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Aryan entered in his messy studio, his frustration simmering beneath the surface as he watched his parents enter behind him. His dad, usually the calm and collected one, was inspecting the room, his expression slightly disapproving.

"Aryan, why isn't your studio clean? You should keep it organized," his dad said, his voice carrying the hint of a reprimand.

Aryan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I've been busy, Dad. I'll clean it later, okay?"

His dad didn't look convinced but said nothing further. Aryan's mom, standing silently behind his father, observed the room with a mixture of concern and quiet disapproval. The tension between Aryan and his mother hung thick in the air, but neither spoke about it directly.

"Where are you staying?" Aryan asked, trying to break the ice within the evident tension.

"In a hotel," Rajeev, his dad, replied curtly, feeling the weight of his son and wife's tension pressing down on him.

"Did you just come here to surprise me, or...?" Aryan asked, curiously.

His father raised an eyebrow. "I had a work trip here. Your mom wanted to come with me," he said, his tone neutral.

Aryan nodded, not knowing how to respond. He didn't particularly want to get into a conversation about his mother's presence, so he just let it hang there.

His mom, sensing the awkwardness, stepped forward with an offer. "Should I make you two some chai? Or anything else?" she asked gently, trying to break the silence.

Aryan's response was immediate and sharper than he intended. "I just had breakfast. I don't want anything."

His mom flinched at his words, her face falling slightly. The moment stretched on, and Aryan felt a pang of guilt, but the anger he felt toward her made it hard to soften.

His father stepped in, clearly noticing the tension. "Aryan, why don't you show us around your university? We've never seen it," he suggested.

Aryan hesitated, glancing at his mother, then back to his father. "Fine," he said shortly, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness.

"Good. We'll be waiting outside," his dad said, and both of them left the room, leaving Aryan standing there, feeling heavy with the weight of the situation.

Aryan's Dad, Rajeev, followed Meeta, his mother, out to the hall, where they waited by the elevator. Rajeev, ever the peacemaker, spoke quietly to his wife as they stood together. "Look," he said, his voice low, "maybe things can work out between Aryan and Tara now."

Meeta didn't respond at first. Her eyes lingered on the hallway, but she seemed lost in her own thoughts. After a moment, she said softly, "I hope so. I know I've made mistakes... but I want to fix things with him."

His dad gave her a gentle, reassuring smile. "You can. Just give it time."

Then, as they stood waiting, Meeta's gaze drifted across the hall, landing on the door of the studio directly opposite. The familiar Hanuman Ji and Ganesh Ji photo on the top replaced who it was. The door to Tara's studio.

Rajeev noticed her look and followed her gaze. "Tara lives right across from him," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Maybe this could be the chance for both of them. It's all right there."

Meeta's looked up at him, her eyes softening. She didn't say anything, but the wistful look on her face betrayed her hopes for a reconciliation between her son and the girl he had loved.

"They've been through a lot," he continued quietly, "but sometimes being close by is all it takes to figure things out."

His mother didn't answer right away, but there was a faint trace of a smile on her lips, as if the idea of things working out between Aryan and Tara was the glimmer of hope she had been waiting for.

The elevator arrived, and Aryan joined them, his thoughts swirling. He had overheard his parents talking and he couldn't bring himself to respond to his father's words, but in his heart, the mention of Tara stirred something deeper. Could things really work out between them again? Would his mom ever accept her, or would his father's quiet optimism be all that carried them through?

As they stepped into the elevator, the weight of the question hung in the air, unanswered.

~•~

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, the campus almost eerily empty without the usual buzz of students. The weekend gave the university an entirely different energy, one that allowed Aryan to show his parents around without the distraction of classes. The air was cool and crisp, and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot was the only sound that accompanied their footsteps.

"This is where I play football," Aryan said, gesturing toward the spacious field, his voice a bit detached, as he looked over at his mom, Meeta, walking alongside them, but the distance was evident. She was quiet, not engaging much, but Aryan didn't push it. There was still too much unresolved between them.

His dad, Rajeev, nodded approvingly as they walked, taking in the sights with curiosity. "It's a nice campus, Aryan," Rajeev said, his voice calm and warm as always. "You've picked a good place to study."

