Chapter One: The Family Table
The dining table at the Kumar residence had always been more than a place to eat. It was a quiet battleground, a performance stage, and a museum of unspoken truths. The long teakwood surface had seen the passing of years, stains of spilled milk and curry, and the silent rituals of a family that looked perfect from the outside.
It was a Thursday evening just after dinner and the house smelled faintly of sambar, antiseptic floor cleaner, and jasmine oil. The fan hummed above. The curtains fluttered in the lazy July breeze. Seated at the far end of the table was Mr. Shankar Kumar, the man of the house, a businessman who had worked his way up from a small textile trader to the owner of a moderately successful chain of garment stores. Sturdy, decisive, and emotionally reserved, Shankar had the commanding presence of a man used to being listened to even when he rarely raised his voice.
Across from him sat his wife, Meenakshi, folding a napkin slowly, her gaze lingering on the empty chair next to her. She always sat beside her son her only son Vikram, who had excused himself early to return to his room and study.
Their daughter, Kavya, sat directly beside her father, twirling her spoon with a bored elegance. She wore a pale pink kaftan that shimmered slightly under the dining light, her lips glossed, hair tied in a lazy high ponytail that she fussed with every few minutes. She didn’t touch her food much. She never did when the mood struck her to act like a princess.
Tonight, she had decided to be delicate.
“Papa,” she said suddenly, with a soft, performative sigh. “Why don’t we ever eat out anymore? It’s always idli this, dosa that.”
Shankar looked up from his plate, wiping his mouth. “We ate at Taj four days ago, Kavya.”
“That was four days ago,” she replied with a pout. “Besides, that was Vikram’s celebration dinner for his academic award. What about me?”
Meenakshi’s fingers paused mid-fold. Shankar smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “What are we celebrating for you, ma? You didn’t pass your retake, remember?”
Kavya gasped. “That’s not fair! You always make it about marks. I’m doing other things. I have talent! Charu aunty said I should be on YouTube.”
“Charu aunty thinks everyone should be on YouTube,” Meenakshi muttered under her breath. But Shankar heard it.
He cleared his throat. “Enough. Focus on your upcoming semester. Vikram is balancing coding club, robotics, and college with grace. You can at least—”
Kavya pushed her plate back. “Oh, there we go again. Vikram this, Vikram that. Am I even your daughter, or did you just adopt me from a shopping mall to fill the guest bedroom?”
Her voice quivered, and for a second, Shankar looked almost thrown off. But only for a second.
“Don’t be dramatic,” he said, returning to his food.
Kavya rose and stormed out.
The silence that followed wasn’t new. Meenakshi resumed folding napkins, eyes lowered, lips pressed tight.
“You spoil that boy,” Shankar said after a while. “He barely speaks to anyone. Doesn't look me in the eye. Never even offers to help at the shop. Always locked away with books and… whatever else.”
“He helps in his way,” Meenakshi said gently. “He’s just not like you.”
“I know that,” he said. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s even like me at all.”
Meenakshi didn’t respond. Her fingers moved faster now.
Upstairs, in his dimly lit room, Vikram sat cross-legged on the floor, a notepad on one side, his laptop screen glowing in the dark. He wore a loose grey T-shirt and cotton pyjamas. His room was neat books arranged by subject, shelves lined with model kits, and a mirror covered with post-it notes.
He was watching a recorded seminar on AI and social ethics, occasionally pausing to jot thoughts. His glasses were slipping down his nose. Every few minutes, he glanced toward the door, not in fear, but out of habit.
Kavya’s words still rang in his ears from earlier in the evening, when she brushed past him in the hallway and whispered:
“Let’s see how perfect you are once I tell Papa what I saw on your laptop…”
He had frozen, stunned. She hadn’t smiled. Just walked away with that terrifying calm that only she could weaponize.
He hadn’t been watching porn. Not in the way she’d suggest. It was something else. Something that even Meenakshi barely understood, and yet… accepted.
He didn’t know what she was planning, but he could feel something shifting. Something quiet but heavy. Like the air before a thunderstorm.
Meanwhile, Kavya sat on her bed in her pink-themed room, legs curled up, scrolling through Instagram reels. Her thumb stopped on one featuring a girl crying and accusing her brother on a reality show.
She smirked.
Not because she believed her lie.
But because she was tired of being second in her own home.
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