UNSPOKEN BONDS

3. Dramatic Typo

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The drive back to Sengkang felt significantly shorter than Amritha wanted it to.

On any normal day, Amritha Srinivasan loved driving, a lot. It had always been her favorite form of silence-music on low volume, city lights slipping past her windows like blurred silk, Singapore unfolding in clean, familiar patterns.

But today, every passing minute brought her closer to Leela Srinivasan. And Leela Srinivasan, when calm, was far more terrifying than when she was actually angry.

Ammu drove into the basement parking of Parc Greenwich with far less confidence than she usually carried. The fourteen-floor luxury penthouse tower had always felt like home-private, peaceful, and intentionally removed from the loud, performative excess of the social circles her father could have easily immersed himself in.

Jai Srinivasan had spent most of his life building empires people talked about in boardrooms, and then had deliberately chosen quiet. He had moved his family away from the glitz of Orchard Road years ago because he wanted his daughter growing up around normalcy instead of spectacle.

He wanted parks instead of paparazzi. Quiet cafés instead of elite guest lists. Ammu had inherited that same preference. Luxury never impressed her; peace did.
Today, however, peace felt suspicious.
She entered the penthouse cautiously.

The house was spotless, as usual. Fresh lilies decorated the entrance console, and soft Carnatic instrumentals played faintly somewhere in the background. The entire space smelled like sandalwood and fresh coffee.

And then she saw her mother.
Leela sat in the living room wearing an elegant cotton saree, glasses resting low on her nose, laptop open, reviewing something work-related with a stillness that usually preceded a storm. Ammu froze near the entrance. Her mother didn't look up immediately.

"You're alive," Leela observed, her voice as smooth as silk and just as sharp.

Ammu blinked. "...That feels passive-aggressive for a Saturday."

Leela continued typing. "That depends. Should I be proud of you today?"

Ammu groaned dramatically and collapsed onto the velvet couch opposite her. "This feels like an interrogation. Where is the emotional softness I was promised at birth?"

Before Leela could respond, Jai walked into the living room. He was in home clothes, holding a mug of coffee, looking far too relaxed for a man whose surprise 60th birthday trip had nearly evaporated six hours ago.

"Amma," Ammu whispered dramatically, gesturing toward him. "Why is Appa here? He's supposed to be oblivious."

Jai frowned, taking a sip of his coffee. "I live here, Kanna. It's hard to be oblivious to my own daughter sprinting through the hallway like she's fleeing a crime scene. Why do you look like you've committed tax fraud?"

"Because my own family lacks support," Ammu muttered.

Leela finally closed her laptop and folded her arms. "Start speaking, Amritha. I want to hear how the 'seasoned traveler' of the family managed to plan a 60th birthday celebration without actually, you know, booking it."

Ammu took a deep breath. Once she started talking, she genuinely didn't stop. The words spilled out in a chaotic, emotional rush. She explained how she didn't want Appa stuck attending another ceremonial function in India-those loud, stuffy halls where he'd spend six hours nodding at distant relatives while secretly wishing he was in a library.