Chapter three

"Tatiana, can you help me with my homework!"

From the other end of the house, my little brother Viraj hollers for me, setting off a familiar pang of annoyance.

I reluctantly grab my backpack, eyeing myself disapprovingly in the battered mirror I've owned for nearly a decade. My fingers linger over the pale blotches on my skin as I let out a defeated sigh, tying up my hair before emerging from my cramped room.

"Tatiana!" my brother's high-pitched voice wails.

I trudge past Rodas's room and can't help but halt in my tracks. The door creaks as I push it ajar, revealing a slumbering Rodas. I tread closer to his bed only to hit an obstacle - an empties-filled bottle. My suspicions surge as I kneel and peek under his bed, coming face-to-face with dozens of discarded beer bottles.

A wave of disappointment crashes down upon me as I take in the sight of the empty bottles strewn across the floor. Hastily, I reach for a blanket to shield the evidence from prying eyes. I'll have to clean up this mess later, before mama and baba discover it.

My younger brother, Rodas, has been struggling with alcohol addiction at only 16 years old. My heart aches at the thought of him becoming a slave to this vice in his adult years. I've been trying to help him quit, but progress has been slow. Just when I thought we were making headway, mama found out and all hell broke loose, sending Rodas spiraling back to square one.

I tuck in the covers around Rodas's slumbering form, nudging his wayward leg beneath them as I do so. Gently pushing his raven hair out of his face, I feel a glimmer of hope. I pray that he'll break free from this vicious cycle, once and for all.

Exiting the shared bedroom that Rodas and Viraj occupy, I shut the door softly behind me. Deep down, I know that the road ahead may be long and challenging, but I'll be there for my brother every step of the way.

As I stepped into the kitchen, the aroma of tea filled the air. My eyes landed on my mother's graceful figure as she bustled about preparing breakfast. "Good morning, Mama," I chirped cheerfully, gently placing my backpack on the rustic table.

Instantly, my mother's face lit up like sunshine on a rainy day. Her gentle wrinkles crinkled near her eyes, and she beamed at me with pride. "Good morning, raajakumaaree," she replied with warmth in her voice.

But as fate would have it, my peaceful moment was interrupted by Viraj's shrill voice. "Tatiana!" he bellowed, barging into the kitchen like a bull in a china shop. My shoulders sagged at the sound, and I craved a few moments of solitude.

With a resigned sigh, I strolled over to the fridge in the corner, hoping to find a sweet distraction. Almost half the shelves were empty, except for a single, ruby-red apple. I plucked it eagerly, admiring its glossy surface before taking a bite. Sweetness flooded my taste buds, filling me with joy.

"Mama, Tatiana promised to help me with my homework," Viraj whined again. Rolling my eyes, I knew my peaceful morning was nothing but a distant memory.

Strolling over to my little brother, I ruffle his hair and crouch down to his level. Savoring the crisp bite of my apple, I break the news gently, "I'm sorry bambam but I have to go to work today. Ask Arnav."

Viraj's petulant pout is immediate, accompanied by a vigorous shake of his head. "Stop calling me that! And Arnav's not even here," he protests, but I can't help but be amused.

"Sorry, bambam, I keep forgetting. But once I'm back, I promise to make it up to you." Extending my pinky, I invite him to join in the solemn act of sealing our promise. Viraj's wide, chocolate-colored eyes flit between my pinky and my face until he nods in agreement. We link pinkies, sealing our vow with a kiss, locking eyes with a heartfelt understanding.

Viraj and I take our pinky promises very seriously. Polishing off my apple, I rise to my feet, fondly gazing down at my little brother before shouldering my bag and making my way out the door.

"I'll see you later mama!" I called out walking over to the door. "Be careful Tatiana!" I hear my mother worriedly call out.

Stepping out, I surveyed the humble expanse of my neighbourhood; a humble patchwork of old homes and dusty roads, frayed at the edges but rich in character. Children with bare feet and beaming faces played games in the dirt, soaking up a precious Saturday morning.

Wrapping my backpack around my shoulders, I set off on foot through the winding roads. The train station, almost an hour away, beckoned me towards the vast metropolis of Bengaluru, a world of endless exploration waiting to be explored.

I juggle two jobs while my esteemed older brother, Arnav, takes on three. Our dear mother graces the aisles of the local supermarket, while our father, unfortunately, has a penchant for gambling away our hard-earned money.

To make ends meet, Rodas once worked at a nearby barber shop, but his employment was abruptly terminated on suspicions of theft.

Although Mama and Baba remain unaware, Arnav and I hold the burden of this secret. Nevertheless, our family is far from perfect, but we strive to support each other and make the best out of our circumstances.

At a tender age of 14, I dove headfirst into the world of employment, taking job after job. Fast forward to the present, and now I'm stationed at Bengaluru's beloved FNP: Florist in Bengaluru. The paycheck is decent, and the job allows me to squirrel away some extra cash for little luxuries here and there.

Delighting in the natural world, I revel in working at the flower shop. Different plant species, varieties of blooms - I am enthralled by it all.

My dream is to someday cultivate a blooming paradise of my own once I have a humble home to call my own.

Even so, Mama is always whispering in my ear, urging me to snag a wealthy suitor who can whisk our family away from our rural roots and into the city.

I can't help but chuckle at the notion.

As a young girl, I held tight to a vision of finding true love. But as I've grown older, life's demands have consumed me, leaving little room for pursuing a partner. The last time I yearned for the touch of a man was in my teenage years. He was everything to me – my first love and my first lover.

Sadly, my heart was shattered when he left me for an older woman with no ties to our small town. It hurt like a dagger in my chest, but now that wound has healed.

As I walked through the bustling city streets, I found myself drawn towards the quaint brick building that housed a charming floral shop. The moment I stepped inside, the sweet fragrance of blooms enveloped me, transporting me to a world of vivid colors and enchanting scents.

"Good morning, Miss Khatri," my manager greets me with a courteous smile. Though she's much older, she still addresses me with utmost formality. "Oh, you can drop the last name, Mrs. Patel," I chuckle, making my way towards the register.

As I tidy up the remaining pieces of the store, she meticulously rearranges the vibrant flowers, preparing for the day ahead.

With a flick of the wrist, I flip over the sign and welcome the day's first customers, ready to assist them with their every need.

As the day dwindles and the sun sets, I bid farewell to Mrs. Patel and head towards the next job. The clock chimes eight, and I take a peaceful stroll to the nearby pub, five blocks away from the exquisite floral haven.

As I stroll down the dimly lit alley towards the pub, I suddenly feel a tingle creep up my spine, triggering the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck to stand at attention. Something is not right.