Soon the rooftop wore bright leaves, and slim green chilies dangled like little lanterns from cracked pots. Some mornings, Vivaan hurried up in his blue sandals, peeking under leaves while pigeons cooed nearby. “Papa, this one grew!” he cried.

After that, Saturdays changed shape. Vivaan did not sit by the window or watch the clock anymore. He grabbed his tiny red shovel, tugged Vivek’s hand, and raced upstairs, laughing, “Come on, Papa—we have rooftop work!”