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Chapter Text

Squeak.

Squeak.

squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak.

What was a little child doing here? Drupad looked up from his plate to see a toddler, barely three or four years old, wandering around the cafe, his eyes wide open as he took in the bright posters on the walls and the coffee machine hissing and sputtering like it was alive. Drupad looked around, trying to find who the child's guardian was with.

"Parikshit! Your food is here!"

Drupad instinctively turned toward the sound of the voice. A man, a little younger than him was sitting, a sandwich and coffee in front of him. Opposite him, the waiter had just set down some french fries and a glass of orange juice.

When the child kept wandering around, the man called again. "Parikshit!"

Drupad felt a little tug on his pants.

The child was looking straight up at him with unblinking eyes.

The other man, looking tired, walked over to their table, looking pretty embarrassed. "Sorry about that," He said, and pried the kid(Parikshit?)'s fingers away from where he was attempting to climb onto Drupad's table. He plopped him down on the chair in front of him and began coaxing him to eat. When everything had calmed down, he finally looked at the sandwich.

11:37
Baba, how many places do I need to save for you for the book launch?

11:39
Just one. Who would I bring with me anyways?

11:39
Alright. Still, it's my job to ask even though I know you will give the same answer every time.

Drupad set his phone down. Why did his children always ask him? Did they think he had finally found friends or something? Well, it wasn't like he was an introvert or some sort of asocial element of society. He had friends. Except- Except it was just that every single one of his friendships had ended badly. It was always that one person, someone he felt drawn to, someone he befriended too quickly and too intensely, and then, like a fire, like a shooting star, like a rocket fired into space, it crashed and burned, and they'd never talk again. He tried to avoid it, these days. His poor heart couldn't take that intensity anymore. He knew how it went. The giddy highs, the burning anger, and the crushing lows. And then nothing. He never understood when people said they were happy with friends. He hated how empty his trail of broken friendships made him feel.

He finished his food, and got up to leave when he noticed that the man from before was also leaving, but his hands were full with 2 huge bags of toys and the child in his arms. He dashed forward and opened the door for the other man.

"Do you- Should I take one of those?"

The other man gulped. He still looked a little hesitant but slowly nodded. Drupad took one of the bags from him and waited for him to adjust parikshit before walking out. He couldn't shake the feeling, however, that he had seen him somewhere before. He studied the man's face carefully, trying to place where he knew him from.

"Where is your car parked?"

"Oh, I don't really drive much these days, but my cab will be here soon." The man said.

As Drupad put the bags in the back seat, the man suddenly stopped him. "Hey, don't you- Aren't you that- Are you the founder of the Parshata textile museum? What are you doing here?"

Drupad smiled. "Hmm, yes, but my son runs it these days. He has more knowledge than me anyways,"

The man smiled awkwardly.

Just then, Drupad's phone buzzed. Another text from Bheem, asking if he could go to the venue early to help them set up. He looked at the chat. He looked at the man. And even Drupad did not know what was going on in his mind when he said, "By the way, would you like to come to my son-in-law and daughter's and son's book launch? It's on Sunday, at 5:30. It's at Brews and Books."

"Hmm, why not! I'll be free," The man smiled.

"I didn't catch your name-" Drupad began, but curse his luck, the man's phone rang.

"Must be my daughter," He mumbled and picked it up. "Hello? Haan, yes, Uttaraa, I am on my way home, I'll be there in a bit"

Drupad could only watch as he got into the cab and disappeared round the corner.

Chapter Text

Drupad felt good. He felt proud. He did not know how these three had come together or gotten along so well but well, they had, and all he could do was watch. His time had passed, it was now the next generation's time to shine. All he could do, after all these years of making so many mistakes, was marvel at how his children had chosen to forgive him and support them as best as he could.

He poured the juice into the paper cups in the tray. Shashikala was neatly arranging the book display on the table. Four chairs were neatly placed on the stage, three for the co-authors of the books and one for the interviewer, a retired world champion boxer who bheem knew. Shikhandi, Satyajit, and Kalyani were arranging the chairs.

Drupad's eyes, however, kept flicking towards the door, waiting to see if the man he met had arrived yet. He was the last to sit down, even when his children had tried nothing short of dragging him to the chair and forcing him to sit.