Aryan simply nodded in response, not saying much. His attention was elsewhere, caught between the tension with his mother and the desire to make this moment seem... normal. But normal was something that felt far out of reach these days.

They continued walking, Aryan occasionally pointing out different buildings, like the library or the student center. It was clear his mom was there physically, but her mind seemed elsewhere. Meeta was quiet, her gaze distant, a slight furrow on her brow betraying her thoughts. Aryan felt the distance between them grow, but he didn't know how to bridge it. She never spoke to him directly, and he never found the words to speak to her.

As they approached the quad, Aryan spotted Karan chatting with a few other students, walking toward them. Karan waved as he saw Aryan.

"Hi, bro!" Karan called, flashing a grin.

Aryan waved back, his expression softening for a moment. "Hey, Karan," he replied. "This is my dad, Rajeev," he said, nodding toward his father, who offered a polite smile and handshake.

Karan shook his hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Then Aryan hesitated for a second, glancing at his mother before continuing. "And this is my mom, Meeta," he said, almost as if the words were difficult to get out.

Meeta offered a small, polite smile but remained quiet, a slight tension in the air. Karan, ever observant, noticed the discomfort, but he didn't comment. Instead, he greeted her with courtesy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

They all exchanged some pleasantries, with Karan mentioning that he was studying the same course as Aryan, and the conversation naturally drifted to the university itself. They spoke about the facilities and the campus life, and though Karan was friendly, it was clear that the atmosphere was weighed down by the silence between Aryan and his mom. Karan, ever the perceptive one, picked up on the tension but chose not to address it directly.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Aryan suggested that they continue the tour. His father and Karan exchanged a brief glance before Karan excused himself, heading off to meet a friend.

As they walked back toward the accommodations, Aryan's mind wandered, lost in thoughts of the day. His father's presence was calming, but his mother's unspoken words felt like an invisible wall between them.

They reached the building, and Aryan, walking ahead of his parents, unlocked the door to his studio. As he did, he looked back at his father. "Are you planning to stay tonight?" he asked, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to lie. "There's not much space here."

Rajeev shook his head. "No, no. We'll head back. We just wanted to see you, make sure you're doing okay. Our cab is arriving in 3 minutes."

Aryan nodded. "Okay."

As they approached the door, Aryan heard the soft ding of the elevator and turned just in time to see Tara stepping out of the elevator. She didn't notice them at first—her head slowly moving with the beats of the music she was listening to—but as she reached her studio, she paused when she saw Aryan and his parents standing there.

Her eyes widened, a flash of surprise crossing her face, but then quickly, almost instinctively, she lowered her gaze. The tightness in her chest was unmistakable, her breath hitching for just a moment. Without saying a word, she gave a brief, almost imperceptible smile, barely lifting her eyes to meet theirs, before hurriedly unlocking her studio door and disappearing inside.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the hallway.

Aryan's fists clenched involuntarily, his heart sinking at the way Tara had reacted. She'd barely acknowledged him, her demeanor cold and distant. It was like a punch to the gut. Her scared face scarred him.

His mother, standing beside him, noticed the way Aryan's body tensed, the fury and hurt in his expression. Her own heart tightened. She hadn't been ready to face Tara yet, but seeing her like this—so scared, so distant—struck something deep inside Meeta. She didn't want their first meeting to be this way, but she knew she didn't deserve better.

Rajeev glanced at his wife, his expression heavy. He could see the look on both their faces—the sadness, the quiet tension between mother and son. It hurt him to see them like this, but all he could do was stay quiet.

"Aryan," Meeta said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "I—I'm sorry."

But Aryan didn't respond. He was lost in his thoughts, staring at the door where Tara had just disappeared. His chest tightened, and the emotions swirled within him—anger, guilt, sadness.

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, but even that small gesture couldn't soothe the growing storm inside Aryan.

They stood there for a moment, the silence heavy around them. Aryan looked at the door one last time, then turned to his parents, his jaw tight.

"I need to go. I'll see you all tomorrow." he muttered, his voice raw. "I'll clean up later."

His mother nodded silently, feeling the weight of his words. There was nothing left to say. The distance between them had only grown larger.

With a last, lingering glance at the door where Tara had vanished, Aryan walked into his studio, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

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