The plates had been pushed aside, steel edges clinking faintly as Amma stacked them one on another. Sambhar stains cooled in the vessel, chutney smears clung to plates like evidence of battle. The ceiling fan hummed lazily above, stirring neither steam nor tension.
Breakfast had ended, but mornings in the house did not dissolve into silence; they shifted into another kind of rhythm.
Amma clattered in the kitchen, rinsing vessels, her voice firing in bursts: "Dev, not there! Don't put your oily hand on the wall. And who left the masala box open? Kalki, if it was you—"
Nana had retreated to the hall, white kurta draped across his arm. He paced with the intensity of a man who thought circles might solve problems. Words spilled from him in murmurs: "Honoured to welcome you… waste segregation leading ward… budget constraints, but proactive measures…" He frowned at an invisible audience, tried again, softer this time.
Ajja lingered on the verandah with his coffee tumbler, reading the same headline for the fourth time. "Hmm," he muttered. The AI clasp blinked in agreement, though neither of them cared for the words anymore.
And Kalki? He had slipped into the courtyard. The sunlight angled through neem branches, sketching restless shadows on the floor. He tapped his stick once against the tile. The sound came back deeper than expected, as though the ground below had a memory of its own.
At the base of the peepal tree by the gate, the brass square rattled faintly — one short tremor, like a cough held back.
Kalki squinted at it, coin pouch jingling softly at his waist. Then he grinned, masking unease with bravado. "Even doors get restless in this house."
That was when the gate creaked.
Mrs. Rukmini swept in, silk saree gleaming green, pleats sharp as if stitched by the morning itself. Her hair shone with oil, and beside her floated a holo-disc, its green light blinking in rhythm with her words.
"Amma-garu!" she cried, adjusting her bangles so they clinked for emphasis. "I smelled your sambhar from my balcony. My maid refused to cook once she smelled it. She said, go there, eat theirs!"
Without waiting, she stepped into the hall. Amma emerged from the kitchen with damp hands, startled. "Ayyo, Rukmini-garu, you should have told me you were coming—"
"Why tell?" Rukmini laughed. "Neighbours are family, no? And your sambhar is better than mine." She reached for a dosa left on the side plate, snapped a piece neatly, and chewed with slow judgment. "Ah. Crisp. Perfect. Just like your Ananya — crisp, bright, golden."
The mention of Ananya lit Amma's face, and Nana straightened, pride stiffening his shoulders.
Then Rukmini's gaze drifted, settling on Kalki, who leaned lazily against the verandah pillar, spinning his coin. Her smile thinned, her voice turned syrupy with judgment. "And this boy? Surely you have filled his Academy form by now? Such families must not delay. Everyone is watching. Neighbours are already whispering."
The word neighbours dropped like a stone into the room. Amma's jaw tightened. Nana coughed, trying to find the right response. Dev, sitting cross-legged on the floor, grinned, sensing trouble.
Kalki tossed his coin high, caught it smoothly, and said with a careless grin, "Forms are only paper, aunty. Paper burns. Coins last. They're history written in metal."
The holo-disc blinked twice and announced in a flat voice, "Unusual response."
Ajja burst into a laugh, coffee sloshing dangerously close to his lip. Even Nana's mouth twitched, though he masked it with another cough. Amma muttered, "Your tongue will ruin us one day."
Rukmini sniffed, unimpressed. "Tongues don't pass exams, Amma-garu. I hope you guide him, or else he will guide himself into… nothing."
She stood, adjusted her pleats again, and swept out the way she had entered, holo-disc bobbing dutifully behind her.
The gate clanged shut. Silence followed for a breath. Then Amma muttered, "Neighbours talk too much."
Ajja chuckled. "And boys talk too differently."
Nana sighed. "Both can be dangerous."
Kalki slipped the coin back into his pouch with a grin.
After Rukmini left, the house's rhythm splintered again.
At the gate, Amma squared off with the milk drone that had just dropped its packets. She tapped its panel with wet fingers. "Yesterday you charged me six rupees extra. Today seven. On a Tuesday! Which festival is today?"
