The house was unusually quiet—the wall clock ticking louder than it should.
Pa and Ma had left for their holiday yesterday. Tara was out with her friends, naturally with Kiran. Major Varma stood on the terrace with Armaan, discussing something in voices too calm to qualify as casual conversation. Dr. Meera had an engagement—either a conference or a meeting whose details we were not required to know.
I was alone in the small study.
Laptop open.
Lines of code running.
But my mind drifted—back a few days earlier. To a negotiation that made me realize: taking Ma out of the country was more complex than a cross-continental merger.
The memory surfaced without warning.
Ma rested her head on Pa's lap while scrolling through her tablet. Pa didn't lean back. His body tilted forward, fingers idly playing with Ma's hair.
"I want to travel with you," Pa said.
Flat tone. Professional.
"Low season. Not peak. I've blocked the window."
Ma didn't answer immediately. She scrolled. Slowly. Carefully. Like reading a report she hadn't yet approved the existence of. Pa continued, his rhythm precise—not rushed, but leaving no empty space.
"Not Christmas. Not New Year. Not when people are careless."
He glanced briefly at Ma's tablet.
"Traffic is down. Exposure is low. Security is manageable. I've mapped it."
Ma stopped scrolling. She turned to Pa, chin lifting slightly.
"Darling," she said softly, almost like calming a patient.
"I'm not worried about the dates."
She tapped the screen once. Tok.
"I'm worried about people."
Pa exhaled briefly through his nose. A thin smile appeared—not dismissive, more like the reflex of someone who had heard that sentence many times.
"People are always a risk," he replied calmly.
"But risk can be managed."
Ma raised one eyebrow.
"We'll see."
I remembered sitting not far from them, pretending to focus on something else. That was when I finally understood: the love I saw wasn't about winning or losing.
Pa's love for Ma looked… calm. Like someone who knew exactly what he was guarding—and why he was willing to wait.
Out there, many women dream of beautiful trips abroad. Ma could cancel all of it simply because she refused to trade peace of mind for foreign permit systems full of delays, loopholes, and human uncertainty.
Ma shifted the tablet slightly, sighed softly.
"The forms are long," she said.
"And the officers—"
"From their eyes," Ma said evenly,
"I can tell they're guessing: is this person traveling for leisure…
or about to cause an international incident?"
Pa held back a smile.
"There are things you don't need to deal with," he said to her.
"That's my job."
Ma turned quickly, smiled, kissed Pa's cheek, then lay back down on his lap—as if the decision required no further debate.
Pa smiled without looking. His voice dropped—not persuading, but admitting:
"I've waited more than a decade for this."
Ma didn't answer immediately. She shifted slightly—more comfortable on his lap—then suddenly laughed.
"Aww," she said reflexively, patting Pa's chest lightly.
The sound that always appeared when Pa accidentally became too sweet. Pa lowered his gaze, smiling faintly. Not victorious. Not pushing. Just letting the reaction exist.
And for some reason, a ridiculous image popped into my head: if Ma lived in a royal era, she'd be the kind of princess who voluntarily stayed inside the Palace—requiring a palanquin whenever she went anywhere. And Pa—wearing the same calm face—would walk beside her, or carry her himself if the palanquin felt like too much trouble.
I suppressed a smile. Some forms of love aren't grand—but they're clearly not lazy.
Ma finally spoke without turning, her tone casual.
"Why not wait until Dhruv is twenty?"
Pa didn't answer right away. His hand moved, gently smoothing Ma's hair—a gesture not meant to convince anyone.
Not counting. Not pressing.
"Because after that," he said at last, calm as ever,
"your reasons will always make sense."
He paused, then added in a tone almost too honest for a CEO:
"And I will never dare argue with them."
Ma laughed softly—not a victory laugh, more like someone caught.
"Ish," she muttered, half amused.
Pa smiled faintly. Then, his voice still low—his version of romance:
"I want to go with you…"
a brief pause,
"…before the world gives you too many reasons to stay home."
Ma went quiet. The tablet closed.
A few seconds passed.
I—sitting not far away—realized my role was purely decorative. Ma opened the tablet again. Scrolled briefly. Then said lightly, as if remembering something trivial:
"If they don't sell cheesecake there, we're coming home."
Pa laughed softly.
And in that moment, I knew—This wasn't a negotiation. It was just two people who had known each other for too long, looking for the sweetest excuse to finally leave together.
MESOPOTAMIA / BABYLONIA
Pa didn't launch into a speech. He simply rotated the tablet, adjusting the angle for Ma.
