In the dining hall, she joined other residents for breakfast. Conversations flowed gently, unhurried. An elderly woman with silver hair introduced herself as Kamala and asked Lakshmi where she was from. When Lakshmi mentioned Alwar, Kamala’s eyes lit up, and soon they were exchanging memories of dusty roads and temple bells.
It felt strange, almost disloyal, to feel comfort here so quickly. Yet the structure of the place, the quiet respect in every interaction, began to ease something tight inside her chest.
That afternoon, as Lakshmi sat beneath the neem tree with a borrowed book resting in her lap, her phone rang.
The sound startled her. For a moment, she considered letting it ring. She already knew who it would be. Still, she answered.
“Mom?” Riya’s voice came through, unsteady. “Where are you?”
Lakshmi closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t have a home anymore, Riya,” she said, her voice even.
There was a long pause on the other end. She could hear breathing, uneven, then a soft sniff.
“Please,” Riya said finally. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll make kheer. Your favorite.”
Lakshmi felt a familiar tug at her heart. For years, that simple promise would have been enough to pull her back, to smooth over everything.
“I’m safe,” Lakshmi replied. “That is all you need to know.”
She ended the call gently, placing the phone face down on the bench. Around her, the other residents continued reading, chatting, living. Life did not stop because of one broken bond.
Days passed. Lakshmi settled into a rhythm. Morning walks. Shared meals. Quiet afternoons. She found herself laughing occasionally, surprising herself with the sound. The ache for her granddaughter lingered, but it no longer threatened to break her.
Riya, meanwhile, searched.
At first, she was driven by panic. She called relatives, old neighbors, even Lakshmi’s former bank branch. Each dead end tightened the knot in her stomach. At night, the house felt unbearably silent. Aarav asked for his grandmother repeatedly, his small voice confused and insistent.
“She’ll come back soon,” Riya told him, though she no longer believed it herself.
Guilt crept in slowly, seeping into moments she had once taken for granted. She remembered her mother’s quiet efficiency, the meals that appeared without effort, the clean clothes folded just so. She remembered the way Lakshmi never complained, never raised her voice.
What if she does not return, a voice whispered inside her.
A week later, a neighbor mentioned seeing Lakshmi enter an old age home in Hauz Khas. The words struck Riya like a blow. Without wasting another moment, she drove across the city, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
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