Meera had mastered the art of pretending.
Pretending the food tasted fine when she had forgotten to eat.
Pretending she wasn’t tired when sleep rarely came before dawn.
Pretending the silence inside the house didn’t hurt her.
Most importantly—
Pretending the family was still whole.
Every morning, she opened all the windows of the house as though sunlight alone could fix people.
She watered plants nobody noticed anymore.
Folded clothes before anyone asked.
Made everyone’s favorite dishes even when they ate separately.
It was her way of holding the family together.
Small routines.
Tiny acts of love.
Invisible stitches keeping something broken from falling apart completely.
That Saturday afternoon, rain fell softly outside while Meera cleaned Arjun’s old school cupboard.
Dust covered forgotten trophies, notebooks, and framed photographs from years ago.
Back when smiling came naturally inside the house.
Nila wandered into the room holding two cups of tea.
“You’re cleaning again?” she asked.
Meera smiled faintly.
“It helps me think.”
Nila sat beside her on the floor and picked up an old photograph.
Arjun stood in the picture wearing a school cricket uniform, grinning proudly beside their father.
Raghavan’s hand rested on his son’s shoulder.
Both looked happy.
Both looked close.
Nila stared at the photo quietly.
“I barely remember Appa smiling like this,” she whispered.
Meera’s hands paused briefly over a stack of books.
“There was a time your father lived only for this family.”
“What changed?”
The question hung softly in the room.
Outside, rain tapped gently against the windows.
Meera lowered her eyes before answering.
“Life.”
It sounded too simple.
Too incomplete.
Nila frowned slightly.
“That’s not an answer.”
Meera smiled again.
But this smile looked tired.
“Sometimes people change slowly,” she whispered. “So slowly that by the time you notice… they’ve already become strangers to each other.”
Nila looked toward the staircase instinctively.
Toward Arjun’s locked room upstairs.
“Do you think Anna hates Appa?”
Meera immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why are they like this?”
This time, Meera didn’t answer immediately.
Because mothers often understood truths they wished their children never had to learn.
Finally, she said softly,
“Sometimes the people who love each other most hurt each other the deepest.”
The house fell quiet again.
Then suddenly—
A loud cough echoed from upstairs.
Both turned instantly.
Another cough followed.
Weak.
Painful.
Nila stood immediately.
“That’s Anna.”
Before Meera could respond, Nila hurried upstairs toward Arjun’s room.
She knocked quickly.
“Anna?”
No answer.
Only silence.
Then another harsh cough from inside.
Nila’s expression changed instantly.
“Anna, open the door.”
Several seconds passed before the lock finally clicked.
The door opened slightly.
Arjun stood there looking pale and exhausted.
His eyes were red from lack of sleep.
“You okay?” Nila asked softly.
“I’m fine.”
He clearly wasn’t.
The room behind him looked messy for the first time ever. Papers scattered across the desk. Medicine strips near the bed. A laptop still glowing beside untouched food containers.
Nila noticed everything.
Especially the medicines.
Before she could ask anything, Arjun quietly moved to block her view.
“You should rest,” she whispered.
“I have work.”
“You always say that.”
Arjun looked away tiredly.
Because he had no strength left to explain himself anymore.
Downstairs, Meera stood at the bottom of the staircase listening silently.
And for the first time—
Fear began growing inside her heart.