He grunted, grabbed a banana, and kissed the top of her head—a fleeting gesture of affection that bridged the gap between her world of kolams and his world of code. As his car roared to life, the neighbourhood did too. The tring-tring of the vegetable vendor’s cycle, the distant call to prayer from the mosque, the clatter of steel tiffin boxes being packed for school.

Kavya erased the sharp angle and softened it into a wave.

"On the pooja shelf," she replied. "Take a banana before you go. And did you light the lamp in your room?"

Meena paused, wiping a steel vessel dry. "Glow-in-the-dark? The kolam is for the morning sun, child. It’s for the earth. Not for a nightclub."