On his left, Shikhandi was sitting with a bright, beaming smile on his face, his eyes fixed on Shalaka. Drupad smiled(involuntarily, if he had to say so himself), his son loved that martial arts coach so much. To his right, he could see Kalyani, looking at her husband with pretty much the same adoration. They definitely were a sight to see. His mind wandered to his own wife, his Avantika. He remembered the wedding, the farm house, their children, the life they built together. And how it all came crashing down… Their quarter-century long life together had abruptly ended when she fell sick, and grew sicker, and sicker until-

"—Honestly, I love that the authors of this book are from really diverse backgrounds and I could meet so many new people from so many uhh walks of life!" Bheem was saying as the interviewer asked them about the process of this book. One of his large hands held the microphone as if it was a little candy stick and the other moved animatedly as he spoke.

Drupad's attention shifted back to the launch, as the three of them spoke about the process behind their book on Indian martial arts, combining Shalaka and Bheem's experience and enthusiasm and Dhrishtadyumna's research.

Shalaka spoke about their experience visiting Kerala, the meeting with an old woman who was the oldest Kalaripayattu practitioner in the world. She looked right at Shikhandi when she talked about family. Drupad swallowed the uncomfortable feeling at the back of his throat when he suddenly realized that he had no role in creating the family Shalaka spoke of, his eyes immediately going to Shikhandi's.

God, why could he just think of all these negative things at such a big celebration? At such a happy moment? He leaned back in his chair, schooled his expression and looked straight ahead, trying not to get distracted.

He tried not to think of the man he met at the cafe and invited to the book launch, and how he had not seen him. He tried not to think of how soul-crushingly lonely he felt.

Finally, Dhrishtadyumna announced the end of the formal section of the book launch.

"And if you want to ask any questions or give us feedback, we will be here to talk!"

A little girl, about 6 years old, shot out of her seat and ran to where Shalaka was talking to Shikhandi. But on finally reaching her, she suddenly started fidgeting and avoiding Shalaka's gaze, who then kneeled down to talk to the little girl.

"Go on, tell her," Her father prompted gently.

He had never been that gentle, he mused.

"Uhhh, when I grow up, I want to be just like you!!" She said, stars in her eyes.

He wanted to turn back time, he wanted to replay events and live in a world where he did not extinguish the brightness in Shikhandi's eyes, but instead encouraged it like this man was doing.

Shalaka laughed in disbelief, waving off the compliment. She talked a little bit with the father and showed him to the counter where they could buy the book and offered to autograph it. She had been talking for quite a bit, Drupad noticed, what with all the book launch and so many people coming to talk to her, so he gave her a glass of the orange juice they had, and went off into the crowd before she could thank him.

"Uh, hello, sorry I did not get a chance to speak to you, you looked very busy," he heard a voice.

Drupad turned to see the man he had invited as his plus one. He gulped. What would he say now? He had ignored the guy since he came here!

"Why didn't you come up front?" He asked. "I would still have talked to you,"

"No, I came late, the book launch had already started,"

"Was your son being fussy? I get it! If that was a problem you should have brought him along! I mean- all three of the authors have children, they would have understood,"

The other man looked slightly sad, but before Drupad could linger on that for long, he wassmiling again. A little bit of the sadness was still visible in his smile as he said, "No, no, that was my grandson. My daughter's son. She lives in Australia, with her husband and the baby and her in-laws. They went back there just 2 days ago,"

"Oh!" Drupad laughed. "I really wouldn't have guessed,"

The man laughed awkwardly.

"By the way, you did not tell me your name,"

"Virat," The man said, and offered his hand for a firm handshake.

"Well, nice to meet you," Drupad said.

"Baba!" Someone was calling him. "Baba, please come for the photos!"

"Go, go! I'll wait," Virat said.

There were several photos. So much, that Drupad lost track. There was one with just Bheem, Dhrishtadyumna and Shalaka. There was one with them and their partners, there was one with only the ladies, there was one with all the brothers, there was one with Drupad and his kids, there was one with Drupad and his daughters(so? He considered his Daughters-in-law his daughters too. Sue him.), there were too many photos to keep track.

"Oh, oh, we should have one with everyone in it!" Satyajit said.

Everyone posed, Drupad lifted the phone.

"Go, join your family, I'll take the photo," Virat said from behind him.

Drupad pushed down the urge telling him to invite Virat into the photo. Not after last time. Not after them. Not after that time. But when he smiled for the big group photo, he was looking straight into Virat's eyes.

