Chapter 10 - grandmother’s hospitality

Chris was about to start the engine when Hema’s grandmother stepped closer to the car. Clad in her modest cotton sari, she folded her hands together in a gesture of gratitude and leaned slightly toward the window. Her kind yet tired eyes looked up at him as she began to speak in Hindi.

Chris hesitated, quickly realizing he didn’t understand a word she was saying. He tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting in confusion, but the warmth in her tone and the way her hands moved indicated gratitude.

“Uh… I’m sorry, I don’t—” Chris began, but Hema, standing beside her grandmother, quickly stepped in.

“She’s thanking you,” Hema said softly, glancing at Chris before turning to her grandmother. “Dhadhi is saying thank you for helping me get home safely.”

Chris nodded respectfully after stepping out of the car despite the ache in his hand. He opened the door carefully, his tall frame unfolding as he stood. The soft moonlight highlighted the sharp lines of his jaw and the faint streaks of blood still seeping through the handkerchief wrapped around his hand.

Hema’s grandmother gasped as she noticed the wound. “Yeh kya hua? (What happened?)” she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Hema quickly translated. “She’s asking what happened to your hand.”

Chris glanced down at the injured hand. “It’s nothing. Just… an accident,” he replied dismissively, though the pain was evident in his posture—his left shoulder slightly stiff, his hand cradled against his side.

Her grandmother didn’t seem convinced. She muttered something quickly in Hindi and reached out to tug Hema’s arm.

“She wants to know if she can help,” Hema explained hesitantly, unsure of how Chris would react.

Chris opened his mouth to decline, but before he could say anything, Hema’s grandmother had already grabbed his uninjured hand and gestured for him to follow her.

Chris stunned, looking back at Hema in confusion.

Even she looked surprised by her grandmother’s persistence.

Arvind watched the entire interaction, his expression darkening further. He gritted his teeth and turned abruptly, walking inside without saying a word.

Hema noticed his reaction and sighed softly. “Dhadhi, I think Chris should go home now. He’s already helped me enough—”

“Nonsense!” her grandmother interrupted in Hindi, waving her hand dismissively.

“She says you need to come inside,” Hema translated, though her tone indicated she was just as surprised as Chris.

Chris hesitated, glancing at the doorway to the small apartment.

“I am sorry , sir” Hema said quietly, almost apologetic. “She’s… she’s really stubborn when it comes to this.”

Chris hesitated a moment longer, but when her grandmother turned and gestured for him to follow, he relented. With a quiet sigh, he followed the older woman toward the apartment, his broad shoulders slightly hunched from exhaustion.

Inside the apartment, the space was modest but warm, with a few simple furnishings and an air of lived-in comfort.

“Sit here,” she said, pointing the couch.

Chris lowered himself into the sofa, his tall frame making the modest furniture seem smaller. He sat stiffly, his injured hand resting on the edge of the sofa.

Hema’s grandmother disappeared into a small adjoining room, returning moments later with a small first-aid kit. She set it on the table and began speaking in Hindi again, her tone brisk yet kind.

“She says it’s going to sting,” Hema translated as her grandmother reached for Chris’s hand.

Chris nodded, watching as the older woman carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage. The dried blood had caked around the wound, and Hema winced as she saw the jagged laceration clearly for the first time.

his jaw tightened as her grandmother dabbed antiseptic onto the wound.

“Stay still,” Hema said, noticing his slight flinch.

Chris didn’t respond, his eyes flicking to her face briefly before returning to the wound. Her grandmother worked quickly, her hands steady as she cleaned and dressed the injury.

Hema’s grandmother disappeared into the kitchen. Hema stood near the doorway, arms crossed and her expression unreadable.

His gaze landed on a cluster of photographs displayed on a small wooden shelf. Most of them were of Hema—some of her as a child, others more recent. But one photo in particular caught his attention: a young boy smiling beside Hema, his arm slung protectively around her shoulder.

“Who’s that?” Chris asked, nodding toward the photo.

Hema’s eyes followed his gaze, and her posture stiffened slightly. “My brother,” she said curtly.

Chris looked at her, his expression softening. “What happened to him?”

Hema’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like she wouldn’t answer. But then she took a deep breath, her voice measured as she spoke. “He… passed away. Kidney failure.”

There was a sharpness in her tone, though her face betrayed no emotion. She avoided Chris’s gaze, focusing instead on the small clock on the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said quietly, his voice sincere.

Hema gave a brief nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

Before the conversation could go any further, her grandmother returned, carrying a steaming bowl of soup and speaking cheerfully in Hindi.

Hema translated again. “She made soup for you. She says it will help with your strength.”

Chris took the bowl with his uninjured hand, nodding politely. “Please thank her for me.”

As he sipped the soup, Hema sat down across from him, her posture rigid and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Chris noticed her glancing at his injured hand, her brow furrowing slightly as if she was still worried.

“This is good,” Chris said after a moment, holding up the bowl slightly. “Your grandmother’s a great cook.”

“She’s had a lot of practice,” Hema replied, her tone softening slightly.

Her grandmother, catching the tone of their conversation, smiled warmly and said something in Hindi.

“She’s happy you like it,” Hema said, translating again.

Chris finished the soup and set the bowl down carefully. He stood, adjusting his jacket. “I should get going,” he said. “Thank you for this. And… thank your grandmother for me again.”

Hema’s grandmother spoke rapidly in Hindi, gesturing toward his hand.

“She says you need to rest and not use that hand much,” Hema said with a small smile.

Chris gave a faint chuckle. “I’ll try.”

As he walked toward the door, Hema followed him, her grandmother staying behind to clean up.

“Thanks again, Mr.Zayden ,” Hema said quietly as they reached the doorway. He gave her personal mobile number to her . She saved that number as Mr.zayden .

Chris turned to face her after nodding , his tall frame casting a shadow in the dim light.

As Chris walked toward his car, he paused, glancing back at the small apartment one last time before stepping into the driver’s seat.

Inside, Hema leaned against the closed door, letting out a long breath. She turned toward the room where her grandmother was cleaning.