Vivaan’s face tightened. The breeze tugged at the laundry lines, but he set the little watering can down without a sound—careful and slow. He had heard “later” before. Later could mean after lunch, after work, or maybe never at all.

“Okay,” he said, staring at the cracked pots. “Later.”

Vivek looked up from his phone. From the doorway, Mamma Anya said nothing, but her eyes followed Vivaan’s small, quiet shoulders.