I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorbell. The familiar wooden door glared at me as I contemplated my decision. Did I really want to go through with this? I could imagine my parents' reaction when they would open the door, and I doubted it would be heartwarming.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around. Perhaps another day would be ideal—when I wasn't feeling so unsettled. 

I had just taken a step away from the house when the lock clicked behind me. Wide-eyed, I frantically looked around in an attempt to hide, but to no avail. A second later, a footstep sounded behind me, just one, which stopped short. There was no point in hiding now. It was now or never.

Bracing myself for the intervention that would follow my reconciliation with my parents, I turned to face the door slowly. My heart stopped when my eyes met my father's gaze. He looked at me in shock—mouth agape, and eyes wide. Finally, when he realized that he was giving away too much of his emotions, he straightened and clenched his jaw.

I took a moment to absorb his familiar features; the dark brown hair that looked black; courtesy of the military cut he always opted for, the hard unyielding eyes that now regarded me in harsh scrutiny and the defined face that was adorned with deep lines signifying his age. My father had always been a stickler for fitness which is why he looked younger than those of his age. I had no doubt that his habits hadn't changed.

He stepped forward—his eyes guarded, making it hard for me to gauge his mood. "What are you doing here?"

Of course, there would be no hugs and heartwarming smiles from him. Not even if the circumstances were normal. And, the circumstances were definitely not normal. His voice was firm and strong and transported me back to all those moments when I had acted recklessly and had been scolded for it.

I scrambled for something to say, only to come up short. What could I say, anyway? I had disappeared without word five years ago, choosing a life that travelled a path completely different from theirs. But before I could reply, the door opened behind him and I held in a breath, anticipating the moments to come.

Sure enough, my mother stepped out—holding a blue bag probably to carry their purchases from the markets. She hadn't seen me yet, as she locked the door and fiddled with her purse. Finally, when her eyes met mine, she froze.

I did too.

"Sara," she whispered. Her voice was nothing more than a soft squeak and yet, I read the vulnerability and the disbelief it held. Squirming under their gaze, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ears before giving them a pained smile.

The air was thick with tension and unfamiliarity. My mind whirred, trying to get ahold of the situation. "Sara," she whispered again, my name coming out as a sob. Tears welled in her eyes as she came forward in a trance. She stopped when she was inches away from me and looked up to meet my eyes. A trembling, tentative hand touched the side of my face before caressing my cheek.

On impulse, my hand went up to cover hers and I leaned into her touch. It was all so familiar—the feeling of security and protection. The fruity smell of her favourite moisturiser had me grinning. I hadn't known just how much I missed her until now.

"Oh my," she gasped and pulled me into a hug. She was shorter than me by little more than a head and I had to bend slightly to accommodate her height. I closed my eyes for a second, absorbing this moment and when I opened them again, I met my father's gaze. There was nothing welcoming in those hard unyielding eyes.

My happiness deflated and I pulled back hastily, feeling instantaneously guilty when I saw the look on my mother's face. The guilt only intensified when I noticed how much she had aged. It was no doubt that her constant worry caused by my departure was the reason for the many wrinkles that marred her skin. Tara Goenka used to be a vivacious mother. She wasn't just a guiding hand, she was a friend. Growing up, I had always been compared to my father, and although I loved him beyond reason, I had always strived to be like my mother.

Everyone loved Tara Goenka, they could spend hours gushing with her and talking gossip, but that wasn't the case with my father. He was quiet and brooding. His opinions were hard and they seldom matched with that of others.

I refocused my gaze on my mother who smiled excitedly at me and then glanced back saying, "Why don't you run to the market. I'll stay here with Sara!"

I was sure my father wanted to throw in a snide remark, but surprisingly, he merely grunted before stalking off. He barely spared me a glance as he  sidestepped us and walked away.

"Don't worry, he's just missed you so much. Seeing you here was a shock," my mother reassured me before pulling me into the house. The second I stepped in, a hurricane of emotions passed through me. Everything was still the same—from the stony tiles that were fitted on the walls of the lobby to the soft lights that illuminated the photo collage put up on them. I studied them as I kicked off my shoes.

The pictures from my childhood were still there, but there were an overwhelming number of new ones as well. I noted pictures of my cousin's wedding, her baby shower; making me realise just how much I had missed. I gasped when I saw pictures of me scattered unevenly across the picture collage.

"We couldn't let you go," my mother said from beside me. "And you're so successful now! I'm so proud of who you've become."

Shaking my head, I turned to look at the far end of the collage. I stepped back when I realised whose pictures they were.

"Arman?" I whispered.

"He called us a few months after you left and he's been in touch since then," my mother replied to my unspoken question.

My head whipped around to face her. "He's still with her then?"

"Shona, of course! I understand that there have been some misunde —"

I cut her off, hissing, "Misunderstandings? Seriously?" Snorting, I eyed the picture of my brother once again. "I don't get it! How are you all so blind? Maa, you need to do something about her before they plan to get married or something."

