The moment we stepped off the train, a rush of emotions swept over me. The familiar scent of railway tracks mixed with the faint aroma of tea from nearby stalls. The humid night air clung to my skin as I followed my father through the crowd, dodging passengers and porters with heavy bags. Everything felt the same yet different—like stepping into a vivid memory that was now my reality.
As we exited the station, my father waved down a cab—an old Ambassador car, just as I remembered. The driver greeted Appa warmly, a familiar face from his many business trips. I slipped into the backseat beside him, my heart thudding with anticipation.
The city outside the window felt like a time capsule. The streets were bustling, but I noticed the lack of certain buildings I had grown used to in my past life. The roads seemed wider, the infrastructure a little less developed. Yet, despite these differences, the city exuded the same warmth, the same comforting chaos that had always felt like home.
I watched as we crossed through the heart of Erode, a city in Tamilnadu, past the bustling market streets and smaller neighborhoods, heading towards the outskirts where our home was nestled in Thindal, the outskirts of the city. In my past life, this area had flourished, becoming a major shopping hub. But right now, it was quieter, untouched by rapid modernization. There was something peaceful about it—this in-between stage before the world around me transformed.
I felt an ache of nostalgia mixed with joy. This was my home. My safe place. My childhood.
I turned to Appa, who looked exhausted but content. He had worked so hard for us, built this life for us. I had been too young to truly appreciate it then, but this time, I wouldn't take any of it for granted.
As the car rumbled along, I found my thoughts drifting to my family—especially my brother. He was younger than me, annoying at times, but I knew even then how much he loved me. In my past life, I had come to appreciate his unwavering support, but at this point in time, we were still the classic siblings—fighting over the TV remote, bickering over who got to sit in the front seat of the car.
He had ADHD, something we had discovered early on. Thankfully, Appa and Amma had ensured he received the care he needed, supporting him in every way possible. Despite the challenges, our family had never felt broken or strained because of it. Instead, we had wrapped around each other, forming an unspoken bond of love and understanding. I was young and was not able to understand his struggle with the disease and mental health, but this time I will put effort to understand him even better and make his life more enjoyable.
Right now, our home was perfect in its own chaotic way. Appa, always the protective yet doting father. Amma, my greatest supporter, the one who encouraged me to chase after what I wanted. My brother, the annoying but adorable presence who would someday grow into one of my biggest pillars of strength. This was the life I had come back to. And I would treasure every single moment of it.
But I also knew that soon, I would be leaving home.
A few months ago, I had thrown a tantrum, insisting that I couldn't live in the same house as my brother anymore, that he was too annoying. I had cried and fought with my parents, demanding to be sent to a hostel. It wasn't a common thing for girls in my family circle to leave home before college, but I had been adamant. And Appa, despite his reluctance, had finally agreed. He had always spoiled me, but Amma had convinced him that I needed to learn independence.
Back then, I hadn't realized what I was giving up. The warmth of home, the constant presence of my family. In my past life, the hostel had been a turning point—not just in my independence, but in my relationships. Without meaning to, I had slowly grown distant from Amma. I had been afraid to tell her how much I struggled, how much I missed home. I knew she would worry endlessly, so I had started confiding in Appa instead. He was practical, logical. He wouldn't dwell on my sadness, and that had made it easier.
But over time, that small distance had turned into a gap, and by the time I realized it, years had passed. Amma and I had never stopped loving each other, but we had lost that easy closeness, the habit of sharing everything. It had taken years to rebuild, and even then, there were things that had changed forever.
This time, I wouldn't let that happen.
I wasn't just coming home—I was coming back to my mother, to the bond we had before I unknowingly let it slip away. When I left for the hostel, I would be the one reassuring her instead. I would write to her, call her, tell her everything. I wouldn't make her feel like I was slipping away.
The thought filled me with a quiet determination. This life was my second chance, and I wouldn't repeat the mistakes of the past.
As we neared our house, excitement bubbled in my chest. The afternoon sun bathed the entrance in a golden glow. And there—standing by the gate—was Amma.
The moment I saw her, my heart leaped. She stood with her hands on her hips, the porch light illuminating her face, her eyes searching the road. The second she spotted us, a wide smile broke across her face.
Without thinking, I threw open the car door and sprinted towards her.
"Amma!" I shouted, my voice breaking with emotion.
She barely had time to react before I crashed into her, wrapping my arms tightly around her. She staggered slightly but held me close, her familiar warmth surrounding me.
"Aiyo, what is this sudden attack?" she laughed, but I could hear the happiness in her voice.
I buried my face into her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine and home-cooked meals. "I passed, Amma! I cleared the entrance exam!"
She pulled back, holding my face in her hands. "I knew you would! I never had a doubt." Her eyes sparkled with pride. "Your father already told me he paid the fees immediately. He couldn't wait to secure your admission."
I turned to look at Appa, who had just joined us. He gave me a small, proud nod.
"Of course, I did," he said. "I wasn't going to let anything delay my daughter's success."
Amma cupped my cheeks again. "I am so proud of you, ma. You've worked so hard for this. This is just the beginning."
I grinned, my heart swelling. "I know. And I'll make sure to do even better."
She shook her head playfully. "But first, you need to eat. You must be starving after that long journey. And I made your favourite—mushroom biryani."
My stomach growled in response, making both of them laugh. "Come, let's go inside," Amma said, pulling me by the hand.
As I stepped into my home, a sense of peace settled over me. This was where I belonged. And this time, I would cherish every moment.