Since we were all going to the office together, the morning turned into a flurry of getting ready. Appa was already upstairs shaving when I went to pick my outfit, and from downstairs Amma's voice drifted up, sharp and affectionate at the same time.
"Santhosh! Get up! It's bath time!"I could almost picture him still curled up in bed, hugging his pillow like always. "Santhosh, did you pack your bag already?" she called again, and somewhere I heard a groan that clearly meant five more minutes.
I, on the other hand, had already taken my bath and stood staring at my clothes, a towel still wrapped around me. Should I wear something Western? A kurti? A half-saree to surprise everyone? For some reason, I felt like today needed a touch of confidence. In the end, I settled on a full formal look—my favorite light‑blue shirt tucked neatly into slim jeans, sneakers polished and ready. Simple, presentable, and easy to move in if I had to run errands at the office.
When I came out, Appa was buttoning up his crisp white shirt, slipping on his formal pants. His black belt gleamed, and he checked himself once in the mirror, smiling when he noticed me watching."Looking sharp, kanna," he said."You too, Appa. We're going to look like a father‑daughter business team today," I grinned, smoothing down my shirt.
Meanwhile, Santhosh finally stumbled out of his room, his hair sticking up in every direction. Amma caught him by the shoulder before he could run back to bed and pushed him toward the bathroom."Uniform, kanna! Go brush, quick! You've got five minutes!"There was a lot of mumbling from his side, but soon enough he emerged in his neatly ironed school uniform, shoes dangling from his hand, still rubbing his eyes.
Downstairs, Amma had breakfast ready. On the table were warm pesarattu dosas, neatly stacked, their greenish‑gold surface flecked with tiny bits of green gram. The aroma of ginger, green chili, and curry leaves filled the air. She placed a small bowl of coconut chutney next to it and looked at me.
"Sit. Eat. No one leaves hungry," she said firmly.
I sat, tearing off a piece of the dosa and dipping it into the chutney. "Amma, this tastes amazing."She smiled.
"You know what it is, right?"
"Yes! Pesarattu—a South Indian crepe made with whole green gram. You've told me it's healthy and protein‑rich, perfect for mornings."
"Good, good. Then eat well," she said, serving Appa and Santhosh next.
Breakfast was quick but full of chatter. Santhosh kept asking if I could help him with math again in the evening, and Appa reminded him to double‑check his homework. Amma kept adding dosas to our plates before we could protest.
After we were done, Amma began handing out the bags we had already packed last night. My tiffin boxes were tucked into my tote, Appa's files went into his briefcase, and Santhosh shouldered his bright blue school bag with a grin."Don't forget your water bottle!" Amma called after him as he darted toward the door.
The morning sun slanted through the gate as we stepped out. Appa's car was waiting in the driveway, washed clean yesterday, its windows gleaming. We loaded everything in—Santhosh's bag first, then my tote, then Appa's laptop bag. There was a feeling of smooth rhythm to it, like everyone knew their role.
I slid into the back seat, letting Santhosh sit by the window so he could wave to Amma one last time. Appa adjusted his seat, started the engine, and the car hummed to life.
"Ready?" he asked, looking at us in the rearview mirror."Yes!" I answered.Santhosh yawned, then nodded. "Ready."
As we rolled out of the gate, Amma stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her saree pallu, smiling proudly at all of us.
After we got out of our street, the first stop was Santhosh's school. It was on the way, so Appa slowed the car near the gates just as the morning bell was ringing. Children in bright uniforms were streaming in with bags almost bigger than themselves. Santhosh, who had been quietly munching on the last bit of his snack in the car, suddenly turned energetic. His whole face lit up as he saw the familiar playground and the crowd of friends.
"Akka, do you want to visit your old school?" he asked, almost bouncing in his seat.
I thought about it for a second, looking at the tall compound walls that hid a world of memories. "Maybe in the evening. I'm not sure yet," I said softly, not wanting to draw attention. Then I smiled and added, "So don't tell anyone, okay?"
He sat up straight and gave me a mock salute, his small hand touching his forehead like a soldier. "Okay, akka. As per your orders," he said in an exaggerated serious tone that made both Appa and me laugh.
The car stopped in front of the gate. Santhosh slung his bag over his shoulder and jumped out before I could even finish saying "be careful." He spotted a group of his classmates and instantly ran to them, his shyness gone, his laughter ringing out across the school ground. Just before disappearing into the crowd, he turned back and waved wildly.
"Bye akka! Bye appa!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.
I waved back through the window, feeling that odd mix of pride and worry that only siblings feel. Appa tooted the horn lightly as a reply and then eased the car back into the morning flow of traffic.
As we pulled away, I rested my elbow on the window edge, feeling the soft wind of the city on my face. The roads were alive. Cycles wove between scooters, school buses honked impatiently, and a line of autos waited near a tea stall. People hurried, holding tiffin carriers, handbags, and files. I watched it all with fascination, a strange happiness blooming in me.
Morning traffic in 2013 had its own rhythm. Even though there were small jams and clusters of vehicles, it was nothing compared to the chaos I knew was coming in the future. I remembered endless rows of cars idling under the hot sun, horns blaring without pause, and the feeling of being stuck. Today, though, the streets felt spacious, breathable. Every turn held a familiar shop or temple corner, and I found myself smiling at the simplicity.
"Appa, what's your plan for today?" I asked, turning toward him.
He kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the steering wheel. "Hmm," he thought for a moment. "First, I need to check the samples that arrived last night. Then meet the design team about those four development orders. After that, it should be a light day. Why, kanna? Do you have something planned?"
I hesitated for a second. "No, Appa. Just asking."
But in my mind, the plans were already forming. While he focused on his orders and samples, I could slip into the accounts room, go through the ledgers quietly, and see if there were any inconsistencies. In this timeline, everything still looked perfect on the surface. Salaries were paid on time, suppliers trusted us, and every month seemed steady.
But I knew the cracks would come. In my past life, I didn't notice until the damage was beyond repair—false accounts, inflated purchase bills, and staff who had been quietly siphoning money from our family business. Appa, ever trusting, hadn't seen it coming. He didn't notice until one day the losses stared him in the face, and by then, we were tangled in loans and desperate negotiations.
Not this time.I wasn't going to let our family fall into that same trap.
As the car moved along the familiar route, I made a mental note to watch, to learn, and to quietly keep track without alerting anyone in the office. If I spotted something, I'd show it to Appa before it grew big. A small preventive step now could save us from that entire storm later.
The thought made me feel stronger, older than my thirteen years. I turned to look at Appa—his calm face, his easy smile as he hummed a tune under his breath. He trusted people so easily, always seeing the best in them. I loved that about him, but I also knew that sometimes you had to look deeper.
"Appa," I said after a while, "do you ever feel… worried about the office? Like something might go wrong?"
He glanced at me, surprised by the question. "Worried? No, kanna. Business always has ups and downs. But we work hard, so we will manage."
I nodded, filing his answer away. We will manage. Yes, Appa. This time, we will. And I'll make sure of it.
The car turned a corner, the board with our company name came into view, and I sat up straighter, ready to begin a day that felt like the start of something important.