Second Chances | A Teen Fic Dystopian Tale

Chapter 21

Maya's POV:

The screech of my dad's bike brakes was music to my ears. He was home, a knight returning from a day of battling spreadsheets and tangled wires. I flung open the door, a blur of blue frock and pink sweater, and collided with his chest in a hug that nearly toppled him off his feet.

His laugh, deep and familiar, chased away the echoes of mom's sharp voice: "Maya, don't dirty your clothes! We have guests tonight."

I stuck out my tongue, a silent rebellion against the starched expectations. Dad just winked, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes.

The aroma of sizzling garlic and spices wafted from the kitchen, Mama's masterful hand working its magic. Tonight, it was her famous khichdi and kadhi, a symphony of slow-cooked flavors that whispered of comfort and warmth.

"Easy there, little storm," Dad chuckled, ruffling my hair. "Did this knight in shining bike miss his princess too much?"

The scent of burnt wires and fading cologne, a symphony of his day, wrapped around me like a comforting cloak. In Dad's arms, conditions vanished, replaced by the sweet promise of rainbow lollipops and whispered bedtime stories.

We set off towards the market's familiar melody – spices haggling with shouts, the air thick with the aroma of roasted peanuts and frying pakoras. The winter chill, sharper tonight, nipped at our noses, sending us weaving through the crowd towards the flickering oasis of the campfire.

"Does anyone have jute sacks?" Dad called out, his voice booming like a foghorn. A vendor grinned, tossing us a pile of worn canvas. Dad's nimble fingers morphed them into a makeshift throne beside the crackling flames, the orange glow painting dancing shadows on his face.

The fire whispered secrets in the dying light, its warmth chasing away the day's chill. The sky bled into shades of violet and orange.

"Let me tell you a joke," dad started, looking at me with his soft loving brown eyes and wrinkled skin that held the testament of hard work and countless hardships.

Although I've always admired him, there are moments when I wish we could have spent more time together. The few times dad brought me out were the best, and I longed for more of these moments. However, the times he spent at home were frequently hectic because of my parents' fights.

"This man left his watch and handkerchief on the fourth floor as he was about to go for work. He requested that his spouse acquire it for him. The watch smashed into pieces when the wife hurled it from upstairs." He asked, "Do you know what the man did next?" as he cast me a glance.

I shook my head, wondering what might come next.

He laughed as he said, "He went up to the fourth floor to retrieve it because he was scared that the handkerchief would break too."

We both burst out laughing because the laughter was contagious. We received a few weird looks from onlookers, but it just made us laugh even more. We were engaged in our own universe at that very moment, engrossed in the symphony of our mutual delight.

"Now, it's your turn, princess," he smiled, twinkling eyes reflecting the firelight. "Tell me about your grand conquest today."

My voice, still tinged with childish wonder, painted a vibrant picture of the water pump. The glint of the blade, the hiss of metal piercing flesh, the gush of life-giving water - each word a brushstroke on the canvas of my victory.

Dad listened, his gaze unwavering, an ember trapped in each eye. The pride in his smile warmed me, but a flicker of concern crossed his face, like a wisp of smoke obscuring the flames. He saw the fire in my eyes, perhaps the same spark that might have once lured him down a treacherous path.