Breakfast was a chaotic, loving negotiation.

Rohan put on his reading glasses. He didn’t just look at the screen; he examined it as if it were a bank loan application. “The commute is two hours each way. Too much. We’ll find something closer.”

Inside, Dadi was already asleep, snoring softly. Aarav was under his blanket, phone glowing, watching one last video. Kavya was updating her resume, a tiny smile on her face.

“Aarav,” Rohan said, tearing a piece of roti. “What is the square root of 144?”

There were no phones. This was sacred time.

And as the last light in the apartment clicked off, the city outside roared on, but inside, the Sharmas had won another day. Together.

The first to surface was 14-year-old Aarav, his hair a bird’s nest, phone already glued to his palm. He grunted a “Good morning” that sounded more like a question. He was in the middle of a fierce battle with his Class 9 Physics syllabus and a new video game. His school bag, a black hole of crumpled papers and lost pens, lay where he’d dropped it the night before.

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