Lucknow had always been a city of contrasts—its old nawabi grace lingering in the narrow lanes, and its restless youth crowding coaching centers, cyber cafés, and tea stalls, chasing dreams of a more secure tomorrow. In one such corner of the city stood a modest duplex house in a quiet colony, where the Sharma family lived.
Akshay, at twenty-eight, carried both the weight of responsibility and the impatience of youth. He had just completed his master’s degree in Political Science, but life had offered him no time to rest. Preparing for competitive exams during the day, he also taught at a nearby coaching institute in the evenings, guiding anxious teenagers through history and current affairs. Teaching gave him both confidence and exhaustion—it was steady work that brought a little income home, but his real ambition lay in cracking a government exam that would secure his family’s future. Akshay was tall, lean, with sharp features softened by a natural kindness in his eyes. His friends often teased him about being “old-fashioned,” but that traditional streak, rooted in discipline and sincerity, made him dependable in every way.
Sonam, his younger sister by four years, had just completed her bachelor’s degree in Commerce. At twenty-four, she was still figuring herself out—her ambitions stretched between the stability of a government job her parents wished for her, and the quiet desires she kept to herself. Like Akshay, she spent long hours with her books, chasing the same goal of cracking exams that promised stability. But unlike her brother, she often felt restless in routine. She loved music—her earphones were never too far from her reach—and she had a flair for sketching, filling old notebooks with quick drawings of faces, streets, and half-finished dreams.
Their parents, Ajay and Kalpana, formed the center of this household. Ajay worked in a government office, carrying the steady air of a man who had spent decades in files and bureaucracy. Kalpana, soft-spoken yet firm, was the homemaker who balanced everything—finances, traditions, and the emotional fabric of her family. The duplex house reflected them all: half-modern, half-traditional, filled with both the order of schedules and the chaos of sibling banter.
Akshay and Sonam, despite their differences in temperament, were deeply close. Years of sharing the same study table, exchanging notes, whispering worries in late-night conversations, had tied them together in ways words couldn’t fully describe. In a world that constantly measured them by marksheets and exams, they were each other’s refuge—the only ones who truly understood the pressure of carrying their family’s expectations.
It was in this ordinary, middle-class rhythm—books scattered across the dining table, half-drunk cups of tea left near window sills, evening walks on the terrace—that their story quietly began.
The days at home followed a rhythm that was both comforting and suffocating. Morning chai, study hours, the sound of Ajay’s scooter sputtering out of the gate, Kalpana humming in the kitchen—it was all so familiar, so predictable, that sometimes Akshay felt he was living the same day over and over again.