I noticed her hands before anyone else noticed anything. They were trembling—just slightly but enough for me to see it in the way she held the kheer bowl a little too carefully, like balance required more focus than it should. She stepped out of the kitchen beside me, measured, composed on the surface but I knew better.

The dining table was already set. Maa was adjusting the plates, Papa was aligning his glasses with unnecessary precision, both of them pretending to be absorbed in their own tasks while very obviously watching us. They suck at acting if you ask me but do I have the heart to tell them that, no, at least not yet.