Chapter Text

They met again, after that. They talked all the way to the parking lot and Drupad dropped Virat home even if it meant he had to go by the longer route. They promised to see each other again, and go to different places together.

Virat invited him to a classical music concert. Drupad, in turn, took him to see a play. Drupad joined Virat's book club which met at a park on weekends, and they even went on walks sometimes.

They shared pictures of grandkids and talked about their antics, Drupad revealed how he was afraid that Dev would get bullied when he started school, and Virat reassured him that even if he did, he had such a loving family to help him and stand up for him.

Drupad even offered to go with him to get glasses when he finally visited the doctor(after lots of convincing). Virat let him pick out the frame.

Soon, though, meeting up at different places, driving for a long time was getting tiring for Drupad. Yes, he was pretty fit for his age, he did go to the gym sometimes, but his poor knees hated squeezing into the driver's seat of the car. However, most times, he quietly told them to shut up because the wistful and nostalgic smile on Virat's face when they went on a long drive was usually all worth it.

But finally, they seemed to realize how old they were and settled for meeting at each other's houses. The travelling was getting too tiring and they were getting comfortable enough with each other.

Virat came first, won over the whole family with some homemade sweets.

But that day, after months of them knowing each other, Virat finally asked Drupad to come to his house.

That house screamed loneliness. A four bedroom house, but he was living alone. Drupad was quick to realize that he did not even go into the rooms, and the kitchen was bare bones.

"I've ordered some food for us, it should be here soon," Virat said. "I'm not as good a cook as you, sorry,"

"That's alright, there definitely have to be things you can do that I am horrible at!" Drupad said.

They playfully argued back and forth while setting the table,

The doorbell rang.

"Yeah, that must be our food, can you get it? Take my wallet," Virat said.

"Of course," Drupad said.

As he opened the wallet, though, he saw a picture inside it. Two young boys and a girl. While he had talked to the girl before, he'd never seen or heard of the boys before, he had to ask Virat. Were they just friends? Because neither of them was Uttaraa's husband, Abhimanyu.

Their silence and the sound being that of their spoons was a testament to their hunger. After a little bit, Virat broke the silence.

"How far did you get in this month's book for our book club?" He asked.

"Uhh, not that far, I've been swamped with work these days," Drupad said with an apologetic look on his face.

"Oh, alright. Maybe we can read together later?"

"Of course,"

They talked more, about their children and grandchildren, about their jobs, about everything. Drupad did not even realize they were almost at the end of their dinner.

"By the way, who are those kids in the pictures on your wallet?" Drupad asked casually. "I saw 3 kids in that old picture in your wallet, but only recognized Uttaraa.. Who are the other two?"

Virat froze. He looked up at Drupad, his spoon clattering into his bowl.

"They're her brothers, my sons," he said hurriedly, a storm bubbling beneath his eyes.

Drupad nodded. He sensed that something was off, though. He noticed that Virat was trying to push something down, something old and hurt and uncomfortable. He noticed how his shoulders tensed up and how his lips pursed in a thin line.

"Oh," Drupad said simply, waiting for Virat to say something more.

"It's been three years," Virat said. His hand shook on the table. Drupad gently rested a worn, wrinkled hand on top of his, to steady it, to offer some semblance of comfort.

"Uttar- my- my younger son, he'd just learnt how to drive- and Shwet, my eldest, they were going on a drive, and- It was a hit and run, neither of them survived, and we haven't found who did it,"

Drupad hadn't treated him differently. Hadn't avoided his gaze. He had just kept looking at him with that look of his that seemed to pierce right through people.

"But it still feels fresh sometimes, huh?" Drupad offered gently.

Virat sighed and nodded. The tension in the air was so thick that it could be cut with a knife.

"Shvet, he was a basketball player, loved it so much.. Used to win awards in school and college. District and state levels, also played at a club. He had just gotten a new job," He began speaking again, now seemingly more open. "But Uttar? Uttar was the gentle one. My youngest. The baby of the family. He was an artist, amazing with his hands, he wanted to- to become a fashion designer," Virat's face was contorted in anguish, a hidden darkness within him slipping out. "I always tried to protect him," he finally ended, breaking off with a jagged, rough sob. "The world was so, so, cruel and I tried to protect him and I failed,"

"You don't have to-" Drupad started, But Virat hadn't heard him. He rested his head down on the table, and sniffled.

