After lunch, Papa answered a phone call, then bent over more papers beside the glowing laptop. “Soon, buddy,” he said, not looking up. “Just two minutes.”

Vivaan waited by the crowded table, then near the door, then on the first stair with his tiny red shovel. Sunlight faded from gold to gray. A pigeon fluttered past the window.

By evening, the game had not happened. Vivaan stopped asking. He pressed his lips tight and stared at the floor.