Joy Family

Becoming Jerusha - Joy Family

Part 6: "Of Rooms Once Lived, and Lives Once Dreamt"

Morning came quietly.

The kind of morning that doesn’t rush in with sunlight and noise, but rather, slips gently between curtains, casting faint rectangles of silver on soft sheets. There was no alarm. No noisy roommates. No one banging on a bathroom door. Only the low, steady hum of the central AC, and the softest scent of lavender from somewhere in the sheets.

Kathir blinked awake slowly.

For a full minute, he forgot where he was.

Then he turned and saw the pale blue curtain. The bookshelf. The soft stuffed elephant still sitting near the headboard.

Jerusha’s room.

His body tensed slightly - but the tension melted just as quickly. There was something disarming about the air here. Something still and accepting. As though the room remembered, but didn’t accuse.

A gentle knock came.

He sat up.

The door opened slowly and Maria stepped in, carrying a tray with a white cup.

“Good morning, kanna,” she said softly, smiling. “You slept okay?”

Kathir nodded, wiping his face.

She placed the tray down near the bedside. The warm aroma of chocolate and malt drifted up.

“Bournvita. Jeru used to take it every morning. Even after she grew up. Wouldn’t touch coffee, thought this would cheer you up.”

He reached for the cup slowly.

Maria didn’t leave.

Instead, she walked over to the wardrobe and pulled it open.

“I kept her clothes as they were,” she said, her voice a touch breathy, but steady. “Just for now, use anything you need. Towel’s in the lower shelf.”

Kathir stood up, a little unsure. She handed him a towel, neatly folded and smelling of rosewater.

She pointed at the various sections like she was offering a tour of someone sacred.

“Here’s her home wear… these are her kurtis, simple ones… there’s a salwar she wore to our church’s anniversary. That white gown - that was her Holy Communion dress. She was so proud of it… next to it is the maroon one from her last school group photo… she always wanted to keep it ironed. Said she felt like a film heroine in it.”

She gave a little smile at the memory, then cleared her throat.

“Breakfast will be ready in half an hour. You can take your time, kanna. The bathroom’s there.”

She stepped out quietly, shutting the door behind her with gentle fingers.

Kathir stood still for a moment.

Then, towel in hand, he stepped into the bathroom.

The lights came on automatically.

It was not just a bathroom - it was a small spa.

Cream tiled walls, a large mirror that didn’t have a single fingerprint, a sink that gleamed, a bathtub that looked like something from a hotel, and a glass rack full of expensive-looking cosmetics and self-care items - scrubs, lotions, conditioners, face mists, moisturizers, all carefully arranged.

He didn’t touch anything at first.

Then, very slowly, he ran his fingers over the bottle labels - L’Occitane, The Body Shop, Neutrogena - things he had only seen in ads on YouTube before skipping.

He poured warm water into the tub.

For the first time in… he couldn’t remember how long… he took a real bath. Not a rushed bucket pour over a cement floor. But a soak. A steam. The kind of bath where you closed your eyes and let go.

He used her shampoo. Her soap.

Afterward, he toweled off, skin soft and smelling like a memory.

He wore his only decent outfit - a light blue shirt and jeans. The shirt had frayed near the collar. But it was clean. It would have to do.

Downstairs, Stephen Joy sat at the dining table, already dressed in crisp trousers and a half-sleeve shirt. He had a business newspaper open in front of him and was slowly chewing on toast.

He looked up, smiled gently.

“Good morning, thambi.”

Maria was already plating breakfast - idiyappam with coconut milk and sambar, a touch of ghee glistening on top.

She pulled a chair.

“Come, sit. You have to eat well, kanna.”

He sat, embarrassed by how good everything smelled.

They ate. Maria asked questions now and then. Stephen listened. Sometimes, she would pause and say something about Jerusha.

“She used to hate brinjal,” she laughed once. “But she’d still eat it if I made it with enough onion.”

Kathir smiled faintly.

He had never eaten this slow before.

Never with this much… care.

Just as he got up, bag slung over his shoulder, mumbling about college, Maria came rushing from the kitchen.

“Wait!” she called. “You forgot your lunch!”