"The beginning of civilization," he said briefly.
"Honest earth architecture. Rivers that don't shout.
A place that forces people to walk slowly and think."
Ma didn't respond. She read. For a long time. Too long for someone "uninterested."
Pa recognized the sign. He continued—not persuading, just completing the thought.
"Not a destination for display," he said.
"Not crowded. Not busy. People go there to understand—not to be seen."
Ma finally nodded slightly. Her fingertip stopped on an image of a relief.
"Interesting," she said lightly.
Pa almost smiled. Then Ma added, without lifting her head:
"But I'll only go there if I truly want to disappear."
Pa inhaled slowly. He'd expected that. Ma turned, smiling faintly—not rejecting, just clarifying her standard.
"I do love places with beautiful history," she said,
"But not when I'm already your wife, darling."
Pa nodded. Not disappointed. More like crossing off a checklist with an expensive pen.
Two taps.
Slide change.
Crossed out.
EGYPT
Pa was noticeably more careful. He didn't open with poetry. He opened with mitigation.
"Private access," he said calmly.
"Off-hours. Separate routes. No crowds."
Ma listened while twirling the stylus tip. Then smiled—a smile that always preceded danger.
"Darling," she said softly,
"I love historical stories."
Her finger moved to Pa's chin—just enough to make him stop talking.
"But I study them," she continued lightly,
"not pose inside them."
Pa suppressed a laugh.
Tablet moved.
Crossed out.
PARIS
Pa held his breath before speaking.
"Quiet arrondissements," he said, quarterly-report calm.
"Non-tourist routes. Staggered walk times. No sudden stops."
"Darling," Ma said sweetly,
"I don't mind the city of love. Precisely because love—"
She turned, eyes glinting mischievously.
"—makes some people forget rules."
Ma laughed softly. Pa nodded—mentally noting something not on the tablet.
Crossed out.
ISTANBUL
Pa seemed more confident.
"Layered history," he said.
"Clear safe zones. Structured architecture. Friendly food."
Ma raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She scrolled photos, stopped at a corner.
"Beautiful," she said honestly.
Then turned quickly to Pa.
"But I also enjoy sleeping without being chased by history."
She smiled faintly.
"I'm easily empathetic. Afraid I'd return carrying too many feelings."
Pa smiled—an elegant loss.
Crossed out.
DUBAI
Pa almost looked relieved.
"Clean infrastructure," he said quickly.
"Privacy controllable. Flexible time. Low energy."
Ma didn't respond immediately. She closed the tablet, looked at Pa—long.
"Darling," she said softly, then laughed,
"You know the temperature that keeps my mood stable is 25–27 degrees."
She yawned lightly, feigning fatigue.
"I want to hug you often," she added.
"That won't happen there."
Pa chuckled—defeated again.
Crossed out.
SWITZERLAND
Pa stared at the Swiss slide longer than the others. Like someone who knew—it almost passed.
"Quiet lakes," he said softly.
"Mountains that don't shout. Small towns that know when to be silent."
He slid images—red trains through green valleys, glass-clear water, wooden houses with flowered windows.
"Clean air. Slow rhythm. People respect space."
Ma stopped scrolling. She really looked.
"Beautiful," she said sincerely.
A tone she rarely used jokingly.
"This… is peaceful."
Pa nodded, relieved.
"Switzerland has stable political neutrality, Ma. Low latency for emergency communication."
Ma smiled.
Long.
Then a small laugh escaped unintentionally.
"Darling," she said lightly,
"I'm afraid I'd get too comfortable."
Pa turned.
"Isn't that the point of a holiday?"
Ma shook her head gently, still smiling.
"There," she said, pointing at the screen,
"everything is right. Too right."
She tilted her head, thinking.
"I'm afraid I'd wake up feeling guilty… just for waking up five minutes late."
Pa laughed softly.
"Not because of the people," Ma added quickly, defending the place,
"but because the system is too good. The cold bonus makes me even lazier."
She shrugged.
"I vacation to relax my shoulders—not to realize I'm less efficient than a country."
She grinned.
"Switzerland is beautiful," she said gently,
"but I don't want to come home wanting to fix myself with graphs."
Pa closed the tablet slowly. His smile conceded—but satisfied.
Crossed out.
FLORENCE – TUSCANY
Pa didn't give up immediately. He slid the tablet back—slowly, carefully—like knowing one more sentence could decide everything.
"Switzerland is expensive," he said calmly.
"Not impulsively expensive. Stable-expensive. No surprises."
Ma glanced sideways, half-smiling.
"Exactly," she replied lightly.