"Sara, calm down," she whispered in a low tone. I knew that tone, I knew it meant she wasn't telling me something.

"What? What are you not telling me?" I asked, suspicious at the way she grasped the gold chain that hung around her neck. "Tell me."

"Why don't we sit down? It's been so long since you've come home."

"Maa, tell me."

"Sara!" she admonished.

"I'm leaving right now if you don't tell me." I didn't like the fact that I had to say it, but she didn't leave me with a choice. I hated that woman with a passion.

"Fine!" she gave in, exasperated. "They eloped."

"What?"

"They eloped, Sara. That's why he called us, knowing you had left."

Shit. I couldn't believe that my own brother—one I had loved, respected, grown up with—refused to believe me. Of course he had to be stupid enough and do the complete opposite of what I had said. "He's gone crazy, mom. I warned him."

"Sara, don't speak like that. She's your family now and she's your sister-in-law. You don't have to like her, but show some respect," my mother said, sternly.

"Maa, why doesn't anyone believe me? I'm your own daughter!"

"And you walked out five years ago without consulting anyone! How do you expect us to just believe everything you say?"

Silence fell. My mother was fuming, her cheeks red. A few seconds later her eyes widened. "Sara... I'm sorry. I—"

"It's okay," I said, stepping back. "You don't trust me. That's a given considering how I handled things. But that doesn't explain why you sound so sure about Alia."

"When she came here—" My mother began, but I cut her off.

"You invited them here," I screeched.

She shot me a stern look before taking my hand and pulling me to the living room. "As I was saying, when she came here, she was extremely sweet. Your father and I, we didn't think there was anything wrong," she explained. "I think you might have misunderstood whatever happened that made you hate her. Neither you, nor you brother ever tell me what you fought about, but whatever it is, it's time you put that behind you. Just apologise to Arman."

"No."

"Sara..."

Just as I opened my mouth to reply, I heard the door click open behind me. Straightening, I braced myself for the encounter with my father. His footsteps were firm as he walked into the living room and handed the blue bag full of groceries to my mother. Settling himself on my favourite armchair by the French windows, he turned his gaze on me.

Over the years, my father and I had developed a unique telepathic connection. And this time, I read the message hidden in his silence. He wanted to talk to me. Alone.

Standing up, I placed my purse on the sofa and waved my hand towards the stairs. "I'm going to the terrace," I said to my mother who stood nervously beside the couch.

"I'll show her the new plants," my father added.

Smiling softly, my mother said, "You could've just said that you wanted to talk alone."

Neither of us replied as we headed towards the winding staircase that lead to the top floors and eventually opened to the terrace. The door opened with a loud screech. I smiled as I took in the sight of the well kept terrace garden. Gardening was one habit I had taken with me when I left for New York. At first, it had been difficult to cope with my tiny apartment with no balconies or proper windows, but as I took up more campaigns I managed to move into a better one—close to where Jack lived.

Taking note of the amount of vegetable crops, I chuckled. "I'm guessing that was Maa's idea?"

"Of course," my father replied. "Your mother is too lazy to go to the market, so she decided to bring the market home."

I smiled.

Silence filled the space between us. As always, I found it hard to cut through the wariness between my father and I.

"I heard you both arguing," he said finally.

"About Arman," I said.

He nodded. "I was shocked to hear that they got married without anyone's permission. And furious."

I remained silent. If he told me that I needed to apologise to my brother, then I would snap—without a doubt. The fact that no one took my word for it, that my own brother didn't take my word for it, pissed me off. I had always had his back and supported me just as he had mine—somewhere down the line we must have lost the connection we had because he stopped trusting me.

"Are you going to ask me to apologise to him?" I asked.

He shook his head and then faced me. "I noticed a few things while they were here," he said. "Although, I'm not sure what those indicate, but I don't trust that girl."

"You don't?" I was surprised.

"I know a little bit of the fight between you and your brother—more than your mother does, anyway," he shrugged. "And despite what your brother seems to think, I know that you don't make accusations without thought."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I was speechless. I hadn't expected my father of all people to back me up.

"Arman is blind. He sees only what she wants him to see, and you've always been able to set your emotions aside before taking on a task," he paused, then smiled. "Do what you have to, I'll support you on this."

Swallowing, I nodded. Tears pricked my eyes. I hadn't realised just how hurt I was about the fact that my own brother and mother didn't listen to me and instead chose to trust her. But having my father back me up... it lifted my spirits considerably.

"I'll see what I can do Baba," I replied.

His smile vanished—replaced by a stern look. Although, it looked a tad bit forceful. "This doesn't mean that you're forgiven."

I cocked my head to one side and raised my eyebrows before shaking my head and replying, "Of course not."

~~~

A/N:

Glossary:
Shona-literally means gold in Bengali (one of the Indian languages). It's used as a term of endearment.
Maa- most of you might've guessed this on. A word for 'mom'
Baba- refers to dad. Especially used in the eastern parts of India (West Bengal... where the story is set)