She packed it in a neat steel carrier, covered in a red checked napkin.

Stephen twirled his car keys.

“I’ll drop you.”

“Sir… I can walk, it’s not---”

“No,” Stephen said, firm but kind. “Let’s go.”

The Volvo XC90 purred quietly as it pulled out of the gates.

Inside, the air was cool and lined with the faint scent of leather and pine.

Stephen drove slowly, calmly.

“You’re in Virugambakkam Arts College, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not a very strict one, no?”

Kathir shrugged. “Mostly theory classes. They don’t mind if we skip… just show up for the exams.”

Stephen nodded thoughtfully.

They passed a red light. Stephen slowed, then spoke.

“You know… we have four properties. Three in Chennai, one in Coimbatore, resort in nilgiris, huge lands in Thanjavur ,Shares in a textiles firm, investments in startups. Mutual funds. Fixed deposits. The Volvo, the Audi… it’s all from years of slow saving.”

Kathir blinked, unsure why this was being shared.

“I never told Jerusha,” Stephen continued, voice lower now. “Never wanted her to think life was easy. I wanted her to grow without being burdened by money talk. She thought we were just average. Saved from her pocket money to buy gifts.”

He chuckled softly - then stopped.

“Now I have all this,” he said, staring at the road ahead. “And she’s… gone. What use is wealth if the person you saved it for never touches it?”

Kathir turned slightly.

Stephen’s hands trembled on the wheel.

“At least now… I get to say it to someone. I get to speak out loud. Maybe God is letting me confess what I held in too long.”

The car stopped in front of the college.

A few students turned to look.

A Volvo in that college was like a swan in a pond full of street dogs.

Kathir stepped out, thanked him quietly. Stephen nodded, eyes soft.

Shravya, standing near the gate, stared at him.

“Who dropped you… Kathir?!” she asked, stunned.

He gave a short, awkward smile.

“It’s a long story.”

She blinked.

“Okay I’m listening.”

They walked toward the old block, Kathir explaining what happened. The misunderstanding. The resemblance. The grief. The food.

Shravya listened, wide-eyed.

When he finished, she placed a hand on his arm.

“It’s… incredible. I’m glad you’re safe. They sound kind. But…”

She hesitated.

“But?” he asked.

She smiled.

“Just… don’t forget who you are, okay? It’s okay to care for them. But remember yourself too.”

Kathir nodded. “Honestly… I only came today because I didn’t want to be in the house. It feels strange. Embarrassing. Like I’m inside someone else’s memory.”

Shravya didn’t answer.

But she squeezed his hand gently before walking ahead.

The classes dragged. He hardly listened. The chalk sounded like wind against glass.

By afternoon, he told the admin he had “headache” and left.

Back at the villa, he rang the bell.

Maria opened the door with a smile that reached her eyes.

“Ayyo, kanna! Tired-a? Come inside, come!”

She took his bag off his shoulder like a mother would.

She led him in. Made him sit. Took out a tray of banana fritters, samosas, and mango juice.

He hadn’t even opened his mouth. She just fed, asked about his day, laughed when he told her one of the teachers still taught from a 2013 textbook.

Evening came gently.

Stephen returned from work holding a small white box.

Maria gasped.

“You bought that?”

“Jeru’s favourite. Swiss roll from Murugan Bakery.”

They cut it. Stephen insisted on feeding him the first bite.

Kathir tried to protest - but the bite was already pressed to his lips.

He ate.

It was good. Too good.

They watched TV together.

An old Vijay movie. Stephen laughed in all the wrong places. Maria kept asking questions about the plot.

Kathir sat there, unsure how he had come to belong in this moment.

That night, he climbed upstairs.

Brushed his teeth with Jerusha’s old mint toothpaste. Folded his college shirt carefully. Sat near the window.

Then he lay down.

Eyes open.

Then closed.

A dream came.

White all around. A place that didn’t exist. Like snow without cold.

He stood alone.

A shape approached.

A silhouette.

Small hands reached forward.

Not a hug.

A handshake.

Gentle. Firm.

As if saying, “We’re in this together now.”

And then, a voice.

Not loud. Not male. Not female.

Just… known.

"Be Joy."