Page 69 of Scars and Crowns

Simple.

Honest.

Entirely him.

And somehow . . . Those three quiet words unsettle my heart far more than the fall ever did.

PLANNING AND PLOTTING

YUVAAN

Dinner has quietly become my favourite part of the day. If someone had told me that a few months ago, I would've laughed.

Dinner used to be efficient. Functional. Another task squeezed between meetings and paperwork. I'd sit alone at one end of a table long enough to seat twenty people, eating whatever had been served while reading reports balanced against my water glass. Most evenings I barely tasted the food before someone appeared with another file needing my signature.

Somehow, without my noticing exactly when it happened, that changed. Now the dining room is noisy. Comfortably noisy.

Maa is at one end of the table telling us, with great enthusiasm, about some scandal involving the gardener from a neighbouring estate and the head cook's sister. Kairav is somehow managing to eat twice as fast as everyone else while arguing with Amish over speakerphone about an injured civet cat that apparently refuses to cooperate with rescue efforts. The conversation keeps jumping wildly between veterinary advice and complaints about the cook refusing to make extra rotis.

And between Anamika and me sits Sara.

She swings her legs beneath her chair, humming softly to herself between bites, her entire body carrying the restless energy that usually means she's planning something.

I've learned to recognise that look. It almost always ends with a request.

"Mister." She places her spoon down with exaggerated seriousness before folding both hands on the table. I wait. "I have holidays."

"Oh?"

"Four whole days."

I nod thoughtfully. "No school?"

She shakes her head so enthusiastically her ponytail bounces. "No school."

Something tells me this isn't the important part. "And?"

She straightens as if she is going to announce something important. "Riya is going to Goa." A pause. "Kabir is going to his grandmother's village." Another pause. "He gets to ride a real horse." She sighs with heartbreaking tragedy. "I've never gone on a vacation."

The words are simple.

Matter-of-fact.

Not accusing.

Just . . . True.

"Not even once."

Anamika stiffen almost imperceptibly. "Sara . . . " Her voice is gentle. "We don't need to—"

"I just want to go somewhere." Sara turns toward me instead. "Anywhere." She thinks for a second. "Somewhere with trees." Another thoughtful pause. "Or water." She brightens. "Or trees and water." The pout begins. I've discovered that Sara doesn't deploy it carelessly. It's a strategic weapon. One she knows works far more often than it should.

"Sara," Anamika says again, cheeks already beginning to colour with embarrassment. "We don't need to trouble anyone. It's alright."

"I only want one vacation." Sara looks directly at me. "I've never had one." I look at her hopeful face. Then at Anamika beside her. And somewhere inside myself I realise something rather obvious. There was never a version of this conversation where I said no. I would've agreed before she even finished asking. If she asked me for an ocean, I'd probably start looking for engineers.

"We'll go." The words leave my mouth before anyone else speaks.