Chapter 17 — The Courage Love Teaches
The house felt warmer than usual that evening. Not because of the lights. Not because of the food. Because Ananya was laughing in a way that made the walls feel alive.
Elsa was serving second rounds of dessert even though everyone was already full. Thomas was cracking jokes that made absolutely no sense but somehow still made everyone laugh. Adrian sat beside Ananya, not too close, not too far — the comfortable distance they had learned without ever discussing it.
"Take more payasam," Elsa insisted.
"Aunty, if I eat more, I won't be able to walk back," Ananya said.
"Then stay here," Thomas said dramatically. "Problem solved."
Adrian rolled his eyes. "Appa, you can't kidnap people with dessert."
"I can try," Thomas said, winking at Ananya.
She laughed again. And something inside Elsa softened watching her. That laugh wasn't loud.
It wasn't attention-seeking. It was the kind that came from relief. From feeling safe.
After dinner, while Elsa cleared plates (despite Ananya trying to help and being chased out of the kitchen), Thomas switched on old songs on TV and sang loudly — off key.
Adrian leaned toward her and whispered,
"This happens every Saturday."
"I like it," she whispered back. And he knew she meant it.
Not the song. The family. The chaos. The warmth.
Later, when it was time to leave, Ananya stood near the door, holding her bag, suddenly quiet.
Elsa noticed first.
"You okay, kanna?" she asked softly.
That word.
Kanna.
Something in Ananya's throat tightened.
She nodded quickly.
"Thank you... for today," she said.
Elsa smiled and cupped her cheek gently.
"You don't have to thank us for being with us."
Thomas added, "Next time bring your famous tea. Adrian says you make tea like therapy."
Ananya smiled, eyes shining.
"I will, uncle."
And then — without planning — she stepped forward and hugged Elsa.
Tight.
Careful.
Like someone hugging something they were afraid to lose.
Elsa hugged back just as tightly. Thomas patted her shoulder.
And Adrian stood there, chest full, eyes burning, watching something sacred happen right in front of him.
Not romance. Not drama. Belonging.
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Another day, when she came home, he asked her to come to his balcony, His balcony was different from hers.
Less plants. More sky. City lights spread wide in front of them. The night air was cooler here.
She walked slowly to the railing. Rested her palms on it.
