[ complete ] 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 || 𝐉.𝐉𝐊 𝐅𝐅

66. Homecoming

Y/n’s POV —

The car slowed down as we turned off the main road and into the narrow path leading to the house where I had left half of my childhood behind.

My eyes instantly began to sting—not because of sadness, but something far more dangerous. Something too tender to contain.

Nostalgia.

It was everywhere. The old neem tree still stood tall near the front gate, its thick branches arching like they were waiting to embrace me. The faint scent of guava blossoms lingered in the air, mixed with the distant smell of cow dung (ah yes, welcome to the village), and the sun shimmered softly on the terracotta-tiled roof of my father’s house.

That house.

Warm. Soft. Lived-in. Painted in faded hues of yellow and happiness.

My home.

As soon as the car stopped, Aarohi and Advait burst out like two rockets.

“NANA!!!” they screamed in unison, making the birds in the nearby tree fly off in alarm.

I barely had time to open the car door when I saw him—my father.

Standing by the gate in his white kurta, arms stretched out, his eyes crinkled with a thousand emotions. Before I could even wave, the kids had already crashed into him, hugging his legs, shouting over one another.

“Nana, look! I brought mango candies!”
“Nana, I saw a buffalo!”
“Nana, where’s the swing?!”
“Nanaaaa!”

He laughed, loud and full, that rich, comforting laugh I hadn’t realized I missed so deeply.

“My bacche! My babies!” he bent down to scoop both of them up, one arm around each. “You two look taller already! Aarohi, your cheeks got fatter. And Advait—what is this? Sunglasses again?”

“It’s fashion, Nana,” Advait said seriously. “Don’t mock the drip.”

“Drip?” My father looked at me, bewildered. “What is this boy saying?”

I burst into laughter, stepping out with the passports still clutched in my hand. “Don’t ask. He’s been copying his father.”

“Well, that explains it,” came another voice.

I turned—and there he was—my younger brother, standing with one hand on his hip, the other carrying his adorable two-year-old daughter, Myra, who was currently more interested in chewing on his collar than noticing her aunt.

“Oh my god!” I laughed, walking up to them. “She got chubbier!”

“She got heavier too,” he grunted, shifting her weight. “She thinks I’m a sofa.”

“She thinks right.”

Myra finally noticed me and blinked—then her tiny face broke into a gummy smile. “Maaassiii!”

I melted. Fully.

I scooped her into my arms like I hadn’t just flown halfway across the world with two hyper kids. “How’s my jaanu? Huh? You missed me?”

She patted my face with her sticky hands and babbled something about a cow and “balloo.”

“She’s been trying to say ‘buffalo’ for two days,” my brother laughed.

“Close enough,” I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Behind me, I heard Aarohi shouting from inside the gate, “UMMAAA! Come see the swing!”

And then, “Appa said I could climb it by myself if I promised not to break my teeth!”

I sighed. “Of course he did.”