Drupad was fast, though. He put away their plates and spoons and pulled out the sofa bed, smoothening the sheets on it. He gently shook Virat's shoulder, leading Virat to the couch. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around the younger man's shaking shoulders, his arm steady around him as he cried.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" He asked.

"I planned to. Remember we went for a long drive after meeting your family that day?"

Drupad nodded.

"That is when I was going to tell you,"

Drupad tried to hold back his own tears. How long had he been carrying this alone?

"Leave it, I'm always late when it comes to telling such important things," Virat sighed.

"What do you mean?"

"Uttaraa. When I called to tell her the news, I had just said hello before she cut me off and excitedly told me they were having a baby. What was I supposed to do! I congratulated her and didn't tell her what had happened. One thing turned into another, every time she called she was so, so excited, I didn't have the heart to tell her. And- and then a few weeks later, she wanted to call her brothers, and tell them, but I'd already shut down their phone numbers and she called me to ask me about that and- that was when Sudeshna finally told her. I just- I couldn't say it! She was upset with me, and I could not even say anything to defend myself bec-" Virat hiccupped, "Because she was right."

Virat did not speak for a long time, instead burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Drupad swallowed the lump in his own throat and tightened his hand around Virat. "You don't have to-"

Virat looked up, his eyes red from rubbing them raw while he cried. "No, no, Let me. Haven't told anyone about it, and-" He looked directly at Drupad and gave him a sad, tired, smile. "Telling you feels better,"

They talked for a long time.

He talked about his brother-in-law, Keechak(a terrible person, in Drupad's opinion), and the criminal charges stacked up against him, how he had embezzled money from the security company he worked at, the assault charges, everything.

He talked about his wife, how the thing with Keechak destroyed whatever was left of their relationship after their kids' deaths and how they fought and fought until- until the cold finality of the divorce.

He talked about how he felt so, so, alone, even with the book club and the daily calls with Uttaraa and her family. "It- I feel less lonely now, though," He said, squeezing Drupad's hands.

"Alright, I can't stay the night with you, right now, but I really wish I could. Call me if you need anything, eh?"

Virat nodded and gave Drupad a tight hug with shaking arms as he left. Little did Drupad know, that night was the first time Virat had slept through the night in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

It was a wonderful Saturday morning, Uttam had stayed over at Vikrant's room and planned to spend the weekend with his sweet, sweet boyfriend, finishing that book he had planned to read, then eat so much food that he couldn't stay awake, then sleep for three hours with the curtains closed, then get woken up with kisses, and go on a long bike ride in the evening before going back home to study.

"Uttam! Phone!" Vikrant called out from the kitchen.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming!" Uttam said. "Who is it?"

"Your dad," Vikrant said.

"Aaaargh!" Uttam got up, left his book on the table, and picked up the phone.

"Good morning Pitashri! How goes your day disturbing your son this early in the morning?" He snarked.

"Sorry, I will call you later if you're busy, I-"

"It's alright, go on," Uttam said.

"So, uh, Virat, I-"

"Well congratulations to the happy couple! I'm assuming I am the first to get this call, which is strange, I'll admit, but if I think about it for like 3 seconds, it makes sense that I would be the one you told first, which like- I am honoured, I really am, I promise-"

"Shameless boy! Do you even know my age? And love-" Drupad broke off.

"Come on, you can stop denying it!"

"I loved your mother, alright? And I called because I am confused- because," Drupad continued in a smaller voice, "Aren't friendships supposed to make you feel horrible? I do not know why I- Why this feels good.."

"Baba, friendships aren't meant to make you feel like that! God, that's so messed up.."

"I kind of realized that when you rebelled, you know, what with bringing Vikrant home and-"

"You think-" Uttam said, his voice shaky, his hands sweating, "You think that Vikrant and I are just friends?"

"Wait, are you-" Drupad sounded confused and apologetic. "You two are-"

Drupad could hear the way Uttam's head clunked against the wall. "Ugh- I can't believe it took you this long to figure it out, we have been together for almost three months now!"

"Sorry, sorry-"

Uttam cut him off. "I can't deal with this. I'm adding dada to the call," he said, the word rolling off his tongue almost as instinctively as what he used to call Shikhandi before.

"I'm going to drop dev off at daycare, then I have 2 classes back to back, and then I am going out to meet my friends," Shalaka said, hurriedly packing up her tiffin.

"Andddd since I am working from home today, I will clean the kitchen and have food ready for you by the time you come back!" Shikhandi answered from the bedroom. "Now, dev, you ready for another day?"

