Papa did not pull out movie tickets or a shiny surprise. He led Vivaan up the last stairs to the rooftop, where morning light lay soft on the concrete and pigeons fluttered past the railings.

Vivek nudged a paint can with his slipper. “Look,” he said, a little hopeful. “We already have a start.” Around them waited cracked pots, old buckets, and dusty tins, with laundry lines and water tanks beyond.

Vivaan blinked hard. This was not what he had imagined at all.