Inside, their parents and grandmother were sitting in the living room, watching a program after dinner. The soft light from the TV filled the room.
The atmosphere felt warm and relaxed.
Her father glanced toward the door.
"Ah, you're back."
Her mother looked over her shoulder. "Did you both eat?"
"Yes, Amma," Bani replied, removing her shoes near the door.
Manu nodded quickly. "We had pasta."
"Pasta?" his mother repeated with a small smile.
"And grilled chicken," Bani added.
"Good," her father said. "Then no one needs to cook again tonight."
Manu walked straight to the refrigerator and opened it.
Inside, the family pack of chocolate ice cream he had bought earlier was still there.
He closed the door again.
Not tonight.
He was too tired.
Bani noticed and laughed softly.
The day had been long.
Travel.
Settling into the new home.
Exploring the supermarkets.
Arcade games.
Walking around the marina.
Trying new food.
For a moment she stood quietly, looking at the living room.
Her family together.
Television playing.
The new apartment slowly filling with their routine.
Just that morning the place had felt unfamiliar.
Now it already felt different.
Manu dropped onto the sofa beside their father, half watching the television, half fighting sleep.
Within minutes his eyes were drooping.
"Go sleep," Bani told him gently.
He didn't argue.
He stood up slowly and walked toward the bedroom.
Bani turned off a few extra lights and joined the others for a moment.
Outside the window, the towers of the marina continued to glow in the night.
The next morning began earlier than usual.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains of the apartment in the towers of Jumeirah Lakes Towers, casting soft light across the living room.
For Manu, the day was important.
Over the next two to three days, his admission process had to be completed — both for a private school and for a football training club. It was the beginning of his new routine in the new city.
But Dubai was different.
Forms, documents, appointments, registration systems — everything worked in a structured process. For someone who had just arrived in the country, it could easily become confusing.
Bani understood that clearly.
She didn't want Manu's education or training to get delayed simply because they were unfamiliar with the system.
So she made a decision.
Instead of trying to manage everything alone, she hired professional assistance — someone who knew the procedures, the paperwork, and the process for school and sports registrations.
It turned out to be one of the best decisions she made.
The helper guided them through everything:
• School admission forms
• Required identity documents
• Residence details
• Medical records
• Football club registration
• Training schedules
What could have taken weeks of confusion was now moving smoothly within just a few days.
Their parents felt relieved.
They were hardworking people, but navigating a new country's systems was not easy. Having someone guide them step by step reduced a lot of stress.
Meanwhile, Manu was more excited about the football club.
When Bani told him about it, his eyes lit up immediately.
"Really? I can join training here?"
"Yes," she said. "But first we finish your admission."
He nodded seriously — but inside, he was already imagining the football field.
New ground.
New teammates.
New games.
Bani watched him quietly.
Her intention was simple.
She wanted her brother's transition into this new life to be smooth.
His job was simple.
Study well.
Train well.
Enjoy being young.
The rest — she would handle.
As the next few days passed, many things slowly settled into place.
Manu's school admission process had begun. His football club registration was also moving smoothly. Forms were submitted, schedules were discussed, and the basic arrangements for his new routine were being set.
For the children, the path ahead had started becoming clear.
But for Bani's father, a new question had quietly begun forming in his mind.
What should he do now?
All his life he had worked continuously — not because he loved work itself, but because responsibility had never given him another option. Providing for the family had always come first.
Now they were in a new country.
A new city.
And he sat silently in the living room one afternoon, thinking about the future.
Across the room, grandmother watched him carefully.
A mother always notices when her child is thinking too much.
After a moment, she spoke slowly.
"If your younger and elder brothers were here with you," she said gently, "they could have been a great help."
The words sounded simple.
But they were chosen carefully.
They were the words of a mother who had raised all her children together and still believed that siblings should stand beside each other in times of change.
In her heart, she wanted every one of them to live well.
Yet somewhere in a quiet corner of her mind, a small thought had begun to grow.
Her second son had changed over the years.
She didn't say those thoughts aloud.
The apartment was quiet, except for the soft hum of the evening air-conditioning. Outside, the lights of the towers reflected on the calm waters of the marina.
Bani's father sat in the living room, hands clasped, staring at the floor. His mind wandered back through years of struggle, responsibility, and loss.
Grandmother, seated across from him, watched quietly for a long moment. Then, gently, she spoke:
"If your younger and elder brothers were here with you… they could have been a great help."
Her words were careful, measured. She didn't want to blame him. She only wanted all her children to have good lives. She wanted him to see that support from siblings could have made things easier.
But this time, the words backfired.
Bani's father looked up slowly, eyes heavy but clear. A small, wry smile appeared on his face, but there was no humor in it — only memory and hurt.
"Amma," he began, his voice calm but firm, "I know exactly what you are thinking. You want all your children to live well, and you want me to somehow carry everyone along with me."
Grandmother remained silent.
He continued, voice growing stronger:
"Now, I am also a father. I have responsibilities — real responsibilities — towards my own children. For my relatives… I cannot ignore my responsibilities. One has to be responsible for their own choices and actions. I think I have paid enough for my own actions already."