"Yes!" Dev said, with that cute, childish lilt to his voice.

Shikhandi threw him up in the air and smiled as he laughed. "Alright, now, behave , okay?"

"Yes baba," dev said.

"Alright, now, let's go, mom's waiting,"

Shikhandi closed the door as they left and went to the kitchen. Putting on some music, he began clearing away the dishes and throwing away the kitchen waste when his phone rang.

It was a conference call.

Uttam and baba were arguing.

Again.

Shikhandi sighed. "Alright, alright, calm down, both of you. Uttam, what happened?"

"So, baba called me, he knew that I was staying with Vikrant, and I thought he was calling to, you know, confirm what we've all been thinking, and- I thought he meant to call you, okay?"

"I wanted to talk to Uttam only, okay Shikhandi?"

"Alright, Uttam, he meant to call you, go on,"

"And then he goes off on a longass tangent about friendships and something, and now, he thinks that Vikrant and I are just friends- like- I've stayed over at his room so many times, why would I-"

"I used to stay with Drona and Pandu all the time when we were in college!"

"I have my suspicions about them too, if we are being entirely honest today," Uttamaujas chimed in.

"What suspicions?"

Shikhandi kept working as the chaos went on.

"ANYWAY!" Uttam continued, "Don't you think he was acting strange right from the book launch?"

"No, sorry, I was too busy being proud of my wife." Shikhandi deadpanned. A dish and two bowls met the kitchen sink with more force than was strictly necessary. Now that the utensils were all cleared out, Shikhandi picked up a rag and began wiping down the countertop.

"Fair, I deserved that. So yeah, that's it, I guess. He called me, I thought he was calling to tell me he was dating that man he brought home—"

"He brought him home?" Shikhandi asked.

"Yeah, he did, the malpuas were nice though, apparently he had made them himself,"

"Yes, he is a very good cook," Drupad said stiffly.

"And then it turned out he didn't even think Vikrant and I were dating and I know for a fact that he's not- you know- I mean he's clearly fine with you- I can't deal with this,"

"So you called me," Shikhandi said softly. "That is okay, I've got it now. Okay, Baba?"

"You know why I never allowed any of you to bring your friends home?" Drupad finally asked.

"Uh huh?" Uttam said, his eye roll evident in his voice.

"Uttam," Shikhandi reprimanded gently. He was reminded of those first few days after their mother had died. And how— god, he was just 19, they were just 11 . He was reminded of the reason Yudhamanyu or Uttamaujas listened to him so readily. He had practically raised them!

"I was only trying to protect you," Drupad continued. "Because I thought friendships were supposed to make you feel horrible, always doubting and second-guessing yourself and that all the ways you feel good because of them was a temporary high,"

"Okay. Are you feeling like what you did was not correct, looking back? Now that- finally, you have someone in your life whom you actually like?" Shikhandi asked.

"Well yes, but- how do I even justify bringing him home and spending time with him when I did not let you all have that?"

Shikhandi heard some shuffling around on Uttam's end, the phone being placed down(presumably, he had put on headphones as well), and someone sitting down. Must be Vikrant.

The question hung in the air, though. The palpable silence was fast getting uncomfortable.

"Shikhandi? Beta?"

That tone shook him. That uncertain, shaky tone jolted him out of his thoughts.

"You are allowed to change. You have been showing us how much you have changed, you have been better. I am proud of you,"

"Alright, alright, and- and what Uttam said, what do you think about it?" Drupad asked. "Do you really think I-" He froze up, not able to say the words.

"It's not about whether I believe him or not. It's about whether you feel that way,"

Shikhandi had finished most of the cleaning and went to wash his hands.

"I loved your mother!" Drupad suddenly burst out.

"I know," Uttam retorted. "And?"

"How can I be- you know-" He sucked in a breath, and said in a whisper, "gay? And I have never had normal friendships, can I only be happy with someone if I feel like that ?"

"I mean you don't have to be gay, specifically." Uttam shrugged. "The wonderful and amazing world of bisexuality exists…"

"Uttam, uttam, wait. Too soon, the wonderful world of bisexuality can wait. Baba, why did you think other people had friends?"

Silence.

"I don't know?"

