Chapter 3 — First Days, First Doubts
Tyra
The morning light spilled into Tyra’s new room, soft and golden, casting dappled patterns on the polished wooden floors. She sat by the small desk near the window, her fingers resting lightly on the smooth leather of her sketchbook. The restless night had left her tired, but her mind was sharper than she’d like, replaying every detail of the day before. The ceremony, the garlands, Arya’s steady encouragement, Shaurya’s fleeting yet unreadable gaze, Veer clutching his tiger like it was a lifeline. She exhaled, long and slow, trying to release the weight pressing on her chest.
The view outside was tranquil, a stark contrast to her whirling thoughts. The valley stretched endlessly, bathed in sunlight, the deodars swaying gently in the light breeze. Birds flitted from branch to branch, their songs weaving into the quiet hum of the morning. It was beautiful, but her heart ached with unfamiliarity. This wasn’t her home—not yet.
Her fingers traced the embossed floral pattern on the sketchbook’s cover, a gift from Arya, who had promised it would help her settle. The blank pages stared back at her, a quiet challenge. Slowly, she began to sketch what she saw—the rolling hills, the sunlight breaking through the treetops, the patterns of shadow and light on the ground. Each careful stroke steadied her, grounding her in the present moment. Yet, as her hand moved automatically, memories of yesterday bubbled up: Veer’s wary glances, Shaurya’s guarded politeness, the unspoken expectations that seemed to hover in every corner of the house.
The sound of approaching footsteps and the faint clink of porcelain broke her focus. A knock at the door followed. Startled, her pencil slipped, leaving a faint but errant line across her sketch.
“It’s open,” she called, setting the pencil down.
Arya stepped in, her dupatta trailing behind her and a tray balanced in her hands. The aroma of chai drifted into the room, mingling with the faint scent of marigolds from the garden below. “Thought you could use this,” Arya said cheerfully, placing the tray on the desk.
“Thank you,” Tyra said, managing a small smile. “You’re determined to spoil me, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Arya teased, her eyes twinkling. “It’s my duty as your elder sister-in-law.” Her gaze landed on the sketchbook, and her smile softened. “You’ve started drawing again.”
“It helps,” Tyra admitted, brushing her thumb lightly over the page.
“How’s it going so far? Settling in alright?” Arya asked, her tone warm but inquisitive.
Tyra hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s… a lot to get used to. Everyone has been kind, but…” She trailed off, her fingers curling slightly around the edge of the desk.
“But?” Arya prompted gently, pulling up the chair near the bed and sitting down.
“Sometimes, it feels like I’m trying to fit into a puzzle I don’t belong to,” Tyra admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced at her sketchbook, her insecurities etched as deeply into her heart as the lines on its pages.
Arya reached out, placing a hand over Tyra’s. “You’re not just another piece of the puzzle, Tyra. You’re bringing something new to it. It’s natural to feel like an outsider at first, but trust me, you’ll find your place. No one expects you to have it all figured out right away—not even Shaurya, though he’d never say it out loud.”
Tyra nodded, though the knot in her chest didn’t fully loosen.
“Has Veer spoken to you yet?” Arya asked, tilting her head slightly.
“Not really,” Tyra admitted, her gaze shifting toward the door. “He seems… hesitant. I don’t want to push him.”
“That’s wise,” Arya said thoughtfully. “But don’t wait too long, either. Small steps. He’s a sweet boy, but he’s been through a lot. Give him a reason to trust you, and he will.”
The words struck a chord deep within her. She nodded again, this time with more determination.
Arya leaned back, her expression softening. “You know, it wasn’t easy for me either when I married into the family. I remember my first festival here—I was so nervous that I burned the kheer. I cried for hours. But you know what helped?”
“What?” Tyra asked softly.
“Focusing on the small things,” Arya said. “Little acts of kindness, quiet moments of connection… They add up. Just remember, Tyra—you’re not alone in this.”
Tyra smiled, faint but genuine. “Thank you, Arya. Really.”
---
The day unfolded in a series of quiet, disconnected moments. Breakfast was a subdued affair. Veer sat close to Shaurya, gripping the tiger tightly. His small hand clutched the tiger’s tail, twisting it nervously as he snuck occasional glances at Tyra when he thought she wasn’t looking. Tyra noticed the faint tremble in his hand and the way his gaze darted away whenever their eyes met.
