Ramanidharan fed Raaghav quietly.
Not rushed. Not dramatic.Like a ritual.
One spoon. Pause. Watching his breathing.Another spoon. Pause.
"Slow, Ponmon," he said, softer now. "Food is not a race."
Raaghav nodded, obedient for once.
The packed lunch—carefully wrapped—was shoved into Raaghav's bag. Ramanidharan grabbed the bike keys, and the brothers stepped out into the morning. The Kalamandalam stood behind them, still smelling of oil lamps, sweat, and yesterday's arguments.
The bike started with a familiar cough.
As they rode through Trivandrum's waking streets, Ramanidharan spoke—not loudly, not angrily—but continuously, like a man unloading years of fear.
"Listen to me properly, Ponmon. Health first. Always. When chest tightens, stop. Inhaler immediately. No heroics."
Raaghav stared ahead, hands firm around Ramanidharan's waist.
"I will support you," Ramanidharan continued. "Five years. I'll give you five years in this field—Kathakali, cinema, performing arts, whatever madness you're chasing."
He took a sharp breath.
"But if you don't succeed after that… you leave it. No arguments. You choose something else. Anything else."
Raaghav's grip tightened.
"These arts…" Ramanidharan said bitterly, "they eat humans alive. They took Amma and Achan from us. I won't let them take you too."
The words weren't kind.But they were honest.
The giant gate of the Indian Institute of Arts – Trivandrum rose ahead, steel and stone catching the morning light. Students streamed in—dreamers, fighters, fools, believers.
Ramanidharan slowed the bike.
At the gate, he stopped and turned slightly.One last lecture—inevitable.
"Medicine always with you. Don't overthink. Don't get tense. Don't try to prove anything to anyone."
He paused.
"And remember—no matter what, I'm there."
Raaghav nodded, throat tight.
Then, without warning, they leaned forward at the same time—
THUD.
Forehead to forehead.
A sharp, affectionate smash.Their own strange way of kissing—like goats, like children who never learned softness.
"Poda," Ramanidharan muttered, smiling despite himself.
Raaghav grinned back, eyes bright at exactly 8:00 AM, standing at the gate where his life was about to widen—and complicate—forever.