Chapter 7: Road Block
The rain came down not in drops but in sheets, a roaring, grey deluge that turned the highway into a shallow river. Their taxi, a battered white sedan, sat motionless in a line of steaming vehicles that stretched beyond sight. The wipers beat a frantic, useless rhythm.
“Two hours, they are saying,” the driver announced, tapping his phone. “Landslide near Pankhal. Road is finished.”
Rohan let out a slow breath, fogging the window. Beside him, Priya shivered. Her vibrant silk kameez was plastered to her shoulders, a victim of the sudden downpour when they’d dashed from the train station to the cab. A damp patch darkened the sleeve of Rohan’s shirt where her arm brushed against his.
“We’re sitting ducks here, Ma. And you’re freezing.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, but her teeth threatened to chatter. The weight of the journey—the stale train air, the accidental brush in the sleeper compartment that neither acknowledged, the grim purpose of it all—settled in the car like a third passenger.
Rohan spotted the glow through the curtain of rain: the giant, garish letters of a shopping mall rising like a spaceship from the flooded plains. “There. We can get dry, get some tea, maybe find you a shawl.”
The mall was a temple of sterile, air-conditioned noise. The shock of the cold, dry air hit Priya’s damp skin like a slap. She hovered near the entrance, a disoriented sparrow in a cave of chrome and glass, as Rohan led the way past buzzing arcades and scent bomb perfume stalls.
“Here,” he said, steering her towards a store selling colourful chiffons and casual cottons. “We need to get you out of those wet things.”
The practicality of it was undeniable, but a deep-rooted unease flickered in Priya’s eyes. Shopping for clothes with her son felt somehow more intimate than sharing a sleeper berth. In the train, there were roles, routines. Here, he was picking out a kurta for her, holding a deep blue one against her shoulders.
“This is okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“It’s fine, beta,” she said, taking it from him quickly. Her fingers grazed his. “I’ll manage.”
In the fluorescent-lit changing room, Priya peeled the cold silk from her skin. The mundane act felt strange, charged. The echo of his laugh in the train, the warmth of his shoulder against hers as he pointed to the laptop screen, the jolt of contact—it all seemed to swirl in the recycled air. She shook her head, blaming exhaustion. She dressed in the simple, dry cotton, the fabric soft and anonymous.
When she emerged, Rohan had bought a cheap coffee for himself and a steaming paper cup of ginger tea for her. “Your phone’s been buzzing,” he said, handing her the tea. The warmth seeped into her palms.
It was a number from her company. She excused herself, moving towards a potted plastic ficus for a semblance of privacy. Rohan watched her posture straighten, the businesswoman’s mask sliding into place over the anxious wife’s face. Her conversation was low, a series of sharp “Haanjis” and “Samjhi.”
She returned, the mask cracked. “The Rawat order,” she said, her voice tight. “The shipment is held up at Nhava Sheva. Customs procedural issue. Gauri is handling it, but they need my digital signature on the revised form. The portal.”
“The laptop.” He said it flatly. They both thought of it, tucked in his bag, that sleek rectangle that had been a source of clumsy connection and then… something else.
“I can guide you,” he offered. “We can find a quiet corner.”
They settled on a cold bench near a shuttered kiosk. He booted it up, the familiar glow illuminating their faces. The process was simpler this time. Her movements were less hesitant. She followed his pointers, clicking with a determined focus. The crisis at hand, the concrete task, burned away the awkward humidity between them.
“Click there… no, right there. Perfect.”
She submitted the form with a final, crisp tap. The relief was momentary. As she went to hand the laptop back, her thumb skidded on the trackpad. The screen flashed—a browser tab he hadn’t closed. It was a intimate scene from movie .
He froze. His secret, hung out in the fluorescent mall light.
Priya stared at the screen. The bustling mall sounds seemed to recede into a dull roar. She looked from the screen to his face, seeing not her caring son, but a man with a hidden life, planning an escape.