Astha was busy preparing the Sunday brunch when Shanaya casually mentioned, “By the way, Arin’s coming too.”
Astha sighed, stirring the sambhar. “Why do you keep troubling him by inviting him here?”
Shanaya grinned. “He lives all alone. He has a right to great food too.”
Astha rolled her eyes but said nothing, knowing there was no arguing with her daughter when she set her mind to something.
Her parents arrived soon, bringing their usual warmth and humor into the home. When Arin entered, he was greeted with friendly smiles from Astha’s father and mother, both of whom exuded a natural ease that made him feel instantly welcome.
Astha’s father, a man with a dry wit and a keen eye, asked him about his work and life. Arin told him his parents had passed long ago, and Astha’s mother gave him a sympathetic look, patting his arm gently. “That must have been hard, beta. Are you married?”
Arin shook his head, and before he could respond, Astha interjected. “Mom, stop troubling him.”
“I’m just asking,” her mother said innocently, then turned back to Arin. “You know, my daughter is single too. Very single.”
“Oh god, here we go,” Astha muttered, rubbing her forehead.
Shanaya, ever the instigator, grinned at her grandfather. “Arin’s great at Scrabble!”
Her grandfather chuckled. “Is he now? But can he play carrom?”
Arin smiled. “I love carrom.”
“Ah, finally! Someone to challenge me. Astha and Shanaya are all talk,” her father declared, earning protests from both.
As brunch was served—steaming idlis, crispy dosas, and fragrant sambhar—Arin had his first taste of what family meals truly meant.
“Eat more, beta,” Astha’s mother insisted, adding another dosa to his plate.
“I’m already full,” Arin admitted.
“Nonsense. Good food must be eaten with enthusiasm,” she said, waving off his protests. “See Astha, this is why I need a son-in-law. Someone who listens to me.”
Astha nearly choked on her sambhar. “Mom!”
Shanaya burst out laughing. “You walked right into that, Mom.”
The laughter carried over to the living room, where the carrom board was set up. Teams were quickly formed—Shanaya and her grandfather versus Arin and Astha, with Shanaya’s grandmother acting as the enthusiastic umpire.
“No favoritism, alright?” Astha warned her mother.
“Of course not,” her mother replied, too innocently.
The game began with friendly competitiveness, but soon devolved into blatant cheating from Shanaya and her grandfather, who played with the coordination of seasoned tricksters.
“That was a foul!” Astha protested as her father flicked the striker in an obviously questionable move.
“What foul? It’s called experience,” he replied innocently, grinning as he pocketed another coin.
“Experience in cheating!” Arin added, laughing as Shanaya high-fived her grandfather.
Shanaya smiled. “We believe in bending the rules for a greater cause.”
“And what cause is that?” Arin asked.
“Winning, of course,” she said matter-of-factly.
Astha narrowed her eyes. “I see we have raised a monster.”
“You’re just jealous because we’re winning,” Shanaya shot back.
“Winning through sheer dishonesty!” Astha countered.
“It’s called creative problem-solving, Mom.”
The banter continued, accusations of cheating flying back and forth, alliances shifting, and playful bickering keeping everyone entertained.
By the time the game ended (with questionable results in favor of Shanaya’s team), Arin leaned back, watching them interact. He had never had a morning like this before—filled with warmth, laughter, and the simple joy of human connection.
He thought about his own world, where emotions were considered unnecessary distractions, and for the first time, he truly questioned it.
If emotions were so unimportant, why did this feel so real? So… right?
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