The wall between us leads to the destination

Chapter 2: Two Houses, One Wound

As they walked toward the exit, Parvati's eyes landed on Sharmila, Naira's mother, who was laughing with a group of other parents near the entrance, utterly unaware of the storm brewing a few feet away."That woman," Parvati muttered under her breath, almost to herself, "thinks she can build a life in lies and still call it victory."

Meera glanced up, confused by the venom in her grandmother's voice, but she knew better than to ask. In the Agarwal household, some questions were simply never asked.

News travels faster than the evening tram.

By the time Shobha Khurana stepped out of her car outside the Khurana Residence, the neighbours already knew. Mrs. Dutta from next door was "watering her plants" suspiciously close to the gate, and the sweet shop uncle at the corner had already sent over a box for the winning, as if Naira had won a war and not a music competition.Shobha didn't bother hiding her pride. She sailed through the small group, her anklets announcing her arrival, calling out for the household help to bring out the good cups—today called for tea, sweets and a healthy dose of gloating to anyone within earshot.

"My Sweety", she declared to no one in particular, "didn't just win a competition. She put three generations of Agarwal arrogance in its place."

Sharmila, Naira’s mother laughed softly as she led her mother inside, though there was a tiredness behind her eyes that had nothing to do with the competition.“Maa, it was just a college event. let’s not turn into a war.”

“It was never just an Event” Shobha said sharply, her bangles clinking with the movement. “Not when Parvati Agarwal is involved. That woman has looked down on us since the day I stepped into this place. Today, her precious Veena and her precious traditions are lost to a guitar and a bengali girl with an extraordinary voice. Let her sit with that.”

Naira, trailing in behind them with her guitar case slung over her shoulder, rolled her eyes good-naturedly “Dida, it's not that deep. Meera’s really talented. Her string just snapped - that could’ve happened to anyone.”

Shobha waved a dismissive hand. “You are too soft-hearted, Sweety. That family has never shown us the same kindness.”

Naira didn’t push further. She’d learned long ago that some battles between the two households were older than she was, rooted in something she’d never been given the full story of - only fragments, hints and the occasional bitter comment that adults thought children weren’t paying attention to.

Across the household, the mood inside the Agarwal haveli was a study in contrast.The house itself seemed to breathe differently- heavier curtains, dimmer lights, the scent of sandalwood incense curling from a small temple corner in the hallway. No sweets had been sent here. No neighbours lingered at the gate. Instead, there was only silence, thick and suffocating, as Meera walked through the main door with her bandaged finger tucked self-consciously into her palm.

Her father, Sekar Agarwal was waiting in the drawing room, still in his office clothes, his expression unreadable in the way it always was when he was trying very hard not to show disappointment.

"How's your hand?" he asked, his voice gentler than his mother's had been.

"It's fine papa. Just a small cut." Meera held it up briefly before lowering it again.

Sekar nodded slowly, but before he could say anything else, Parvati swept into the room, her sari rustling with the force of her irritation.

"Fine? She lost thirteen years of riyaaz in front of the entire zone because of 'fine'." Parvati said "Sekar, this is what happens when discipline slips. I told you, everyday practice cannot become optional just because college load increases."

"Maa," Sekar said carefully, "She didn't lose because of discipline. The string snapped. These things happen."

"They do not happen to those who are prepared," Parvati snapped. "The Khurana Bengali girl walked onto the stage in jeans and still managed to hold her instrument together. Our girl, dressed properly, trained properly, could not."

Meera stood quietly through the exchange, staring at the intricate pattern on the marble floor, wishing she could disappear into it. She wanted to explain that she'd checked the string that very morning, that it wasn't careless, that sometimes things simply broke no matter how careful you were - but she'd learned that explanations rarely softened her grandmother's disappointment. They only prolonged it.

"I'll practice harder," she said instead quietly. "It won't happen again."

Parvati's expression didn't soften, but she gave a short nod, as if that settled the matter, and walked off toward the temple corner to light a diya, muttering something under her breath about how some families had no sense of grace in victory.

Sekar waited until his mother was out of earshot before crouching slightly to meet Meera's eyes. "You played beautifully today. I heard the first three minutes before... before everything happened. That music part isn't easy. Most professionals struggle with it."

Meera's eyes welled up, not from the loss, but from the simple, quiet kindness in her father's voice — the kind that rarely made its way past her grandmother's shadow.

"Then why does it feel like I failed everyone?"

"You didn't fail anyone," Sekar said firmly. "An instrument breaking isn't a failure, child. It's just... bad luck. Nothing more."

But even as he said it, something flickered across his face — a memory, perhaps, or a thought he chose not to voice.

Meera noticed it but said nothing. There was so much about her father's past, about their family's tangled history with the Khurana, that remained locked behind polite silences and half-finished sentences.

That evening two girls sat in two very different homes, replaying the same afternoon in entirely different ways.Naira lay across her bed, guitar propped against the wall. Scrolling through congratulatory messages flooding her phone. As she thinks of Meera's lost smile her thoughts wonder.

Across the house, Meera sat by the room window, staring at the bandaged tip of her finger, the veena locked...safely back in its place. She didn't feel like a loser. She felt like she had let grandmother down.The rivalry didn't stay contained to whispered comments and private living rooms for long.

Two days later, at the Parent-Teacher meet organized to felicitate Naira, both families found themselves in the same hall for the first time since the competition.

Shobha, unable to resist, made her way toward the refreshment table where Parvati stood stiffly with a cup of untouched tea.

"Parvati," Shobha greeted, her smile sugary sweet. "I do hope Meera's hand has healed. Such a talented girl — shame about the string, though. Perhaps it's a sign that some traditions need... updating."

"And perhaps," Parvati replied evenly, not missing a beat, "some families mistake loudness for talent, and desperation for confidence."

The barb landed exactly where it was meant to. Shobha's smile tightened at the corners.

"At least my family doesn't hide behind old rules to cover up things they're ashamed of," Shobha said, her voice lower now, edged with something sharper than competition rivalry.

Parvati's eyes flashed. "Careful, Shobha. You wouldn't want to say something you can't take back. Not here. Not in front of everyone."

The two women stared at each other, years of unspoken history crackling in the space between them, while nearby, Sharmila quietly steered Naira toward the other end of the hall, and across the room, Sekar did the same with Meera — both parents instinctively shielding their daughters from a storm neither girl fully understood yet.

The rivalry didn't stay contained to whispered comments and private living rooms for long.

Naira glanced at Meera's and their eyes met. Naira signaled her to the restroom.

Naira said "Mom I'm going to the restroom". Sharmila glanced at her and Meera then nodded.

Meera asked softly to her father "Papa I'm going to the restroom".Sekar smiled and nodded. He had caught the act of Naira and her signal.He wasn't against their friendship and turned a blind eye.