Craving for love

The train window rattled against its frame, a rhythmic, teeth-chattering beat that mirrored the nervous thrum in Mahi’s chest. Outside, the dusty, sun-baked landscape blurred past, but Mahi wasn't looking at the fields. Her gaze was fixed on the small, frayed hem of her dupatta, which she was systematically twisting and untwisting between her fingers.

Just for a few months, she reminded herself for the hundredth time, swallowing the lump in her throat. Just to help Tanu di with the baby.

That was the official story. The reason printed in bold ink on the ticket, the reason she had given her aging mother before kissing her feet at the doorstep back home. “Tanu needs me, Ma. The little one is crawling everywhere, and Tanu’s hands are full.”

It wasn't a lie. Tanu did need help. Her elder sister was drowning in the glorious, chaotic whirlwind of managing a boisterous household, a busy husband, and a fiercely energetic two-year-old daughter. But Mahi’s stomach clenched every time she remembered the whispered phone call that had preceded this trip—Tanu’s urgent voice cutting through the static: “Mahi, just come. Trust me. If anyone can crack the stone wall that is Avinash, it’s you. You both speak the same quiet language.”

Avinash.

Even his name felt heavy in her mind. She had met him briefly a few times at family functions—tall, broad-shouldered, and perpetually cloaked in an impenetrable silence. While his elder brother, Ankush, laughed loudly and filled rooms with easy warmth, Avinash stood in corners like a shadow, answering questions with a single nod or a monosyllabic murmur. People whispered that it was because he was only two years old when he lost his parents, raised entirely by an elder brother who had to grow up overnight. The world had forced Avinash to lock himself away inside his own head, throwing away the key.

And Tanu wanted Mahi—timid, tongue-tied, hide-in-the-background Mahi—to somehow unlock him. It was madness.

Four hours later, the auto-rickshaw dropped Mahi off at the wrought-iron gates of Tanu’s residential colony. The weight of her suitcase suddenly felt monumental.

Before she could even reach for the doorbell, the heavy wooden door swung open, and Tanu appeared, a flour-dusted toddler balanced precariously on one hip while holding a wooden spatula in the other hand.

"You're here! Oh, thank God, my savior!" Tanu beamed, dragging Mahi inside by her wrist with a force that defied her delicate frame, before immediately kicking the door shut.

The apartment was a warm, chaotic masterpiece of domestic life—toys scattered across the rug, the rich, savory smell of tempering spices wafting from the kitchen, and a television playing faint nursery rhymes in the background.

"Maasi!" shrieked the two-year-old, instantly recognizing Mahi and lunging forward with sticky fingers.

Mahi’s instinctual shyness evaporated the second she caught the toddler, settling the little girl securely against her hip. A soft smile broke across Mahi’s face, relaxing the tight lines of her shoulders. "Look at you, growing taller every day," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the toddler's curls.

Tanu let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief, leaning against the kitchen counter. "She has been a tiny dictator all morning. I swear, if I didn't have you here, I would have packed my bags and run back home."

"You're exaggerating," Mahi murmured softly, her eyes scanning the familiar, cozy living room. Then, a sudden drop in temperature seemed to sweep through the hallway.

The front door clicked open. Heavy, measured footsteps echoed on the tiled foyer.

Tanu froze, her spatula hovering mid-air. A brief flash of panic crossed her features before she masked it with a bright, overly cheerful expression.

"Ah, perfect timing," Tanu announced to the empty hallway. "Avinash, could you—"

A man stepped into the living room, unbuttoning the cuffs of his dark grey shirt. Avinash looked taller than Mahi remembered, his face shadowed by stubble, his dark eyes shadowed by an exhaustion that ran deeper than mere physical fatigue. He looked like a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn't want a single person offering to help him bear it.

His gaze swept across the room, landing instantly on Mahi.

The air in the room seemed to stall. Avinash stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger, but with an abrupt, defensive wariness. He hadn’t been told she was arriving today. Or perhaps, knowing him, the sudden presence of an extra person in his domestic orbit felt like an uninvited siege on his fortress of solitude.

"She's staying," Tanu said defensively, her voice dropping its playful edge as she met her brother-in-law's unyielding stare. "To help with the baby. For a while."

Avinash didn't say a word. He didn't offer a greeting, a nod, or a polite smile. He simply stared at Mahi for a long, suffocating heartbeat—his eyes cold, evaluating, and fiercely guarded—before turning on his heel and walking down the corridor toward the guest rooms, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet, final thud.

Mahi stood frozen, the toddler chewing happily on a stray strand of her hair. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

A few months, she thought again, the panic returning full force. How are we even going to survive a single week under the same roof?