Shaurya, as composed as ever, engaged in polite conversation with his mother while keeping a protective hand on Veer’s shoulder. Once, his eyes flicked toward Tyra, but he quickly looked away, as though unsure of what to say or how to bridge the space between them. It was a fleeting moment, but it stayed with her.
Shaurya’s mother moved through the household with practiced grace, her quiet authority evident in the way the staff responded to her subtle gestures. The aroma of freshly made parathas and cardamom chai filled the air, mingling with the soft clink of cutlery. Tyra watched from the corner of her eye, her sense of displacement deepening. The Malhotra home ran like a well-oiled machine, each person playing their part. Tyra didn’t know where she fit into this rhythm—or if she even could.
By late afternoon, the weight of it all drove her back to her room. She opened her sketchbook again, losing herself in the familiar comfort of drawing. This time, she sketched the veranda, its weathered railings framing the vibrant spill of marigolds in the garden. The act of sketching calmed her, but Arya’s words echoed in her mind: Small steps.
A faint knock interrupted her thoughts. She turned toward the door, her heart quickening. “Come in,” she called, her voice cautious.
The door creaked open, revealing Veer standing hesitantly on the threshold. His stuffed tiger was clutched tightly against his chest, its crooked tail dangling limply. He lingered there, his wide, cautious eyes darting between her and the sketchbook on the desk.
“Hi, Veer,” Tyra said softly, keeping her tone light.
He didn’t respond, his grip on the tiger tightening.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked, careful not to sound too eager.
After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped inside, his bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze shifting to the sketchbook.
“Would you like to see what I’m drawing?” Tyra offered, tilting the book slightly toward him.
He nodded, inching closer until he could peer over the edge of the desk. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the sketch.
“That’s outside,” he said, his voice quiet but sure.
“It is,” Tyra replied, her smile gentle. “I like drawing the things I see. It helps me understand them better.”
Veer tilted his head, considering her words. “Why?”
She paused, resting her pencil on the desk. “Sometimes things feel… big, or confusing. Drawing them helps me see them in a way that makes sense, if that makes any sense.”
He didn’t reply immediately, his fingers stroking the tiger’s fur. Then, shyly, he held the toy out to her. “Can you draw this?”
Tyra’s heart softened at the request. “Of course,” she said, her voice warm. “But only if you help me.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Help how?”
“Well,” she said, turning her chair to face him, “you could tell me what makes Tiger special. That way, I’ll know how to draw him just right.”
Veer hesitated before climbing onto the chair beside her, his small frame barely filling the seat. He smoothed the tiger’s fur with careful hands. “He’s brave,” Veer said slowly. “And he keeps me safe at night.”
“Brave and safe,” Tyra repeated, her pencil moving in steady strokes.
As she sketched, Veer began to relax, his small voice growing more animated as he described Tiger’s adventures. Tyra listened intently, her hand moving in rhythm with his words.
When the drawing was finished, she turned the sketchbook toward him. “What do you think?”
Veer’s face lit up, a rare, unguarded smile breaking through. “It’s perfect,” he said, hugging the tiger tightly.
“Good,” Tyra replied, her smile soft but genuine. “I’m glad you like it.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, she felt a small crack in the wall between them. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
---
That evening, Tyra sat by the window, her sketchbook resting on her lap. The breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine, and the moonlight bathed the valley in silvery light.
She replayed the moment with Veer in her mind, his cautious smile and the way he’d trusted her enough to share his tiger’s story. Small steps, Arya had said. Tyra thought of her own tentative steps—sketching the veranda, offering Veer her time and attention.
Her gaze drifted to the unopened suitcase in the corner. The sight of it, still untouched, felt like a silent symbol of her lingering hesitation. She traced the lines of her sketchbook absently, thinking of the blank pages that had once intimidated her. Perhaps, she thought, the suitcase was like the sketchbook—waiting for her to fill it, to create something new.
She knew she couldn’t keep living on the outskirts of this family. She would have to step into its rhythm, find her own place within it.
Setting the sketchbook aside, she leaned back in her chair, letting the hope settle in her chest. Perhaps belonging wasn’t about fitting perfectly into an existing space. Perhaps it was about creating one of her own.