Uttam sighed. Shikhandi imagined him, sitting in front of him on the table as he chopped vegetables, Uttam rolling his eyes and sighing that same sigh when Shikhandi was giving him some advice or being particularly dense. He imagined a kitchen, different from the shiny countertops and islands, the image in his mind much more rustic and old, the sounds of Dhrishtadyumna's coffee machine punctuating a conversation that used to happen in the language of sighs and eye-rolls. Shikhandi also sighed.

"Did you have one single person you were good friends with?"

"Remember I used to send you for archery classes in the summers?"

"Yes," Uttam said. Shikhandi did not remember.

"That coach was… I knew him well, I guess. And he knew me too."

A faint memory of a man with kind eyes and a tired smile and a wispy beard floated to the front of Shikhandi's brain. He hadn't gone to those classes, though. His father didn't know about them before, and later- then it clashed with his coaching.

"Okay, okay, yeah. And why did you think all friendships were rotten?"

"We were in school together, and then went to the same college, he was our senior."

At some point in the conversation, Vikrant had joined him too, settling beside him on the sofa. Uttamaujas was grateful for the arm around his shoulders, nails permanently blackened with ink and motor oil and who knows what else, hands rough but steady. The arm sometimes scratches the nape of his neck lightly, getting caught in his curls. It comes away smelling of hair gel. Uttam has long set the phone down, turning on speaker without anyone's knowledge. He is laughing, teasing and heckling dad, but inside, he felt clammy and shaky, kind of like a newborn deer taking its first steps on dewy grass. He missed Yudhamanyu.

Uttam listened to dad talk about some man named Drona. How he couldn't bear to look at his college photos, because there was not a single photo without that man in it. Every photo in college, every photo on every family trip, literally every single photo, even photos of dates he went on with mom, all of them had Drona in them. And then it crashed and burned, and he couldn't bear to look at the photos anymore. And so now he just preferred to not think of his college days because well. None of his memories were free of drona. The soaring highs, the crushing lows, how he constantly kept second-guessing himself, how he kept having to justify himself.

A tap on his shoulder. 'Pay attention,' Vikrant was mouthing whenever he seemed to zone out. His hands never left Uttam, though, a silent support all the way through.

Shikhandi heard him out, hands shaking as he wiped down the kitchen counter. "Okay, and why do you think this time will be the same? You yourself said that- that it feels a lot like it did with mom. Or with that teacher friend of yours."

He was pushing down the rapidly rising annoyance in him, the urge to yell and scream, ' you were never there for me why should I do this right now give me one fucking good reason why' and ' I should have learnt this from you , how to comfort, how to care, but I learnt it by myself, no thanks to you,' . He bunched up his shorts with his fists, taking deep breaths.

Because he remembered. He remembered how he had felt when he was coming around to the realization that he liked both boys and girls, or that he was trans, and he did not want to make anyone feel that way again. No matter what he felt toward that person.

Baba was silent for a long time.

"Back in our day-" he began after clearing his throat.

"Shut up! Answer what dada asked!" Uttam said, his voice shaking.

They talked for a long time after that. He was old, his sense of self was fragile and shaky. He was feeling so, so disoriented. He may have made their childhood hell in that big house, but now? Right now he was just a lonely old man. Fuck . For more than half his life he'd been thinking the world is a certain way and now he was realising it wasn't and the grief about the lost time was hitting him like a truck but somewhere, deep within, was also the longing for simpler times. And- And he did not know what to do with the newfound happiness he had found with Virat, because he was a stranger to that feeling. He wasn't sure if he could love again but apparently he could and that was.. strange. Shikhandi listened to his rambles with patience and appropriately inserted "ah"s and "oh"s and "hmm"s. Honestly, his father was figuring out half of what was going on by himself, and the thoughtful suggestions from him and the snarky commentary from Uttamaujas was helping the rest.

"What- What will satyajit and Dhrishtadyumna and-"

"Are you going to talk to him or should I?" Uttam cut in. "You know how annoying I can be when I want to be," There was a smug smirk in his voice.

"I'll handle my siblings." Shikhandi said. "Like I always do, like I've always done," His voice tried to keep the bite, the sharpness out of it.

"I will- he is free next week, we have planned to meet then. I will talk to him. And call you two."

"Don't forget," Uttam said before hanging up.

There was an awkward silence on the line before Shikhandi hung up too, leaving Drupad in his study, all alone, staring at the couch where Shikhandi used to nap when- when things were getting better and he could actually stand to be in the same room as Drupad again. The silence left him staring out at the balcony, Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas' favourite place in the house. Dhrishtadyumna's sticky notes, Satyajit's books and his desk in the corner opposite his own.

