Time has a quiet way of changing everything.
Raman didn’t notice when Arjun’s tiny fingers stopped holding his hand while walking to school. He didn’t notice when Meera stopped waiting at the door every evening.
Or maybe he did—
He just chose to believe it was part of growing up.
“Appa, I need new shoes,” Arjun said one morning, his voice no longer hesitant, but firm.
“These are torn.”
Raman looked at the worn-out pair. The sole had almost given up, much like his own slippers.
“Tomorrow,” he replied softly.
Tomorrow.
A word he used often.
Because today was never enough.
Meera had her own world now.
Books, notebooks, neatly kept. She sat in a corner, writing carefully, her handwriting shaped with patience and dreams.
“Appa, teacher said I should study well… I can become a teacher too,” she said, her eyes glowing with hope.
Raman paused.
A teacher.
He didn’t fully understand what that life meant—but he knew one thing.
It was far away from the sea.
And that made him happy.
From that day, his dreams became clearer.
Not for himself.
But for them.
He began taking extra trips into the sea. Nights became shorter. Sleep became a stranger. Hunger became something he ignored.
Every coin he earned had a purpose now.
School fees.
Books.
Shoes.
A better future.
There were days the sea was kind.
And there were days it returned him with almost nothing.
On those days, Raman would sit outside, counting the little money he had, his fingers trembling slightly.
He would look inside the house—at his children studying, laughing, growing.
And then he would quietly fold the money and keep it aside.
They would never know the difference.
“Appa, why don’t you eat with us?” Meera asked once.
“I ate already,” he replied.
It was another lie.
One he told often.
Because love, sometimes, looks like sacrifice no one sees.
Arjun was changing.
Slowly, but surely.
He had started spending more time outside than at home. New friends. Loud laughter. Carefree attitude.
“Just playing,” he would say whenever Raman asked.
Raman nodded.
Boys will be boys, he thought.
He didn’t want to be strict. He didn’t want to be feared.
He wanted to be understood.
But understanding requires time.
And time was something Raman never had.
Meera remained close—at least for now.
She would still sit beside him occasionally, helping untangle fishing nets, even though her hands were too delicate for such work.
“Appa, one day I’ll earn. You won’t have to go to the sea,” she said with a small smile.
Raman looked at her.
For a moment, his tired eyes softened.
“That day… I’ll just sit and watch the waves,” he said.
But deep inside, he knew—
He would probably never stop.
The house still stood.
The walls still held.
But something had begun to shift.
Not loudly.
Not suddenly.
But quietly.
Arjun’s world was moving away.
Meera’s world was expanding.
And Raman…
He was still standing in the same place.
Holding onto dreams that were slowly slipping through his fingers.
Because sometimes, no matter how tightly you hold—
Life finds a way to drift apart.
And Raman hadn’t yet realized…
That the very dreams he was building—
Would one day stand between him and his children.