𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-46

"Ira!" Nakul's raised voice came from down the stairs, echoing against the walls, yet it couldn't slice through the fog of Ira's thoughts.

"Ira!"

The echo chased her again, sharper this time, angrier.

"Ira! Where are you?!"

Ira dragged the back of her palm across her wet cheeks, smearing the tears into her skin, and moved quickly, slipping into a corner of the rooftop where the parapet wall rose higher. She crouched slightly, wishing to dissolve into the darkness, vanish where no one would disturb her.

"Ira?!"

The sudden nearness of his voice froze her, and before she could shift away, Nakul's hand clamped around her wrist. "Are you deaf? Since how long am I calling for your name? Don't you understand at once?" He glared straight at her, his small eyes stretched wide. "Come downstairs."

Ira twisted sharply, yanking her arm back with all the frail strength she could gather, her face tightening as if holding back another sob. "No! Leave me alone! I don't wanna live under the same roof as hers!"

"Shut up!" Nakul's jaw tightened. He seized her wrist again, tugging her along, their steps scuffing against the uneven rooftop floor. "I did tell you to do the dishes at least. But, you didn't hear me."

Tears broke loose again, sliding fast down Ira's cheek despite her struggle to contain them. Her voice cracked in protest, raw and helpless. "I'm not a magician! The power was cut! The water tank was empty! What do you expect me to do?! Birth water?!"

"Whatever," Nakul dismissed the argument and strode toward the staircase.

Ira's thin frame slouched as she dragged herself behind her brother.

As soon as they entered the hallway, the sudden blaze of the tube light hit their eyes, flooding the silence with harsh brightness.

Ira's swollen eyes darted around nervously. The door to their father's room stood shut and silent, while the adjacent room where their mother lay already seemed swallowed by slumber under the blanket.

"I'll not sleep with her!" Ira's voice trembled at the edges, her finger lifting stiffly toward the closed door of their mother's room.

Nakul exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, then gripped her shoulders with firm but restrained pressure, guiding her gently yet insistently toward his own room. "Go, sleep in my room. I'll sleep here, in the living room."

Her lips quivered as she sniffled, rubbing the crown of her head in small, restless circles, like a lost child searching for comfort. "My head is aching so much..." She tilted her face up to him, eyes glassy, the tip of her nose reddened.

Nakul reached out and gave her back a slow, steady pat. "Okay. You go. I'm coming with oil, then I'll give you a head massage."

Ira pressed her lips tight and, with small dragging steps, slipped quietly into his room.

Around ten minutes later, Nakul returned, a small steel bowl cradled carefully in his hands. He moved toward the edge of the bed, where Ira sat hunched in a squat, her fingers tangling and untangling themselves in restless fidgets.

He lowered himself beside her and tipped the bowl. The first cool trickle of oil touched her scalp, making her flinch before a faint breath of relief escaped her nose. The tension on her brow eased, her eyelids lowering slightly as the ache dulled.

He dipped his fingers again and began working them through her hair, parting the strands and pressing his fingertips into her scalp. His knuckles brushed her temple as he rubbed with steady, practiced pressure.