"If the expense is stable, I have to be stable too."
She yawned softly.
"We're on vacation, Darling. Not a self-improvement program or Stamina Management."
Pa laughed, then tried another angle.
"The historical buildings are extraordinary," he said.
"Maintained. Precise. Unchanged for centuries."
Ma stared at him.
Long.
Then shook her head slowly.
"Too tidy," she said honestly.
"I'm afraid of standing wrong."
She pointed at the screen.
"Beautiful—but like a museum watching you."
Pa exhaled—not defeated, recalibrating.
"In that case," he said, tone shifting,
"Italy."
Ma stopped scrolling.
"Same cost," Pa continued quickly.
"But a different kind of expensive."
He switched slides—Florence. Tuscany.
"Old buildings, yes. But alive."
Pa stopped talking.
He waited.
Finally Ma lifted her head, eyes lighting up like a child who had found a legitimate reason to say yes.
"Wannntttt iittt," she said, holding back a smile.
Pa paused before speaking. His smile finally appeared—not large, but full.
"Human-scale architecture," he said softly.
"Walkable. Time slows. Meals seated. Walks unhurried."
Ma read slowly. Longer than the others.
"Cheese?" she asked suddenly.
"Cheesecake?"
Pa nodded.
"Yes."
"Bonus small spa. Quiet. Your favorite."
Ma closed the tablet. Then turned with exaggerated suspicion.
"No mafia encounters, right?" she whispered.
"No Massimo popping out of a church corner?"
"I'm so pretty, Pa. I'm afraid he'll kidnap me at first sight."
Pa laughed freely.
"Clear. Safe."
Ma smiled, satisfied.
"Okay," she said lightly.
"But one note."
Pa leaned in slightly—old negotiator reflex.
"If I'm tired," Ma continued casually,
"I don't want to be forced to walk."
Pa answered without pause, without heroics.
"If there's no massage," he said calmly,
"I'll do it."
Ma laughed—then suddenly kissed his cheek and lay back on his lap.
"Aww," she said, shy but pleased.
The negotiation was officially over.
I suppressed a smile.
In my head, Ma was already a demanding princess—requesting to be carried everywhere—and Pa, inexplicably, looked willing.
I wondered—did Pa really assemble all those countries himself, one by one, or did he simply hand the list to his staff and say:
"Find one that passes all of this."
For Pa, searching himself was far easier than explaining why everything "perfect on paper" could fail because of one simple reason:
Ma didn't want it. No justification required.
I prayed silently—hoping Pa really had searched himself. Because if not, and Ma still said no, I didn't want to be anywhere near the room when Pa had to say:
"Search again."
That… is exhausting. Not physically. Emotionally.
Pa gently stroked Ma's hair. No pressure. No calculations.
"We're going," he said briefly.
Ma nodded.
"We're going. I Love youuuu…millions. Hahaha"
I returned to the present. The laptop was still on. Code still running.
And now I understood:
For Pa, taking Ma abroad wasn't about vacation. It was the highest test of leadership—ensuring the world was safe and comfortable enough for the one person who could not be replaced by anything.
***
My laptop stayed on longer than it should have. Lines of code crawled slowly—Threat Actor mapping in progress. Not an error. It was supposed to take time.
I let it run. Zero Trust is never rushed. It tests assumptions one by one.
While waiting, I opened an old folder.
DISNEYLAND / ARCHIVE
Thumbnails appeared one by one.
Different dates.
Different angles.
Different people.
I clicked one.
Pa.
Tara.
Two bodyguards—far enough to look like ordinary visitors, close enough to never relax. And of course one assigned by Maata for documentation.
Tara was five. Hair tied into two pigtails, one already loose. Her hat too big, constantly slipping over her eyes. Pa crouched halfway, one knee on the ground, holding Tara's hat so it wouldn't fall—automatic motion, old reflex.
"Pa, it's hot," Tara whined.
Pa smiled.
"Just a bit. Ice cream after this."
In the next video, Tara's face was red.
Not from heat.
From frustration.
I scrolled.
Ma.
Me.
Two other bodyguards.
I was eight. My shirt was too cute for my age—I remembered Ma choosing it. Ma held a cold drink. Habit. One hand on my shoulder. Never letting go.
The photos and videos were never a single frame. Always separate.
I didn't remember Tara's tantrum back then. I remembered it now—from the video. Tara sat on a bench, short legs kicking the air. Face scrunched. Pa stood before her, slightly bent, patient to the bone.
"Tara," Pa said gently,
"look at Pa."
Tara shook her head hard.
