Morning light warmed the crowded dining table, where papers leaned against Papa’s glowing laptop. Holding his tiny red shovel, Vivaan asked, “Can we play now, Papa?”

Vivek glanced up over his glasses. He looked kind, but busy. “Just a little later, champ,” he said, tapping one more key.

Later again. Vivaan’s fingers tightened around the shovel. He lowered his eyes to the cool floor tiles and went quiet, a small storm growing inside him.