The morning sun cast a warm glow over the house, but Shankar felt none of its warmth. As he got ready for school, his mind was still tangled in last night's argument. He had wanted to wake up feeling determined, ready to figure out a way to go to Rajgir, but now... now, it just felt impossible.
Just as he slung his bag over his shoulder, Devi called out, "Shankar, come here for a moment."
His steps slowed. Here we go again. He turned around, bracing himself for another lecture.
"What are the dates for the trip?" she asked.
Shankar hesitated, completely thrown off by the question. "Uh… June 1st to June 7th?"
"And how much does it cost?" she followed.
"Uh… ten thousand?" he replied, still unsure why she was asking.
"How many students are going?"
"…Around forty?"
Devi nodded, expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she pulled an envelope from the drawer and placed it on the table.
"Here's the money."
Shankar frowned, his brain failing to process what was happening. This has to be a trick.
"And this," she continued, sliding a form toward him, "is the permission slip. I've signed it."
Shankar's mouth opened, then closed. His brain had officially stopped working.
"You're… letting me go?" he finally asked.
Devi sighed, giving him a tired smile. "Yes, Shankar. I thought about it. You should go."
Shankar still didn't move. He just stared at her, half expecting her to say, Just kidding! and snatch the papers back.
"You're really letting me go?" he repeated, slower this time, as if testing reality.
Devi narrowed her eyes. "Take the money before I change my mind."
Shankar snatched the envelope. "I'll be out of the house before you blink."
"You're still here."
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving!"
That evening, the house buzzed with laughter and samosa crumbs.
Shankar sat with his maternal family in the living room while his younger cousins tore through the place like mini cyclones.
His grandfather sipped chai in his usual spot. "Rajgir, hmm? That place has stories in its dust," he murmured.
"Didi! He hit me with a pillow again!" a cousin shouted.
"Good," Misti replied, eyes still fixed on her phone.
Shankar chuckled. "Where's Pritam?"
His elder aunt looked up. "Drowning in schoolwork, as usual."
His uncles chimed in.
"So, you're finally leaving the house?"
"You didn't step out even during cyclones!"
"Character development," Shankar said with a straight face.
Laughter followed. His grandmother reminded him to pack his toothbrush. Martha, knitting quietly, smiled without looking up.
Shankar took it all in — the noise, the teasing, the little bits of love tucked between jokes.
In their own way, they weren't just making fun.
They were trusting him.
And for the first time, he felt like maybe he was ready to go.
After the laughter faded and the front gate clicked shut behind the last of the guests, the house grew still again—the kind of stillness that feels like it remembers sound.
Devi moved through the house in silence, tidying up the aftermath of dinner. Her hands worked mechanically—plates, crumbs, cups—but her mind wandered elsewhere. Each clink of a dish felt louder in the quiet.
Shankar had already gone to bed, tired out from all the chaos and teasing. But Devi couldn't bring herself to sit. The silence felt too heavy. Too full of the things they never said.
From the dim kitchen doorway, Martha appeared. She watched her daughter-in-law for a few moments, then finally spoke—her voice low, but steady.
"Do you really believe... everything that happened with his father was real?"
Devi froze, a half-dried dish in her hand.
She hadn't heard Martha speak like that in years.
"I... don't know," she whispered. Her voice cracked before she could steady it.
"Some days I don't want to believe it. Other days, I wish I never knew."
Martha stepped closer, her own grief softened by time.
"He'll need to know, Devi. One day. He has questions in his eyes already."
"Maybe not now. But someday… he'll deserve the truth."
Devi looked down, the damp dish towel clenched in her hand like it was holding her together.
"I know," she said softly.
"But not yet. Not while he still smiles like that."
The silence that followed was thick with the weight of years gone by, of secrets unsaid and lives changed in ways Shankar could never know.
Finally, the day arrived.
The day Shankar would step outside Siliguri for the first time without his family watching over him. The sky was a bright, cloudless blue, and in the distance, the majestic Kanchenjunga stood tall and clear—almost like a blessing.
He arrived at school with Devi, Martha, and his two maternal uncles. The area near the school gate buzzed with excitement. Three large buses stood lined up by the curb, their engines humming softly, ready to set off. Teachers moved between students and parents, ticking off names, collecting forms, and reassuring the more anxious ones with practiced patience.
Shankar spotted his friends scattered across the scene—some stuffing snacks into backpacks, others debating about the best campfire games or flaunting newly borrowed cameras. Laughter echoed through the warm morning air.
Devi, still visibly uneasy, approached Amar Sir—Shankar's class teacher—to confirm all the last-minute details. Her voice was soft but laced with concern. Amar smiled reassuringly and patiently answered all her questions before taking her number, promising updates if needed.
After a brief but heartfelt moment, Devi fixed Shankar's collar, hesitated, then pulled him in for a quick hug.
"Take care, alright?" she whispered, her voice trembling just a little.
Shankar smiled, nodded, and without saying much, climbed into the bus.
And just like that, his journey began.
The bus finally started moving. Shankar leaned against the window, watching his school slowly fade into the background. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind—"What's gonna happen? Will it be boring? Will I mess up?" But under all that, he still couldn't believe he was actually going. After years of skipping every school trip, here he was… on his first.