"I want Bhaiya here!"
Pa didn't raise his voice. Didn't hug. Just lowered himself to eye level.
"Today Bhaiya is with Ma," he said softly.
"Tomorrow Pa picks him up, okay?"
"I want it now!!!" Tara's voice cracked.
Then she cried louder. Pa called Ma. Ma's face appeared—sharp. Focused. Too calm.
"Tara," Ma's voice cut in without preamble,
"why does your face look like that?"
Tara pressed closer to the screen.
"Ma, I want Bhaiya. I want to be with Bhaiya!!"
I remembered standing beside Ma. Ma didn't crouch. Didn't coax. Didn't plead. She simply asked—flat, precise:
"Do you want to continue playing there calmly," she said,
"or come home right now and play grass with Bhaiya?"
Tara froze.
Her crying dropped by half.
Pa glanced at the screen. Silent. Allowing.
"…here," Tara muttered eventually.
Ma nodded once.
"Good. Ma dislikes dramatic children. Enjoy playing, Sweety."
Video ended.
Pa pocketed the device. Didn't smile. But his shoulders dropped slightly—relieved. He stroked Tara's hair gently.
"Chocolate ice cream?"
Tara nodded, sniffing.
"Two."
Pa laughed softly.
"One first."
I didn't know back then why we weren't kept together. Why the trouble. Why two hotels. Why at Disneyland we never sat at one long table together.
Now I understood.
Pa was ensuring this Khandan had a backup that couldn't be traced through a single route.
Two routes.
Two schedules.
I closed the photo folder. Returned to the code screen. Threat model finished.
Lateral movement risk: CRITICAL
Single-point failure: MITIGATED
I smiled faintly.
A call from Tara came in.
"I'm heading home soon," she said quickly, slightly out of breath.
"Want anything? Donuts? Chocolate? Oh—or that chip you like?"
Before I could answer, she continued.
"Someone almost slipped on the stairs but didn't. Then someone sang horribly—I laughed until I wanted to cry."
Pause.
"Oh yeah, don't take too long. I'm buying now."
"Chips," I said.
"Salty or spicy?"
I could picture her face—eyebrow raised, eyes serious.
"Salty."
"Okay. Stay there. I'll bring it."
The call ended before I could say thank you.
My device vibrated again.
Ma.
Her voice was bright—the kind of bright that usually meant she was sitting comfortably while observing something important.
"Have you eaten lunch?" she asked lightly.
I glanced at the screen. Beside her, Pa was half in frame—shoulder and jaw. Hair neat. Expression… alert, but vacation-ready.
"Yes," I replied.
"Don't lie," Ma laughed softly.
"I hear your breathing. That's the breathing of someone who forgot to eat."
Pa cut in, flat but clear, without looking at the camera.
"Dhruv, Pa is in a calm window. Let the system run."
I held back a smile.
"Yes, Pa."
Ma snorted lightly.
"Exactly," she said cheerfully.
"When the system is relaxed, that's the best time to think strategy."
Pa turned quickly. His eyebrow lifted for a fraction of a second—a gesture that only appeared at home.
"Strategy for what?" he asked.
Ma leaned her head slightly toward him.
"Attacking an enemy when they're off guard," she said sweetly.
"Including the enemy named 'Pa's cortisol.'"
Pa exhaled—half defeated, half amused. His hand moved instinctively—I knew the gesture of someone who wanted to reach for his wife but remembered the camera.
"This is our child," he said to Ma.
"Not the Board of Directors."
Ma laughed.
"Relax, darling. He's only listening. Not required to execute."
I nodded reflexively, unseen.
"Yes, Ma."
Ma looked at the screen.
"Eat properly. Don't stay up late. And don't be too kind to systems. Systems that aren't periodically pentested rust."
Pa shook his head slightly, a faint smile appearing.
"See, Dhruv?" he said.
"This is why I never truly go on vacation."
Ma turned to Pa, feigning surprise.
"You like it."
Pa didn't answer. But the corner of his mouth moved. The call ended.
I stared at the black screen for a few seconds.
Then opened the next module:
Threat Modeling: Human Vector & Trust Boundary
The cursor blinked. The title was neat. Too neat for the afternoon. I read two paragraphs.
Then stopped.
My hand moved to the mouse. The game folder opened briefly—not an escape, just a pause.
One match. No more.
"Later," I muttered to the screen, as if the module could wait.
Futsal later. Small field. Old shoes.
I stood for a moment, looking toward the family room.
And only now did I understand why we were separated back then:
So that today, we could still be together.
—To be Continued—