The drone's speaker crackled. "Neighbourhood purchase pattern indicates celebratory cooking."
Amma raised her eyebrow. "Only celebration today is me not smashing you against the wall."
The drone paused, fan whirring nervously. "Price adjustment initiated. Matching competitor rate for five days."
"Good boy," Amma said, snatching the packets. She marched back inside victorious.
In the hall, Nana practiced his lines in front of the mirror, white kurta crisp now against his shoulders. "We are honoured to welcome you, sir… Our ward leads in segregation… budget constraints, but we manage with citizen cooperation…"
He stopped, frowned at his reflection. "Too formal." He tried again, softer. "We are grateful for your vision." Another shake of his head. "Too humble."
Behind him, Dev mimicked his gestures, holding a rolled newspaper like a speech paper. "We are honoured to welcome you… budget constraints, but we manage…" He bowed dramatically and burst into laughter.
Nana spun around. "Out! Before I give you real constraints!"
Dev darted away, slipperless, triumphant.
Ajja remained on the verandah, newspaper folded on his lap. His clasp blinked slowly as he muttered, "Everyone has a plan. City has bigger ones. Always does."
Kalki hovered nearby, tapping his stick lightly on the ground. Each tap came back strangely deep, like an echo from beneath the earth. He paused, staring at the wood. Ajja's gaze met his for a second, full of quiet amusement, before the old man returned to his muttering.
The video call chime startled the house.
Amma hurried to answer, wiping her hands on her saree as though the camera might smell them. Nana stopped pacing immediately. Even Ajja sat up straighter.
Ananya's face appeared on the screen. Her hostel room framed her, sunlight falling across one cheek. Her hair was tied neatly, her eyes steady, her smile like a balm.
"Amma," she said warmly, "did you add curry leaves in the sambhar today? I miss that taste."
Amma's face softened instantly. "Yes. Fresh leaves. Come home soon and eat."
"Next month," Ananya promised. She looked toward Nana. "Don't stress, Nana. Your speech will be fine."
He coughed, pride and awkwardness in equal measure. "Hmm. Focus on your studies. That is more important."
Her eyes shifted, finding Kalki lounging in the corner. "Shirt tucked?"
"Tucked-ish," he said. "I'm working on a new system where shirts tuck themselves when judged."
She rolled her eyes, though her lips curved. "You'll charm the wrong people and confuse the right ones. Still carrying that stick?"
"Habit," Kalki said simply.
Her smile thinned a little. "Don't use it on people who don't deserve it."
The call ended with laughter, reminders, and Amma wiping her eyes discreetly. Nana adjusted his collar twice before sitting down. Ajja muttered, "Good girl," to no one in particular. Kalki pocketed a coin, spinning it once before letting it fall into his palm with a clean ring.
Outside, the lane breathed with its own rhythm. A school bus exhaled uniformed children onto the street. The bread seller rang his ancient bell; this time the toddler across the lane only flinched but did not cry. A municipal cart rolled past, driver scanning bins with mechanical boredom.
Inside, Amma barked at Dev for leaving sticky fingerprints on the wall. Nana adjusted his collar again and again, as though perfection might impress the Society Chair. Ajja dozed with his clasp blinking gently.
Kalki stepped back into the courtyard. The neem leaves whispered above him. He set the stick across his lap, tapped it once more.
This time the sound deepened, a hollow note that shivered the tiles beneath his feet. The brass door at the peepal tree rattled again, louder, longer — as though something behind it stirred.
Kalki froze.
The air held its breath. Even the neem's shadow seemed to still. Then, as suddenly as it began, the rattle stopped. Silence closed in, broken only by Amma's scolding from the kitchen.
Kalki smiled faintly, flipping a coin high into the sunlight. It spun, gleamed, and landed with a ringing certainty.
Life in the house was noisy, messy, ordinary. But something in the shadows had moved.
The morning was nearly done. The day had only begun.