“Your mother always said I overwatered them,” he’d said without looking up. “She was right.”
He was quiet for a long time. Then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “When your mother leaves a room, I still feel her. The way she tilted the fan just so. The way she knew the milk was about to boil three seconds before it did. I thought I was the strong one, Kavya. The protector. The provider.” He laughed, a dry, hollow sound. “I was a guest in my own home. She was the host, the gardener, the cook, the accountant, the nurse, the peacemaker. And I just… sat in my chair.” baap being a wife
At the bottom of the last page, in shaky handwriting, was a single line: “Being a wife is not a role. It is a hundred invisible jobs done before anyone has to ask.” “Your mother always said I overwatered them,” he’d