no one watched him anymore. Because the work didn’t leave space for disbelief.