And finally, his vision settled on the pen stand Virat had given him. He remembered his old one. It was a small trinket, a joke gift even. But his Avantika had given it to him, and he was going to keep it. It had stayed in his office through the years they were in love, and stayed long after she was gone. The little ceramic thing had been chipped over years, a little blackened due to the pencil leads and the pen inks, but still beautiful and durable. It had palas flowers painted on it, the yellow and orange and red and brown standing out on the sky blue background. The day it had fallen from his desk and broken, he had screamed and raged, yelled and blamed others, gotten into a huge fight with Satyajit too. His stationery didn't sit in a pen stand for a long time after that, instead lying haphazardly on his desk. Until one day, Virat gave him a pen stand. A wooden one, this time. Light. Carved. Not that ornate, but it did its job.

Drupad sat there and looked at it for a long, long time.

After that rollercoaster of a call, Shikhandi gave himself about two minutes to compose himself and have a glass of water before picking up his phone and calling Uttamaujas again. His brother picked up on the first ring.

"Are you okay? That was rough," were the first words out of Shikhandi's mouth.

"It explained a lot about dad, though," Uttam muttered.

"You're still angry?"

"Of course I am!"

"Listen, just. Try to get your mind off of it, okay? He will tell me about whatever he decides to do, and you will be the first person I tell, alright? Things might be a little awkward when you get home, but it'll be fine. Don't stress about it too much, okay?"

"Actually," Uttam said hesitantly, "I kinda want to stay with Vikrant for a bit longer,"

"Talk to Jitu, figure it out," Shikhandi said. "Or, you could just invite Vikrant over, what is baba going to do, throw a fit? About inviting friends over? I know you two were gonna go out in the evening, do that, and go home with him- I'm sure he'd love homemade food, because I know what it's like. You can study on the balcony or something, I know you love doing that," Shikhandi said, fighting off the onslaught of memories that came to him when he said that. "It'll be fine, don't worry,"

"Dude! You're not getting it! I'm pissed off for you!"

"What's there to be angry about?" Shikhandi asked plainly. Because right now, even when he reached down to the deepest recesses of his mind, he could only find hurt there, not anger. He couldn't bring himself to be angry anymore. He didn't know why.

"I don't know, okay? You two never fought in front of the others but don't think I don't know! I've heard you. Crying, taking it all out on Jitu dada when it became too much, the yelling behind the closed doors, how you two wouldn't talk for days-"

"Okay. Okay." Shikhandi's hands unconsciously tightened around the apple he was holding. He breathed shakily for several moments before he said, "Now will you let me talk? I need to say something."

"Baba- he has never been good with people," Shikhandi started quietly.

"Why are you of all people defending him?"

"I know it may sound like I am defending him, but there is a reason I live with Shalaka, understood?" Shikhandi said, his voice now much harder than before. "You have no idea-" he seethed, and then broke off. "Sorry,"

"Go on,"

"What?"

"You were saying something,"

"It's okay, I'll tell you later," Shikhandi sighed.

"You called to check up on me, but I think it's you who needs to take your mind off of it, dada," Uttam said flippantly. "Can I go now? Vikrant made scrambled eggs."

"Okay, fine. yeah. Bye," Shikhandi said.

"Wait!" Uttam interrupted before he could hang up. "Why don't you come visit sometime? I'm not saying you have to move back or stay for long, but come visit? Please? I miss you. We all do,"

"I miss you too, Uttam. I'll come home for a bit next week. Promise. Oh, and don't hound baba." Shikhandi said slowly. " Yet " he smirked. "Give it a week, give it until his promised date, and then I give you and Jitu free rein, okay?"

"Okay dada. Take care, bye," Uttam said softly, and hung up before Shikhandi could respond.

Shikhandi let his head hit the table with a relieved groan, not caring about the way it stung. He couldn't wait for his wife to come home. He wanted to talk to her.

Chapter Text

Shikhandi saw the notification on his phone. Baba's number. An image. Two wrinkled old hands, one still wearing a wedding ring, one without. Their pinkies intertwined, the sunlight shining on their hands, clearly in the back seat of a car.

"I talked." The first message said.

"We r going to resort for the weekend." The second message.

He smiled softly, shot a thumps up emoji back, and went on with his day.